All Over the Place: “Rhymes” & “A Meditation ....” from The Katy Trail...

By Michael H. Brownstein



Rhymes

Some inspire beauty, poetic rhyme;

others, decay and odor.

Wonder comes with word and action;

depression and destruction

the bath of broken skylines.

Treading with Our Ancestors

Quote Unquote

By Moristotle

While working on the last two days’ poems, “For My Grandmother Effie” and “Grandmothers Galore,” I googled ancestor quotes. What follows is a short selection that seemed proximate to the path my mind was treading.

Grandmothers Galore (a poem)

“The Thinker,”
by Auguste Rodin

By Moristotle

[After reading “Religion and Family Strife” again when I republished it on April 10, I started writing the poem “For My Grandmother Effie,” early in the course of which I reminded myself how many other grandmothers we all have if we go back a few centuries: 2 grandmothers in the generation preceding our parents, doubling each generation back –

4;   8;   16;   32;   64;   128;   256;   512;   1,024;   …    1,048,576;   … 

and that’s going back only about 500 years and assuming 25-year generations.]

Our grandmothers go back from two to four,
And go on from there, re-doubling to more.
    Mama’s mama I knew at first hand,

    But Papa’s passed too early to sand,
Like all those thousands and millions before

Copyright © 2023 by Moristotle

For My Grandmother Effie

Effie Dickey Dean
10/25/1884 – 10/26/1951

By Moristotle

My father’s mother became distant to me

in a way that can happen between a woman

and her mother-in-law to be,

especially one strong and outspoken

like Effie Dickey Dean,

who made her opinions known,

like the poet James Dickey she might have been related to,

who said if anything he wrote sounded like Robert Frost

he would flush it down the toilet.

Hobnobbing with the Philosophers: The Windbreaker

Detail from “The School of Athens”
a fresco by Raphael (1483 – 1520)
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]

By Maik Strosahl

Last Monday, I was sorting through yet another box when I stumbled across one of the first pieces I ever had published.
    I graduated from high school in 1986. Shortly before I did, on my 18^th birthday, I stopped into The Moline Daily Dispatch to turn in my 30-day notice of giving up my paper route. The Circulation Director, Hal Wilkerson called me into his office.
    He asked me what my plans were after graduation, already knowing he did not receive the application for the newspaper scholarship that I had previously told him I was working towards. I explained that I needed to help out at home. Times were tough and my parents still had four more coming behind me. He told me that not getting a degree would be the only thing that would hold me back from taking his job one day, but told me if I needed work, he had something for me. All I needed to do is show up the day after receiving my diploma.

Fiction: Stitched Up

Thanks for the cover
of the April 13, 2023
New Yorker magazine

By Claude May

As far as we have been able to ascertain, the members of the committee known as The Protectors gathered sometime very early in 2019 near Richmond, Virginia, at the home of their Chairman. Most of those present were of the committee’s third generation.
    We have established that the committee considered it their obligation to serve the Union, to keep its flag stitched together. They rarely gathered, but when they did, it was on a matter of the direst importance.

Jesus on a High (flash fiction)

Painting by Jose Luis Castrillo

By Moristotle

“Religion is the opium of the people.” —Karl Marx

Pastor Greg wanted a church.
    A stranger came calling. “The lord wants you. He will fund construction and provide staff.”
    Pastor Greg gave praise. The church was built, and he went to work.
    A bigger church was constructed, the first one sold quickly, and Pastor Greg stepped up, ecstatic to follow his calling.
    He thought the ushers were joking about “laundry bags.”
    The cartel boss marveled that Pastor Greg was as high as the users of his cocaine, heroin, and meth. He hoped they didn’t hear about the pastor’s religion thing.

Copyright © 2023 by Moristotle

All Over the Place: “Ambitions”from The Katy Trail...

By Michael H. Brownstein

Ambitions

All my life

the low stung tree on the hilltop,

the river birch near the stream,

one mulberry tree in a field.

White branches no longer able to hold a weight in leaf,

the birch dips its roots into water,

the mulberry plans its invasion.

The path lacks shade,

the path lacks humor,

honor a seed hibernating into soil until its time of need.

Copyright © 2013, 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.

Acting Citizen: No Matter Who You Are

By James Knudsen

Equality, or the lack of equality, or the prevalence of inequality, is a common topic lately. Eventually, as in before my Apple watch has marked the passage of another 24 hours, I’ll get around to considering this issue. Acting provides a good vantage point from which to consider inequality. Inequality is everywhere. Pay equity exists for union actors – acting for scale. But there are scores of actors who perform for free, and only a rarefied few who command seven-figure salaries for one film. Choice roles are distributed unequally, as is effective representation…and talent.

Aristarchus of Samos

Click image to read text

In Harness with
Earth Day Tomorrow

By Moristotle

[I debated whether to byline this post “Moristarchus,” in homage to Aristarchus for inspiring today’s announcement, but decided that would be too energetic a song to sing, too big a planet, too large an orbit to assume.]

“Acts of Love” Honorably Mentioned

By Moristotle

“Acts of Love,” my entry for the State Library of North Carolina 2022 Writing Contest, did not place among the winners, but it did receive an honorable mention, for which I am grateful.

    “Acts of Love” had nowhere near the substance of 2021’s resolute march through the rugged terrain of philosophical argument, so I did not expect a repeat of last year’s report that “‘Goines On’ Goes On to Win [the] State Library of North Carolina 2021 Writing Contest.” I suppose that the desperate meta-fictional twist I pulled off in “Acts of Love” captured an honorable mention by virtue of its “creativity” (the statement shown below lists the qualities the judges look for).

Hobnobbing with the Philosophers: Tewaaraton

Detail from “The School of Athens”
a fresco by Raphael (1483 – 1520)
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]

By Maik Strosahl

While seeking inspiration among the many art pieces at the former National Art Museum of Sports (NAMOS) in Indianapolis, I came across a sculpture of a Native American engaged in a game with a netted stick.
    I reached out to the artist Frederick Kail, who provided front and back photos of the original piece, titled “Attack!” (shown below). He is also known for making the trophy given annually to the top men’s and women’s Lacrosse players, and the famous “Joe Jolter” statues that were the first licensed figure of the NFL, back in 1961.

All Over the Place:A Faith of Brightness

By Michael H. Brownstein

In honor of Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom Hashoah)

Soot poured from the large chimneys.

Coloring clouds distemper and black.

The men in the camp did their labor

Thankful for the cover of shade,

But each man also saw the slim light from the sky

Watching over them and it gave them substance.

From “The Scratching Post”: Free will

By Ken Marks

[From the original on The Scratching Post, April 14, 2023, published here by permission of the author.]

Norm and I have been friends since high school. We still see each other occasionally, and a few weeks ago, we had Norm and his wife, Susan, at our house for dinner. Afterward we sat and talked in our family room. Inevitably, the conversation became political. I say inevitably because Norm is to the left of me, and only politically obsessed people are to the left of me.
    Norm had the shootings at the Nashville Covenant School on his mind. I knew he’d been agonizing over it because our gun culture is the hottest of his hot buttons. He wants the government to seize every firearm in the country with no questions asked. After that, he’s OK with allowing a federal agency to issue gun licenses, but only under the most extreme circumstances – like, you’re a celebrity with a history of being stalked or a gay living in Buffalo, N.Y.¹ I’d be much more lenient with gun owners. You can own a gun but only a hand gun. No clips over 8 rounds. No history of antisocial behavior or mental illness. Licensing, registration, and gun insurance required.
    Norm and I went back and forth about whose gun control plan was better, and then the conversation took an unforeseen turn …²

Norm: Ya know what I will never understand, Ken? How can anyone decide to kill innocent people, and complete strangers besides? Yeah, I know what you’ll say. Many shootings are simply hate crimes, but still … the victims probably had loved ones and dreams of the future. And many, especially children, don’t have an unkind bone in their bodies. How can anyone choose to do something so evil?

Me: You say “decide” and “choose,” Norm. It sounds like you believe the shooter acted with volition; she had a free choice, to kill or not to kill, and she chose to kill – consciously, deliberately.....
______________
[Read the rest on The Scratching Post.]

Copyright © 2023 by Ken Marks Ken Marks was a contributing editor with Paul Clark & Tom Lowe when “Moristotle” became “Moristotle & Co.” A brilliant photographer, witty conversationalist, and elegant writer, Ken contributed photographs, essays, and commentaries from mid-2008 through 2012. Late in 2013, Ken birthed the blog The Scratching Post. He also posts albums of his photos on Flickr.

All Over the Place: “Pilgrimage”from The Katy Trail...

By Michael H. Brownstein

Pilgrimage

I do not know who I am, but I do know

I am not the red winged blackbird scaling the tall grass near the road

or the snail slug attached to the undergrowth of a brick.

Nor am I the rat dependent on a prisoner for care.

Hard and fast I find myself, a garden gate swinging open unexpectedly,

Pianist (a sonnet)

By Eric Meub

You’ll practice a sonata hours on end—

Your fingers plucking clustered harmonies

From music books and banks of ivory keys—

But I’m not jealous of the time you spend.

You’ll master Mozart, Chopin, Debussy,

And then, one fine September, polish off

The Third Concerto of Rachmaninoff,

But I don’t envy virtuosity.

What Did You and Your WifeDo on Monday? (a poem)

Near Southport's Provision Company

10 Anniversaries
Ago Tomorrow, 

Again Celebrated
in Sestina

By Moristotle

[I wrote the sestina below to commemorate my wife’s and my 47th wedding anniversary. In the form of an interview, it was published on April 17, 2013, under the heading “Ask Wednesday: A husband on what he and his wife did Monday.”
    According to one of the 14 comments on the original post, this sestina was nearly the 10^th I had written in the short time since I discovered the form.]

Roger’s Reality: Crazy Jack

By Roger Owens

Jack was called Crazy Jack because Jack was, well, crazy. “As a shithouse rat,” he’d say, after introducing himself as Crazy Jack. In 1972, at the age of seventeen, Jack had been sent on an all-expenses-paid vacation to Southeast Asia, courtesy of the US Army. The things he had seen and done there had permanently rearranged the contents of his head, and definitely not for the better.

Hobnobbing with the Philosophers: The Path of St. Vincent

Detail from “The School of Athens”
a fresco by Raphael (1483 – 1520)
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]

By Maik Strosahl



Let’s just cut to the chase on this one. I blame Bob Boldt.
    I had a really hard day at work and woke up around 11:45, tossed and turned for about half an hour, got up and looked at my social media. Dang it if Bob didn’t change his background and now I am wide awake!
    It’s a piece of artwork titled “The Path of St Vincent,” which Bob produced with black and colored inks flowing out of that creative mind of his.

Goines On: Anonymous

Click image for more vignettes

“I’m amazed you didn’t know it was me,” read one sentence in the final of a series of anonymous comments.
    And Goines didn’t know who it was. Not Steve, whose comments were always short. Not Ben, who would have identified himself as well as crafted his words more skillfully. Not one of his cousins, who always identified themselves. Not Benny, who rarely used an exclamation mark....

    It was either someone whom Goines actually did know or a clever imposter – someone who had at least read the column being commented on. (“He”? Goines thought it was.)

Religion and Family Strife

Love Must Overcome

By Dawn Story Burke

[Editor’s Note: My niece wrote this compassionate essay for our Thor’s Day column a bit over ten years ago, on April 4, 2013, and its subject matter seemed pertinent to this Easter time of our current year.]

Last week, I got to emailing with an aunt, an uncle, and a cousin about going to church on Easter. Or, more specifically, about going to church without one’s spouse.

All Over the Place: “Fragments”from The Katy Trail...

By Michael H. Brownstein



Fragments

l.

The dust on the path has not transformed itself to anything but dust, no rain for weeks, the sun a magnifying glass peeling back my skin.

In Pursuit of Ecstasy

By Chuck Smythe

[Editor’s Note: I posted Chuck Smythe’s musing, “Second Monday Music: In pursuit of ecstasy,” ten years ago, on April 7, 2013. I repost it today, on my father’s 118^th birthday, not only in remembrance of my father, but also in recognition of ecstasy as a forever pursuit.]

“The Tao of which one can speak is not the Tao.” Thus Lao Tzu began the Tao Te Ching—then went on to speak of the Tao at great length.

38 (Now 53) Years Ago (When I Was 27)

Companion piece
with Ed Roger’s
post yesterday

[I discovered the February 10, 2008 post, “38 years ago (when I was 27),” when I was looking up Janis Joplin relative to Ed Roger’s re-post yesterday.
    I was also reminded that the original date of publication was my mother’s 100^th birthday.
    Note that I no longer maintain a list of movies watched; hence, the rewording of the opening.]

By Moristotle

The Sixties

50 & 60 years later

By Ed Rogers

[10 years ago (on April 2, 2013), Ed Rogers remembered the Sixties. This re-run of his “Tuesday Voice ‘The Sixties’” gives us [and him] a chance to remember (or imagine) them again: the Vietnam War, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, marijuana….]

Reflecting back on my life, as most of us old farts do, I realized that most people only know about the sixties through history books, newspapers, or bullshit stories that people like me tell. I don’t claim to have been in the belly of the beast, but I had a hold of its tail.

Hobnobbing with the Philosophers: Chet

Detail from “The School of Athens”
a fresco by Raphael (1483 – 1520)
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]

By Maik Strosahl

I don’t remember why I first looked up the letter Chet in the Hebrew alphabet (or aleph-bet), but I thought it interesting enough to write about.
    Chet is the eighth letter and it has a shape like a doorway where the blood of the lamb was daubed during the first passover. It is said to be the letter of life (Chayim) and living (Chayah).
    I remember growing up learning about all the stories of the Old Testament and New, the enslavement of the Israelites and their deliverance after the ten plagues that befell the Egyptians. I had a big yellow book with illustrations titled “My Book of Bible Stories” that detailed all of these events, culminating with the miracle crossing of the Red Sea and the shattering of the Pharaoh’s armies when the waters closed back over their chariots and the sea bed.

Goines On: Cassandra

Cassandra by Evelyn De Morgan
(1898, London)
Click image for more vignettes

“Hello, Mr. Goines? This is Cassandra, from TurboTax, calling about your feedback.”
    Goines’ phone had rung as he was brushing his hair.
    He had parked it on the washstand out of some feeling that he needed it close – had he foreseen this? Not that he knew. Mark up another one for serendipity: unexplained, mysterious, unknowable.
    “Cassandra! Thank you! I just stepped out of the shower and am practically naked. Is that a problem for you?”
    “Uh, no. Do you need a minute to rest and catch your breath?”

Interview: Now, I ask you!

What’s an 

ethical person 

to do?

By Moristotle

[This “Ask Wednesday” post of 10 years ago today (April 3, 2013) seems to me reminiscent of Goines’ TurboTax squabble of this year.]

All Over the Place: “Why We Do What We Do” from The Katy Trail...

By Michael H. Brownstein

Why We Do 

What We Do

The common theme is out of luck

as in a fishing hole without any fish

or a beautiful woman who locks

herself away to hide her ugliness.

Dust and acid killed the fish.

Lack of touch killed the woman.

Copyright © 2013, 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.

Babylon (a poem)

By Roger Owens

When I walked the streets of Babylon

I thought I walked in heaven.

All those young minds gleaming

From their beautiful heads.

Dreaming

Of all the myriad ways they would go.

Their waterfalls, their tidal waves,

Their landslides of learning