Tuesday, September 5, 2017

The Work of Linda Bonney Olin


A Tale of Two Cornfields
Linda Bonney Olin

Green mendicants
acres of them huddle
thin, sharp arms raised
straight to heaven
begging alms from passing clouds.
One fat drop splashes and slides
to the cracking soil, only to be
snatched by hoodlum weeds.

Half a mile down the road
the ten percent
who always get the soaking rain
from a ten percent chance of showers
shrug supple green shoulders.
Arms drooping—not exhausted or weak
but relaxed, complacent—they pray,

“There but for the grace of God . . . ”



- - -



1. How long is the longest night?
How distant is the dawn?
It seems that time has ceased its flight
and hope for change is gone.
But wait! My God’s strong hand
rules over time and space!
At just the moment God has planned,
all things move into place!

2. How dark is the darkest day,
how black the shadow's gloom?
The richest colors fade to gray
when joy gives way to doom.
But wait! My God is light!
More vivid than the sun,
the face of Jesus Christ shines bright
with love for everyone!

3. How deep is the deepest fear?
How far can one soul fall?
The chasm’s edge is oh, so near,
so close to claiming all!
But wait! My God has wings!
The Spirit lifts me high
above the pit of fearsome things
to soar beyond the sky!

Note: "How Long Is The Longest Night" is a hymn by Bonney Olin in the musical setting DIADEMATA, which might be familiar to churchgoers as the tune of "Crown Him with Many Crowns."
- - -




Tuesday, August 8, 2017

These Thy Gifts

by Frank Di Giovanni

    John Budget dipped his finger into the bowl of holy water and ran it quickly over his forehead. The coolness of his crossing finger contrasted with the warmth of his thinking the blessed liquid would somehow improve his mind, keep it from having any bizarre thoughts, maybe even improve it so it would reach heights never before attained.

He gazed at the dimly lit altar, a familiar and comforting sight, always a place of reassurance and calm. He sat, then knelt in a pew.

He bowed his head, prayed, and tried to recall the sins of the past week. Looking at the altar, he asked for guidance in preparing a meaningful and truthful confession.

He really didn’t commit any horrible sins. He wasn’t a murderer. A thief. It wasn’t as if he led a double life, banker during the light of day, embezzler the dark of night.

After a while he rose and took his place in line just outside the confessional box. Several people were waiting there. He folded his hands in a contemplative manner and stared at the empty pews. The dark spacious church gave him a peaceful feeling and he sighed, thinking how wonderful it must be to live in such a place, where everything was good and pure, tranquil and proper, so different from the outside world. He occupied his mind with these somber thoughts and said an occasional prayer as he waited.

When his turn came he entered the box. The place was so dark he stumbled as he knelt before the small window, behind which sat the priest. As the window opened with a gentle sliding thud he made the sign of the cross and said, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The priest spoke rapidly saying prayers, then asked him what his sins were.

"I used bad language during the week," he whispered.

"How many times?" said the priest.

"Not many, Father. Only two or three times."

“What else?''

“I was discourteous to my wife and kids”

“How many times?"

“Not many. Only a couple.”

"What else ?”

“I was envious of my neighbor’s goods.”

“How many times?

“Only once, Father."

“What else?"

"Nothing else, Father"

"Did you eat meat on Friday?" the priest asked.

“Oh no, Father," he said loudly. “I never do that Never. "

"All right my son. You must remember not to use bad language. Try to control yourself. You must be kind to your wife. She is the mother of your children, the one God has chosen you to live with and to love. Be kind also to your children. Remember how much Our Lord loved children. Love them as he does Do not covet your neighbor's goods. They are only material things that will pass as this world will. Desire only the love of God. It is only with him that we shall find happiness and live forever. Remember these things my son and for the coming week try to lead a holy and good life. For your penance say five Hail Mary's and five Our Father's. And now ask God to forgive you by making a sincere Act of Contrition.”

He humbled himself and prayed and the priest whispered along with him.

Soon the priest said, "God bless you, my son," and closed the window.

John stepped from the box and headed for the altar where he said his penance for the sins he had committed. When he left the church he experienced a singular sense of well being. His heart felt strong and pure and he enjoyed the cold December wind as it whipped across his face.

"I'm in a state of grace," he thought. "If I were to die now, I'd go straight to heaven. Yes Sir. Straight to Heaven."

 

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Ice Cold Orange Soda


Ice Cold Orange SodaSummer 1953

by Susan King

            They’re coming around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. It will be hot this end of July day with the cottonwood trees dropping those fuzzy balls of white all over the lake.
            The small boy and girl planned to take their guests over to the shade by the boathouse where it’s cool and there’s a breeze off the lake.
            The children filled their toy pails with water and rocks then left them there along the beach. It’s time to concentrate on the adults who are coming to the lake.
            They checked the soda machine in the boathouse. “Plenty of grape. No. They don’t like grape. “Plenty of root beer.” “No.” “Plenty of Coca Cola.” “No. They don’t drink that.”
“Well,” the girl replied, exasperated, “What do they want?”
            “Oranges. They like oranges. We have Nehi orange soda.”
            A giant car with a huge shiny grill spewed sun glare as it pulled slowly down the dry chocolate rocky gravel road toward the boathouse where the children waited wrapped in beach towels wet and dripping creating puddles all around them.
            A man and a woman got out of the car.
            Together they stood under a slim elm tree. The woman was pretty and delicate—a princess. The man was solid with a square jaw, a big firm handshake, a quick smile wearing a thick black suit that looked hot enough to suffocate him.
            The children directed them to the bench by the boats in the shade then went to fetch the ice cold orange soda from the frosty soda machine.
            The man and the woman needed to quench their thirst, and get revived from the sweltering heat. The temperature made the woman more beautiful in her billowy flowered red dress that clung to her body in the soft wind.
            It made the man sweat even more to look at her. There was a kind of magic about them, a circle where no one else entered because no one knew the secret word.
            The man removed the suit jacket he wore and placed it carefully on the bench where no cottonwood fluff might blow on it. Then he reached out and took the cold soda from the boy. He looked at the orange Nehi soda, then at the boy and said, “I’d rather have a beer.”
            A short blunt dagger ripped through the girl’s heart. All day she watched the boy make the preparations. He didn’t play or suck on grape popsicles all day like the girl did.
            Instead, he anticipated that moment when the man and the woman would relax and be happy.
            But, it wouldn’t come—that moment—just like those stupid sunnies that hid in the shadows under the dock and you can never catch them. You can throw all the bread you want at them and those sunnies will never, but never, come out.
            The sun started to go down. The bottles of orange soda were empty now lying in the grass by the bench where the man and the woman left them.
            The boy picked up the empty soda bottles and put them away in the wooden case.


Saturday, June 3, 2017

Selections from the Collection Canny Furtherings, by William Stevens


Rippled Color Time

When rolling my eye

does not hearing seek

with joint bearing

lines verbal arroyo?

Lights affixed.

Red brambles go with gravities.

Palmette eye the permessos thought   (1)

of brisk water.

The banks move slowly.

Summertime the banks enclosed

filled with jocundity.

Silent boat

sit on joyful rotundity

in colophon and

symbol tranquility.


Canny Furtherings

After some vast weighted boats stratum

brings lofty glaciers approaches seasonal loon.

Above link contour look and moon.

Imparted feeling attire

are as important that rhythms do follow as

they do aspire.

And cried “carry out carry out.”

A wash of coral.

A lustration of sands.

Or a slush of stones and ice.

Then recalling livening desert with things

silent and still.

Heretofore adfrifted as dawn.

Here of upwards music as the look of dawn.

And hence come seethings rains.

Windy response in cave with

stark canvassing.

Galas are far away motions.



Saturday, May 6, 2017

Heimat, Searching, Searching!


Heimat, Searching, Searching!
(click above line for link to video)

by
Rosemarie Montague-Tiesler
Published on Apr 3, 2017

This is my original composition. 
Written and performed by me on a Yamaha PSR S970.

Searching, searching,
All my life through!
Crying, crying, just for You!
Waiting, waiting,
Hope to find You!
Waiting, waiting,
Always for You!
Who are you who steals my dreams,
In the darkest nights?
Who are you I can't forget,
Who I have to get?
Now I know and never ponder,
Dearest Homeland,
That is who!
Liebe Heimat, dass bist Du!

Saturday, April 1, 2017

The Other Side


by Nancy Green

All week long I've tried to think about what I could write, what could I do in a different way, and then I suddenly realized that the decision had been made for me last Monday during lunch.

I was having lunch with a friend of mine and she had ordered in hot sausage and pepper sandwiches. I had just taken a bite of this delicious sandwich when all of a sudden I knew I was chewing more than hot sausage. The tooth that holds my partial plate, on the left lower side, had broken off at my gum and there I was, unable to finish chewing and knowing this was probably the end of my partial, as I only now had one real tooth left in my mouth, the one holding my partial on the right lower side, and this tooth had been loose for quite a while.

I was able to get an appointment with my dentist at 8:30 the next morning, and he said that he would have to make me a lower plate as there was no way he could fix my broken tooth. He made an impression and on October 17th, I have to go back and he will pull my one real tooth, the part of my broken tooth that is still in my gum, and then will put the new plate right in. He said until then, eat soft food very carefully, and hopefully my partial will pretty much stay in place.

I have always chewed my food on my left side and now I have been forced to eat, very gingerly, on my other side. Everything feels so strange in my mouth, but survival is a very strong instinct in my life. I have found the joy of good soup with soggy crackers, the ecstasy of a good, hot baked potato with melted butter and salt and pepper. I can still eat my oatmeal each morning and my wonderful dish of ice cream each night. I think this coming week I will even try overcooked spaghetti and sauce and maybe some pudding.

Probably, by the time I get my new plate I will be very used to eating this new way and then I'll have to learn all over again how to eat on "the other side."


Saturday, March 4, 2017

The Meanest Lady Ever!

A Commentary by Roberta Lacey

Most of all the folks I knew who were from Ireland were warm, loving and cheerful people, regardless of their many woes they endured in the "old sod." However, our one neighbor, Mrs. McGinty, was of a different mind-set. Thankfully, she lived several houses up the street from our family in Bayside, N.Y.

Perhaps her upbringing was cruel and uncaring. She came to the U.S. in the early 1900's, I was told. I don't know where she met her husband. He spoke with an Irish brogue they say, though I never heard him speak. Upon passing him in the street, he walked with head down, my "good morning" greeting either unheard or ignored. Mr. McGinty looked neat and clean, dressed in coveralls; his white canvas gloves would lead one to believe he was a laboror on his way to catch a ride to work. Rumors flew by that the poor man had been relegated to the basement of his home; only to come upstairs for toilet and meals. His wife's razor sharp tongue could cut straight to one's jugular. This was noted by the neighbor who lived directly next to the McGinty family.

Mrs. McGinty seemed jealous of neighborhood girls who were either engaged or actually planning their weddings. (yes. McGinty made it her business to converse with neighbors to get the latest "news.") Unlike her family members, she kept her ears open and her quest for gossip fervid. Most often she couldn't resist slipping in a hurtful remark or two mentioning that "so and so" was probably pregnant and that was why the girl had to get married. Of course, that nasty announcement proved to be totally untrue as everything else she said was unfounded. Another of her venomous barbs was that large weddings were only to get larger amounts of wedding gifts; never mentioning that the couple in question had big families and happily, many friends. Most neighbors, upon seeing McGinty at a distance, would make haste to avoid the poisonous spew from her tongue.

The McGinty daughters were about twenty-five and twenty-seven, respectively. Apparently they never dated, Yet their mother proudly announced that Margaret and Katherine were invited to a Sunday afternoon tea party...and "boys" will be there! I'm sure the young women wished their mother would "stiffle" it, since they must have realized how ridiculous it sounded.

The McGinty's one son was about thirty years old. He worked and always seemed happy enough. Luckily, Sean met and married a fine girl; hopefully for all the right reasons other than to get out of that house and away from the "witch's cove" as soon as he could.

As far as I know, the girls never married. I hope they did not inherit their mother's meanness. God help Sean's bride. Needless to say, the newlyweds soon moved far away from the mother-in-law from hell.