No god ever stated his will

 

July 8, 2004  (I was 59) 

No god ever stated his will

nor instructions for mankind

in any book composed by man

All inspiration for any written word

is as sacred as any other

Any claims of divine right

to truth to land to favoritism

or future promise are false

Ordination of things to come  

are fabrications of ego

as are claims of doing god’s work

Faith is the tool by which some impose belief

when rational argument fails

Ritual is the glue of reinforced unity

To use god as justification

for ideology or action or restriction

is a manifestation of greed

Reasons for adopting civil behavior

are more immediate than eternal payoffs

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

 

from this week in June, 2004 (I was 59)

 

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

This morning I took a hit

contemplating travels of an entire year

a big year of geographical movement for me

I sat smoking in mid river

to realize again a truth of successful travel

Allow possession of self to place

See what the river is doing

what the trees are doing in relation to the river.

For a time be possessed by the river

the meandering the eddies the rills

the cataracts the swells the roar and trickle

of the moment sharing the this of it

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

 

June 19, 2004 (I was 59)

 

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

         Love and frustration define holes at Heritage, a superb plantation

course.  Some difficult forced carries and deceptive shot choices, puzzling

even after a number of plays.  Bermuda greens with subtle breaks right

at the hole are a part of the test here.  Three hundred year old oaks,

emotion-laden plantation history, lowland humidity, cobalt sky with drifting

puffs of cloud, alligator ponds, a killer course with deceptive shot choices

and potato chip shaped greens in the burn of summer.  A genuine taste of

the South Carolina low-country golf experience.

         Willbrook is another definitive plantation course with moss

laden oaks, meandering stream and dark reflective ponds on grounds

replete with historic markers to recall details of the old plantation life.

You don’t want a ball in the sweaty, snaky, insect-infested wetland.

Nor do you want to miss the feeling of a golf round in the setting golden

sun on the idyllic last day of a great pair of weeks.  I played nineteen

full rounds and nine more holes in twelve days of golf, not a trip

record, but more than satisfying.

 

I used to say when I didn’t know it was true

 

January 25, 2004  (I was 59)

 

I used to say when I didn’t know it was true

Parents don’t own their children

they are merely allowed to watch over them awhile

I based the assumption upon my perceptions as a child

demanding freedom without responsibility

Freedom will make its own demands upon youth

Responsibility is the gift of parenthood

Childless adults must work to attain it

I have seen them overbearing at work in civic groups

and with their surrogate pets

Some had children now gone from their lives

grown and matured into separateness

or divided by a wider disconnection

Some pathways to our gods do not cross

Some coldness requires particular insulation

individuality periods of exclusion

Life that ironic playwright casts players in multiple roles

to be played with conviction from opposing points of view

sometimes simultaneously

If one wishes to criticize the script accusations abound

If guilt is demanded there is enough both coming and going

If comprehension is to be found

it is not because it is sitting there out in the open

The house has become a terminal

 

from this week in July, 2004 (I was 59)

 

The house has become a terminal

with homey conveniences but a shortage of parking

Who’s in for how long and where are they going next

Time enough to get some laundry done

but not enough to schedule electrical repairs

Feed the cats and keep them in the hanger at night

It’s the little things you can’t do half a hemisphere away

There the picture appears larger

in wider perspective and broader citizenship

We find ourselves in closer proximity  

Yosemite Valley

 

June 22, 2004  (I was 59)

 

Yosemite Valley

Entering the valley down highway 120

upon reaching the floor and the Merced River

Dylan sang Forever Young

in both versions from Planet Waves

We stopped at the chapel

Where our small marriage began to grow

twenty-five years ago 

I left the car windows open

We entered the building

wept smiling         

and reaffirmed a vow

that needed only eye contact and hands squeezed

We found another couple

to take our picture on the chapel steps

where the view of Yosemite Falls

is a natural reminder

of the power and fragility of permanence

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

from this week in June, 2004 (I was 59)

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

This morning I took a hit

contemplating travels of an entire year

a big year of geographical movement for me

I sat smoking in mid river

to realize again a truth of successful travel

Allow possession of self to place

See what the river is doing

what the trees are doing in relation to the river.

For a time be possessed by the river

the meandering the eddies the rills

the cataracts the swells the roar and trickle

of the moment sharing the this of it

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

June 19, 2004 (I was 59)

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

         Love and frustration define holes at Heritage, a superb plantation

course.  Some difficult forced carries and deceptive shot choices, puzzling

even after a number of plays.  Bermuda greens with subtle breaks right

at the hole are a part of the test here.  Three hundred year old oaks,

emotion-laden plantation history, lowland humidity, cobalt sky with drifting

puffs of cloud, alligator ponds, a killer course with deceptive shot choices

and potato chip shaped greens in the burn of summer.  A genuine taste of

the South Carolina low-country golf experience.

         Willbrook is another definitive plantation course with moss

laden oaks, meandering stream and dark reflective ponds on grounds

replete with historic markers to recall details of the old plantation life.

You don’t want a ball in the sweaty, snaky, insect-infested wetland.

Nor do you want to miss the feeling of a golf round in the setting golden

sun on the idyllic last day of a great pair of weeks.  I played nineteen

full rounds and nine more holes in twelve days of golf, not a trip

record, but more than satisfying.

I used to say when I didn’t know it was true

January 25, 2004  (I was 59)

I used to say when I didn’t know it was true

Parents don’t own their children

they are merely allowed to watch over them awhile

I based the assumption upon my perceptions as a child

demanding freedom without responsibility

Freedom will make its own demands upon youth

Responsibility is the gift of parenthood

Childless adults must work to attain it

I have seen them overbearing at work in civic groups

and with their surrogate pets

Some had children now gone from their lives

grown and matured into separateness

or divided by a wider disconnection

Some pathways to our gods do not cross

Some coldness requires particular insulation

individuality periods of exclusion

Life that ironic playwright casts players in multiple roles

to be played with conviction from opposing points of view

sometimes simultaneously

If one wishes to criticize the script accusations abound

If guilt is demanded there is enough both coming and going

If comprehension is to be found

it is not because it is sitting there out in the open

The house has become a terminal

from this week in July, 2004 (I was 59)

The house has become a terminal

with homey conveniences but a shortage of parking

Who’s in for how long and where are they going next

Time enough to get some laundry done

but not enough to schedule electrical repairs

Feed the cats and keep them in the hanger at night

It’s the little things you can’t do half a hemisphere away

There the picture appears larger

in wider perspective and broader citizenship

We find ourselves in closer proximity  

Yosemite Valley

June 22, 2004  (I was 59)

                          

Yosemite Valley

Entering the valley down highway 120

upon reaching the floor and the Merced River

Dylan sang Forever Young

in both versions from Planet Waves

We stopped at the chapel

Where our small marriage began to grow

twenty-five years ago* 

I left the car windows open

We entered the building

wept smiling         

and reaffirmed a vow

that needed only eye contact and hands squeezed

We found another couple

to take our picture on the chapel steps

where the view of Yosemite Falls

is a natural reminder

of the power and fragility of permanence 

         * it's now been forty years ago today...

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

from this week in June, 2004 (I was 59)

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

This morning I took a hit

contemplating travels of an entire year

a big year of geographical movement for me

I sat smoking in mid river

to realize again a truth of successful travel

Allow possession of self to place

See what the river is doing

what the trees are doing in relation to the river.

For a time be possessed by the river

the meandering the eddies the rills

the cataracts the swells the roar and trickle

of the moment sharing the this of it

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

June 19, 2004 (I was 59)

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

            Love and frustration define holes at Heritage, a superb plantation

course.  Some difficult forced carries and deceptive shot choices, puzzling

even after a number of plays.  Bermuda greens with subtle breaks right

at the hole are a part of the test here.  Three hundred year old oaks,

emotion-laden plantation history, lowland humidity, cobalt sky with drifting

puffs of cloud, alligator ponds, a killer course with deceptive shot choices

and potato chip shaped greens in the burn of summer.  A genuine taste of

the South Carolina low-country golf experience.

            Willbrook is another definitive plantation course with moss

laden oaks, meandering stream and dark reflective ponds on grounds

replete with historic markers to recall details of the old plantation life.

You don’t want a ball in the sweaty, snaky, insect-infested wetland.

Nor do you want to miss the feeling of a golf round in the setting golden

sun on the idyllic last day of a great pair of weeks.  I played nineteen

full rounds and nine more holes in twelve days of golf, not a trip

record, but more than satisfying.

I used to say when I didn’t know it was true

January 25, 2004  (I was 59)

I used to say when I didn’t know it was true

Parents don’t own their children

they are merely allowed to watch over them awhile

I based the assumption upon my perceptions as a child

demanding freedom without responsibility

Freedom will make its own demands upon youth

Responsibility is the gift of parenthood

Childless adults must work to attain it

I have seen them overbearing at work in civic groups

and with their surrogate pets

Some had children now gone from their lives

grown and matured into separateness

or divided by a wider disconnection

Some pathways to our gods do not cross

Some coldness requires particular insulation

individuality periods of exclusion

Life that ironic playwright casts players in multiple roles

to be played with conviction from opposing points of view

sometimes simultaneously

If one wishes to criticize the script accusations abound

If guilt is demanded there is enough both coming and going

If comprehension is to be found

it is not because it is sitting there out in the open

Yosemite Valley

June 22, 2004  (I was 59)

Yosemite Valley

Entering the valley down highway 120

upon reaching the floor and the Merced River

Dylan sang Forever Young

in both versions from Planet Waves

We stopped at the chapel

Where our small marriage began to grow

twenty-five years ago 

I left the car windows open

We entered the building

wept smiling                 

and reaffirmed a vow

that needed only eye contact and hands squeezed

We found another couple

to take our picture on the chapel steps

where the view of Yosemite Falls

is a natural reminder

of the power and fragility of permanence

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

from this week in June, 2004 (I was 59)

  

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

This morning I took a hit

contemplating travels of an entire year

a big year of geographical movement for me

I sat smoking in mid river

to realize again a truth of successful travel

Allow possession of self to place

See what the river is doing

what the trees are doing in relation to the river.

For a time be possessed by the river

the meandering the eddies the rills

the cataracts the swells the roar and trickle

of the moment sharing the this of it

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

June 19, 2004 (I was 59)

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

         Love and frustration define holes at Heritage, a superb plantation

course.  Some difficult forced carries and deceptive shot choices, puzzling

even after a number of plays.  Bermuda greens with subtle breaks right

at the hole are a part of the test here.  Three hundred year old oaks,

emotion-laden plantation history, lowland humidity, cobalt sky with drifting

puffs of cloud, alligator ponds, a killer course with deceptive shot choices

and potato chip shaped greens in the burn of summer.  A genuine taste of

the South Carolina low-country golf experience.

         Willbrook is another definitive plantation course with moss

laden oaks, meandering stream and dark reflective ponds on grounds

replete with historic markers to recall details of the old plantation life.

You don’t want a ball in the sweaty, snaky, insect-infested wetland.

Nor do you want to miss the feeling of a golf round in the setting golden

sun on the idyllic last day of a great pair of weeks.  I played nineteen

full rounds and nine more holes in twelve days of golf, not a trip

record, but more than satisfying.