A BIT OF SWEAT, EVEN IN THE SHADE

The mind dances here and there, rarely in a linear fashion. So what’s on my mind these days? How about counting on these fingers?

~*~

  1. Picking peas and raspberries. Then mow the lawn.
  2. The Hour of Visitation: that moment you have to decide. Accept Jesus. Agree to marry. Call the sale. Or it typically slips away. The door closes, sometimes ever so silently. Reopening it may be far more difficult.
  3. On the street, a fat porcupine pondering his shadow.
  4. How many strange events transpire unseen? A sense lingers after a chance observation, a moment of revelation suggesting a much vaster possibility of reality at hand.
  5. My goal is no longer to collect but to cull. I’ve been decollecting as much as I can, one sweep at a time. Recordings, books, notes, clothing … amazing to revisit so much that’s already here! Trail markers from a long journey to now.
  6. She’s often thought I’d be more at home in an earlier era. Well, maybe if I had some wealth and privilege. There, I’ve said it. That edge that’s too often been lacking.
  7. Watching bridge construction in tidal waters, I’ve wondered what keeps the cranes from swaying in the daily rise and fall of the current. Spud Legs, I’m informed, are sunk into the river bottom for stability. What a funny term! As in potato? Naw, more like spud bar. However the name ever originated.
  8. Sometimes life’s a whirlwind. Just what do we do with the calm?
  9. Teaching or translating as their source of income. The world is bigger than that. And so should the literary horizons.
  10. Looking back on your life, can you point to any work you’re truly proud of? Or does even the best somehow fall short?

~*~

So typical of New England, these overlapping neighborhoods. This one's just over the river from us, in South Berwick, Maine.
So typical of New England, these overlapping neighborhoods. This one’s just over the river from us, in South Berwick, Maine.

EXPECTING A CENTER-POINT

their house and yard
lined a three-block street
that wasn’t straight but
bent, twice, away from due north
or an east-west axis

the squirrels there knew nothing of the next
state or globe     their world of endless
branching comprehends no sphere

each time he leaped, he’d forget who I am
all the same, gravity fashions
a turn toward chaos or quietude
expecting a center-point
it’s a pattern, yes,
the interlocking repetition
say of old wallpaper
shaping a marriage

of course they like flowers
rolls and glue, page after page,
all through the years
yellowing into decades

whatever turns
you on
makes you sorry
rubs nerves
pulling stuff
like that
live and learn
sweet revenge
isn’t you anyway

flaying those arms in Beulah Land

*   *   *

of course it was us versus them

*   *   *

he could hear masons warning new roofing shingles
were needed, pronto, and even he knew what damage a leak
could inflict all before their Great Plumber Shortage
he switched off This Old House episodes where workmen
arrive in time to preclude disaster     his was now nothing
or all kinds of superstition     so his reserves dwindled
even approaching the sump pump     what music, then?
ring around, pocket full of worry
they had a cache of cash

*   *   *

a true adversary
you soon come to resemble

of course he was furious
returning

to the newly replaced crown molding
they’d gnawed through in an hour

while they nested in the wall
his library reeked

*   *   *

“Calm? When are you ever calm?”

 Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems,
click here.

GRAY SEAL PARADISE

They seem to enjoy the backstroke. So do I.
They seem to enjoy the backstroke. So do I.

The deck of the Chatham Fish Pier is ideal for viewing gray seals in motion.

The town at the elbow of Cape Cod also includes Monomoy Island, an 8-mile-long sand spit that is home to thousands of the seals, as well as great white sharks feeding on them in recent years.

Seeing four at once is common here. Another had just dived where the gulls now flock.
Seeing four at once is common here. Another had just dived where the gulls now flock.

 

HANA

with empty matchbooks all about
the apartment stank, as it had
since the 17-year-old sister encamped

at the door, a 50-year-old tattooed
sallow visitor with a front tooth missing
inquired if she was home yet

said he’ll be back tomorrow

To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015

AS FOR WOLF

A wolf is powerful because it eats powerful food, Kokopelli warns me.

As for the girl-chasing man who’s always hungry, it’s “hair-pie,” he grins.

Although I’ve never hunted, I see points at which ancient traditions lurk within modern religious practices. Meditation, high among them, has roots in hunting and gathering. Then, too, there’s the role organized sportsmen have performed in restoring populations of wildlife, and you can learn much from hunters eminently adept at reading animals’ ways in the field. Keep an eye open.

Natures change slowly. The hunt on land and the water has barely begun.

There’s great game beyond food. Much of it, Kokopelli sings, runs through your brain.

For more insights from the American Far West and Kokopelli, click here.

FOXTROT

a rabbit in a bow-tie and party hat
laughs at a departing alligator

people holding umbrellas float over the stage

drowning the kittens as an adult act of mercy

people in yellow raincoats
floating under pink umbrellas
set against clouds

the woodcut sheep now resemble Georgia
a plain chair topped by a salmon-fish rung

a flock of sheep already dyed
twenty-two pigs come singing on the bare ground

“Simple Gifts” in operatic voice

a woodcut of a full stream laughing through a birch forest

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of
Partitas, click here.

WHERE’S THE POWER IN POLITICAL FICTION?

The limited success of politically-based fiction continues to surprise me. Shakespeare, opera, and Greek tragedy all have their fill of court intrigue and power pl0ys, but modern democracies just don’t seem to stir the same passions. The success of the West Wing television series and a few movies stands as an anomaly. And then there are the lawyers who have built on their own experiences. Still!

Years ago, as science fiction was gaining respectability, I thought I might fuse the two by creating political science fiction, which led to a draft of my Cowboy from Mars. In the aftermath of the 2016 presidential campaign, it’s not as far out as I’d thought. Take a look for yourself. It’s included in Along the Parallel Tracks of Yin and Yang, my new collection of fiction.

~*~

Parallel Tracks
Parallel Tracks

For these stories and more, visit Thistle/Flinch editions.

ESTABLISHING DIRECTION

1

light in shimmering bronze
illuminates maritime charts and sails
unfurling with desires, an escape
in the apex of broad wakes

who you think you are
doesn’t matter
when the tide turns

a band from the North Star
turns toward harbor –
glints of affirmation or rebuke from a stranger –
ruffles bells and rigging

identities don’t matter
when the wind turns

off we go, then, and this time
this world or this way and then another

2

 five seals, headed north

their heads sparkling with stars
disappearing quickly

the austerity of beach swept clear

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of seacoast poems,
click here.

KEEPING THE HARMONY INTACT

As far as differences that threaten to disrupt Christian harmony between members, it is instructive to discover that pastoral bodies are no better prepared to deal with this issue than are we unprogrammed Friends; indeed, when our elders and overseers are vigilant, we are probably in better shape, (Who, for instance, mediates when the disharmony is between the pastor and a member?)

In one of our neighboring Meetings here, the clerk of Meeting and the clerk of M&C called a session between two former lovers whose tensions were more apparent to others than to at least one of the parties; while the two individuals could not resolve their differences, the session permitted them to present their differences in a way that precluded evasive behavior that had kept the tensions brewing; through this, the two agreed to stay away from each other and make no further claims on the other. Even when the effort at peacemaking results in something other than an ideal healing, it is encouraging to see officials from Meeting taking the initiative in dealing with a tension such as this; in the past, we would have been too inclined to dismiss the conflict as a “personal thing” and thus steered away from any attempt at clearing the air and Truth would have suffered. Thus, I feel I can report some encouraging signs from New England and from FGC, too, although I won’t raise any false hopes there, either. But to hear one of the principal speakers present a detailed Biblical study of “Exile Into the Promised Land” and, at the end of another session, to hear the co-clerk of FGC proclaim the importance of Christ within each person and each Meeting, was nothing short of miraculous this, at the end of a lecture in which the speaker was chiding liberal Friends for the pains they’ve inflicted, often unknowingly, upon Christocentric Friends,  even as we have done to the others.

There were many trials for me there, but also much service.

The best session was called for single Friends who are struggling with celibacy a gathering that differed sharply from the “safe sex” presentation earlier in the week, or what one person called the “love your latex” lecture. The celibacy discussion produced some precious sharing, ranging from the one young woman’s admitting how difficult it was for her to hug other women there after being accused by some of her leading them on, to the sudden discovery by another that celibacy doesn’t necessarily mean  “for the rest of your life” but rather “for now,” to another’s discovery that abstaining from sex was one way for her to reclaim control over her own life, to recognition for the need of affirming hugs and non-sexual touches within the Meeting (widows, children, as well as singles), to the need for intimate friendships that are not sexual.

Oh, yes, and then I found myself sitting in a session called to respond to John Punshon’s Pendle Hill Pamphlet addressed to Universalist Friends. For a while, it was like being the lamb in a lion’s den, but instead well, could there be a more opportune place to proclaim Christ? Maybe I simply have a new appreciation of Daniel these days.

Can’t think of any other news to report from this end.

Except that during the drive across Vermont to get to FGC, there were moments when my thoughts drifted off and I looked out and thought I was in the Shenandoah Valley instead something about the mountains and green meadows and the dairy aroma in the air. And then, ten miles south of St. Albans, it really began to smell like Harrisonburg. Small world. In the Peace of Christ –

~*~

For more Seasons of the Spirit, click here.

TREADING WATER, TO CATCH UP ON ALL THE REST

Being mindful of what’s right in front of us can always be a challenge. Here are 10 new items from my end.

~*~

  1. Just as we settle in at the beach, two busloads of day-campers march in, all wearing Camp Wanna Iguana tee-shirts. (No serious writer can make this stuff up.)
  2. Hot, hazy, humid, lazy at last. Full leaf.
  3. Revisiting photos of trails in the high country of the Pacific Northwest, I almost smell a spicy edge in the air or taste that incredibly blue sky. All of this imprinted, somewhere in my soul. Those days we headed to the high country for relief from the sweltering valley. Now we head straight to the Atlantic, hopefully free of the day-campers.
  4. We wonder what’s happened to the couple who had the amazing garden a few blocks over. For years they both inspired and shamed us. But more recent years have shown far less effort. Could it just be too much for two? How much food do you need, anyway?
  5. The Cold River in North Sandwich, New Hampshire, passes through a rocky stretch known as the Kettles before turning into the Grotto under the highway bridge. It’s a most glorious place to swim. But beware, it can be very chilly and after a big storm upstream, the current can knock you off your feet, especially on slippery rocks.
  6. Vanilla Bang is a misreading, of course, of what looks like a fuse.
  7. An army must be clothed and fed as much as armed and fortified, and that’s where the trouble begins. Think of all those farmers, fishermen, and merchants.
  8. The kid never, ever, accepted the word No, not from anyone. She did – and does – what she wants.
  9. In too much of what I’m reading in literature, all the Manhattan or MFA settings. Well, even I do have one that takes place, in part, in New York City.
  10. Just what is a marriage, anyway?

~*~

Hey, it's summer!
Hey, it’s summer!