Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Reflections: Some Hard Saying

What follows here are two pretty much unedited comments I made on a Facebook status update that asked the burning question: "Can a person be a Republican or a Democrat and Follow Jesus?"

I commented as follows (with some minor modification):

 Nobody follows Jesus. St. Francis, and a few others, made a good run at it. Somebody will say "Mother Teresa." Uh-huh. Well, mean-spirited as it was, much of what Hitchens said about her was true, unfortunately. Nobody can function in modern civilized society and follow Jesus. Jesus was an anti-establishment, subversive, drop-out, who lived only for the next world. And that is what He asked of his disciples. 

But, on second thought, I shouldn't say "nobody," because I can't know that. But if that person is out there, he is a filthy, smelly beggar, living on the street, with a heart full of sorrowful love for each and every distracted, deluded,  ego-burdened soul who hurries on by him without giving him a look.

That, my friends, is the cold, hard truth. 


Friday, July 12, 2013

Rodak's Writings: IN THIS PLACE ~ a Poem

There is so much to fear --
such as boils on the doorknobs
and the negative opinion
of the redheaded house finch
beaking green seed on the drive
in the golden dawn --
Or the insistent current of the murky river
which has swept so many tired
and truth-drunk swimmers toward
the effervescing salts of temporal oblivion

Inside off the pavements
having given limping nature its due
hot girls rock their roles in scanty pants
their baby doll voices clashing with their flashing asses

Interior rhyme has indentured itself
to another term of service in the cellars
of the parlors de tattoo
where stacks of chapbooks gather dust
on counters beaded with the dew of diligence --
Your inseam doesn’t cut it in such a world

I suggest that you find a flint
and strike a spark to fan a flame
to run along the cutting edge
of your rhetorical blueprint
to proof it with extreme prejudice
to add the weight of its ash
to the mass of what matters
anchoring you safely here below
the realm of the flesh-eating angels

The atheist knows in his heart
that he’s no more than a bug
in mother nature’s shaggy muff
but I’m not there yet --
Don’t talk to me of trees like men walking
when the precise re-verse is Gospel legend

Cultivate your signature flaw
as you would your favorite fetish --
Never doubt that you are hated
and be left without a reason to lie
scorned by even the lip-reading deaf

It is always time for lunch
and you still can’t afford it
if you need to ask why.