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!

EARTH ASSUMES MANY NATURES

sometimes quite sandy, sometimes the clay
we inherit

black loam’s best for farming
excessive acid or alkali
impose their toll
compacted soil simply won’t breathe
my Lady of Potting
explains

“organic matter,” she says, meaning compost
and manure, especially. “it needs to be fed”

to say nothing of her disdain for “dead dirt”

so I stop to admire earthworms
flourishing in healthy soil

air appears in many natures
especially when it breathes
inspiration. expiration. a circle of life
a tornado, a cooling, a withdrawal into nothing
dry lines of laundry. clear a picnic table
swirl smoke from an open blaze. snuff burning matches
lift a kite. lift an airplane. lift birds
and countless insects. sometimes paper
sometimes squirrels. ripple the waters
ripple the flags. the prayer flags, especially
burn with heat. freeze with ice

water appears in many natures
sometimes sweet. sometimes salty
sometimes running. sometimes still
fresh or brackish. a cloud, a storm, a gentle rain
a stream, a pond, a cavernous pool, an ocean

rock appears in many natures
sometimes quartz-infused. sometimes basaltic
limestone’s favored for buildings
granite, for headstones and curbstones
coal fuels industry. ore refines into metal
gemstones become mysterious in their clarity
mountains tear into the wind. shape the rain

some qualities are visible. many are not
they mix together in thousands of ways
look at the horizon, look at the ground
landscapes emerge apart from map-making

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more,
click here.

REALMS OF DESIRE

Two cheerleaders wore white gym shoes
and thick white socks leading
to smooth adolescent legs

and who knew what else.
Freak girls bummed cigarettes like crazy
and you fed their neuroses.

A chubby chick fought and shrieked the hardest.
“God-damn fart-face!” she called a boy
she hit squarely, not to be left out.

To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015

HEART TURNING

1

the next afternoon’s commute
some necessary grounding (even for a bird or sunlight

the worst New Hampshire and Massachusetts flooding
since the hurricane of ’38
(10 inches of rain, a record

mostly a funk – everybody in Meeting

“I’m alive but I’m not living”
a quote from Iran

LOOSE
ENDS
(will the clutter ever end?

2

the drive north, in desperation / desolation
my heart turning toward the green Old Ways

I’ve always been a night owl

maybe Laurie was the last stop or opportunity
for the glitzy road
Yuppie / Muppie
I seemed to desire

my life now more stripped down, practical, earthy
in Rachel’s manner
compost bins and raised beds
this old house / its endless repairs

let’s go for a swim

3

sharp light and air
high wispy golden and rose clouds
lots of pale blue
plus the mountains

fresh from the pasture
the herd you keep milking
silage to store for winter
to empty, come spring

in moonlight across my estate

To continue, click here.

IMMORTALIZED IN STONE

It would be easy to pass by this stonework at the edge of Boston Common. The edge of the State House appears at upper left.
It would be easy to pass by this stonework at the edge of Boston Common. A corner of the State House appears at upper left.

 

The names of American Civil War heroes are engraved here.
The names of American Civil War heroes are engraved here. The other side, at street level, is Augustus Saint-Gaudens’ extraordinary memorial to their courage.

The rear of the stone structure supporting the Memorial to Robert Gould Shaw Memorial and the Massachusetts 54th Regiment is worth a close examination in its own right. Engraved here are the names of the soldiers, most of them from humble beginnings and circumstances, who would otherwise be lost to history if not for their heroic service and sacrifice.

Boston is a rich and varied destination – the Hub of New England, or the Universe, as they used to say. Living a little more than an hour to the north, we’re well within its orb.

PRELUDE & FUGUE 47 /

beach umbrellas at the foot of the sagging pier, forever
towels wrapped in ribbons on a sandstone floor

*   *   *

don’t know this beach as a sandstone floor
how long a floor measures good fortune
wrapped in sandstone ribbon
this beach a long floor
doesn’t good fortune wrap itself in ribbon
knowing this how long
a good beach wrapped sandy fortune

kiss my face running with
new black Eagle purity at the soapy foot
of umbrellas she’ll kiss my

pure soapy Eagle face
while umbrellas run with new black
at her foot I’ll kiss this

new black soap opening
umbrellas forever facing
my Eagle kiss in the foot run pure

soap face Eagle
umbrellas run at the foot
forever new black

~*~

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see all 50 Preludes & Fugues, click here.