the things we accept,
those we defend without shame,
reveal who we are.

too many insist
that hope and experience
exclude each other.

dad turns 70,
reveling in a lifetime
and its memories.

take time to notice
all the beauty in your life;
live with gratitude.

I’m for the voiceless,
the anti-establishment
and the dead-end streets.

I was made aware of the above photo (credit: jam343) by Frank Roche, whose talented colleagues at iFractal coupled the text of this haiku with the photo shown above. Click here to see that collaboration.

in the quiet place,
with the quiet people,
we sit, we listen,

hoping to recognize,
hoping to receive
the still, small voice Divine.

the keeping of faith
sometimes requires a belief
in realism.

things I once believed
relegate to memory,
having grown hollow.

---

What happens next is a short story still forming. I’ve decided to start posting each segment of it as I finish the one that follows, so I don’t quite know where it goes yet. Maybe someone else out there could even build their own version from this beginning - who knows? Suggestions (or improvisations) are welcome.


---

The phone rang. Six o’clock Monday morning. The voice on the other end of the line started slowly, “I hope you and your new girlfriend are happy together.”

“It’s a little early to think about the long term. We’ve only gone out twice…”

“Yeah, but it’s obvious she’ll make you happier than I could.”

At first I thought she was just venting, either out of frustration or jealousy, but the sound of her voice betrayed a sadness. I wasn’t sure how, but it was there.

“I didn’t think you ever cared that much about my happiness,” I responded, feeling a bit frustrated myself, having been pressed to think about it. “I mean, I’ve spent the last three years of my life pining for you, and you’ve switched like a strobe between wanting and detesting me.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted. I still don’t.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” came my nearly automated response. An uncomfortable pause filled the dead air. Then I offered the question I once couldn’t forgive myself for not asking: “Are you okay?”

“No,” she answered, in the most integrated sense of word and tone I’d ever heard. The negativity of the word meshed the emptiness in her voice. It was sucking the life out of the barely-initiated conversation . I could no longer grasp the frustration I was feeling a moment before, only concern.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No.”

“I’d feel a lot better if I could just see you. Could you meet me somewhere? I need to know things are okay.” I was bargaining now, partly out of concern for her, but partly because I felt helpless.

I knew she was more likely to give in if she thought she was doing me a favor than if she thought I was doing her one. She always seemed to hate the idea she might owe me something.

Still, in granting my request she would absolutely be doing me a favor, maybe more than anything I could do for her.

…

longingly you gaze,
while ignoring the one who
gazes back at you.

Reagan paraphrased:
is Iraq better off now
than five years ago?