Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Behaviour, Technology & Population: The Environmental Triad

In 1966, Harry Harrison wrote a novella entitled Make Room! Make Room!, which, in 1973, became the film Soylent Green. Both depict dystopian societies in which the failure to check population growth and ensure sustainable development has resulted in chronic overcrowding, desperate resource shortages, and collapsing infrastructure. But Soylent Green made one significant departure from Harrison’s novel: it introduced the notion of global warming. Indeed, the plot turns on the fact that Soylent Green, a plankton-based food substitute, is actually made using human bodies obtained from state-run euthanasia centres - because global warming has killed off the world’s plankton supplies.

Both Make Room! Make Room! and Soylent Green have been criticized as overly dependent on Malthusian notions of exponential population growth, and for failing to take account of the remedial effect of increasing technological efficiency. But these criticisms fail to acknowledge the essential truth in both the novel and film: that environmental degradation is largely a product of the First World’s profligacy; and that technology alone cannot solve the ecological dilemma by which humanity is confronted.

These truths are relevant to Australia in two key respects. The Howard Government has declined to endorse the Kyoto protocols on global warming on the grounds that they don’t do enough to limit Third World greenhouse emissions. But the question immediately arises: why should Kyoto place similar limits on the Third World when it is the First World that is largely responsible for the pollution that has destabilized the global environment? Australia is the world’s largest per capita polluter; the United States is the world’s largest net polluter. The onus is surely on both societies to take the lead in reducing greenhouse gas emissions.

Secondly, the Federal Government is also making serious noises about building nuclear fission power stations as a "solution" to global warming, as well as indulging in speculation about the possibilities of geo-sequestration. This reflects a worrying obsession with the "quick fix" of technology instead of a preparedness to adopt the hard grind of behavioural change. The approach seems to be: let’s close our eyes and hope someone comes up with a clever invention that gets us out of this mess.

Moreover, population, for all its Malthusian overtones, remains an issue. Much hand-wringing occurs over the alleged failure by First World nations to sustain "replacement level" birth rates; the simple truth, however, is that there are too many people on this planet. Advanced industrial civilizations are mass consumers of resources, regardless of technological efficiency; therefore, mass population only exacerbates the negative effects of mass consumption. In other words, it is simply not possible – never mind sustainable - for the present global population to exist at First World levels of industrial capacity and material prosperity. And nothing we do to make technology more efficient, or our behaviour less wasteful, will change that fact in the longer term.

Thus, a long-term solution to environmental degradation will necessarily involve not just technological initiatives and changes to societal behaviour, but also a commitment to getting the global population levels down. And this is perhaps the most problematic aspect of the environmental dilemma, involving as it invariably must, difficult ethical issues. But the only way meaningful population decrease can be humanely achieved is through managed processes; that is, if we want to avoid the ghastly agencies of war, famine, and disease in the wake of environmental collapse – or the mechanical mass euthanasia depicted in Soylent Green.

The implications of Harrison’s novel and the film it spawned should be clear to most Australians. Aside from noticeable changes to weather patterns that have seen record dry winters and an unprecedented early start to the bushfire season in south-eastern Australia, there has been much media coverage of the Queensland Government’s decision to dam the Mary Valley, and of the dire warnings contained in the recently released Stern report. Australians are aware, as never before, of the consequences of environmental change – and of the long-term inability of technology alone to ward off the worst effects of global warming.

It now appears that at least some political fingers are starting to get twitchy on the panic button. The only question is whether this twitchiness is derived from a realization that we need to do something, or just reflects the politician’s instinct to bend in the immediate breeze of the vox populi.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: In skating over thin ice, our safety is in our speed. (Ralph Waldo Emmerson)

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Birds of a Feather

As human beings, we all have faults and foibles. Some of these are more forgivable than others: but there's one particular aspect of human behaviour that, while it might not rate highly on the importance scale, is number one with a bullet on the annoyance index.

I refer to this specific behaviour as cinema syndrome. Catchy name, isn't it? I define cinema syndrome as the inevitable propensity for people to gather in a space guaranteed to cause other people maximum inconvenience. As a plague, it doesn't kill, main, or injure; but it does annoy, irritate, and frustrate the bejeezers out of you. In fact, I'm willing to bet the irritability caused by cinema syndrome has resulted in more than one person thus afflicted doing something really stupid: such as having a catastrophic row with their spouse, for example, or driving while still in the grip of a rage, thus endangering themselves and others.

What the hell am I talking about? I hear you wonder. Well, let me give you a common example.

Have you ever noticed when you go the flicks that, after the film, people don't file out of the cinema and walk into the wide open spaces of the foyer? Instead, they congregate around the exit, impeding the flow of traffic out of the cinema while they dither about whether or not they need to go to the toilet, or engage in otherwise useless activities such as rubbernecking for friends or family members from whom they have somehow become separated in the interval between leaving their seat and exiting the cinema. Others just stand there talking, right in the middle of the exit, utterly oblivious to the people trying to leave and whose path they are blocking. Worse still, if in trying to get past this obstacle of stationary thoughtlessness, you have the temerity to ask them (however politely) to make way, they give you looks of such lethality the hair on the back of your neck shrivels up and dies.

This is what I mean when I talk about cinema syndrome. It happens at the movies, at the theatre, at rock concerts and orchestral recitals. Any place where you combine large numbers of people with small exits. People can't seem to help themselves: they just stand there making life difficult for the rest of us.

Mind you, cinema syndrome doesn't just happen at the locale for which it is named. It also occurs, for example, on public transport. School kids are notorious for congregating in the doorways and cluttering up the floorspace with their bags, making a virtual obstacle course of any train or tram in which they happen to be travelling. And, yes, I know that often they have little choice because the train/tram is either full anyway, or the size of their schoolbags makes standing anywhere else rather difficult. Frankly, however, I've witnessed too many examples of students (and, it has to be admitted, other passengers) who've quite deliberately positioned themselves right next to the doors because they were too lazy to move to the back of the carriage, or because public safety was less important than the opportunity to gossip afforded by congregating in the entrance. And, for the record, I've also seen enough examples of people nearly breaking their necks as a consequence of being forced to negotiate the labyrinth of bags and students for me to know whereof I speak.

Cinema syndrome also occurs on the footpath. Melbourne's CBD is blessed by having nice wide footpaths; however, some people think this is an excuse to engage in a particularly infuriating form of mobile loitering. And that's not an oxymoron, either; it actually happens. Just ask any person who's been running late for an appointment, or who has otherwise had somewhere they need to get to as a matter of urgency: they'll tell you they'll inevitably encounter a group of people strung out across the whole footpath, strolling along at a genteel pace and idly chatting to one another as though no-one else has anywhere to go. And the most annoying thing is that this oblivion to the needs of others forces you either to go around the offending group by stepping out into the road (and thus into the path of any traffic), or else come across like a pushy bastard by squeezing your way through their strolling skirmish line. And you just know that if you do the former you'll be subjected to bemused looks and thoughts along the lines of "what an idiot"; while, if you adopt the latter course, you risk scorching the back of your head with their glares of outraged propriety.

Not that I'm advocating people should be pushy or aggressive, nor that we should live our lives at the pace of a hundred meter sprinter on acid. However, I really don't think it's too much to ask to suggest that perhaps folks ought to be a tad more aware of their surroundings. Congregate in spaces designed for the purpose: ie, foyers, not doorways! And if you're out and about with a group of friends, by all means walk at your own pace - just don't take up the whole footpath while you do it. That's all I'm asking for: just a teensy, weensy bit of consideration...

Anyhoo, I gotta go. I've just inspired myself to get out there and suggest to my fellow citizens that they stop clogging the s-bend of society.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: Moral indignation is 2% moral, 48% indignation, and 50% envy. (Vittoria de Sica)

Monday, November 20, 2006

Three Poems II

Entropy

It's not the fact that now you walk
with someone else. Nor yet,
that when you kiss, the pain and pleasure
etched upon your face
ripples through the space-time of my love.

It's not the fact that memories of love
grow cold. Nor yet,
that when I think, the image of your face
slowly decays, and carbon-14 dates the time
when you and I -

The prehistory of my heart leaves no trace.
It's only when I wake
and fine her here, cradled in my arms,
I know the thing:

a white dwarf,
dying amid the matter of itself,
outward bound.


Sentinel

What could be more innocent than this?
Love's terrible beauty,
measured in your body's form,
lies next to me.

My arms enclose your waist;
your quick, silent breaths,
patterned to the rhythm of your dreams,
encircle me.

The texture of your tongue and mouth,
the perfume of your hair,
the warmth of eyes now closed
and dwelling on your dreams -

I keep them close, sacred and loved.
Precious one, this is why I lie awake
tonight: to see your aching loveliness,
so vulnerable, yet safe.


Amateur

Dark shapes
hunched against the night:
man and telescope,
we gaze into the sky,
hoping what we find
will resonate with truth.

Do we do this
thinking that we better humankind?
That if
we stare into the dark,
we'll find that point of light

familiar to us all?
Who thinks such thoughts
at times like this?
We see by light
refracted from the red,
the Doppler wail an old cadence:

the siren song of life.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Like Sand Through the Hourglass....

Today marks the beginning of the countdown.

Not to the forthcoming Victorian state election. As if I could be bothered with the public policy auction between the right-wing Alternative Liberal Party and the even more right wing Liberal In Name Only Party that constitutes an election campaign these days.

On the contrary, I am talking about the pending nuptials between myself and my Dearly Beloved. In one month from today, we shall be Mr and Mrs BB.

To mark the occasion, I thought I'd post this cartoon by Wiley. He's my favourite cartoonist since Larson, and I thought this one pretty well summed it up.



Let the countdown begin!

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: All tragedies are finish'd by a death. All comedies are ended by a marriage. (Lord Byron)

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Scenes from the South Island

In the New Year, my Dearly Beloved and I will be travelling to the Land of the Long Cloud - New Zealand.

Aside from Auckland, I've not really seen much of the North Island. However, I have travelled throughout the South Island; so, in anticipation of the forthcoming trip, I thought I'd look back through some of my old photos and select some of the best for your viewing pleasure.

That's the great thing about digital technology: although it has, seemingly, rendered conventional photography mostly obsolete, it has also enabled me to load up my old pics and store them electronically. So enjoy!



















































I look forward to bringing you some pics from the North Island in 07!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Of all noxious animals, too, the most noxious is the tourist. (Reverend Francis Kilvert)

Sunday, November 12, 2006

End Times

Last Friday was my last day as a trade union official.

It has been an emotional time, because I have been associated with the union movement for the better part of two decades. As a rank-and-file member, as a workplace delegate, as an elected honourary official, and as a paid official, I have spent the best part of my working life helping people in the often brutal environment of industrial relations. And I use the word brutal advisedly: I have witnessed some truly horrific and inhumane acts and omissions undertaken in the name of commercial advantage, operational efficiency, or simply as a consequence of the exercise of power.

But I have also seen some moving examples of integrity and compassion. I say this in all honesty: I have met very few HR professionals for whom I have any respect, simply because they were too cowardly, or indifferent, or stupid to conduct themselves with any independence from the corporate line. Most willingly subordinated themselves to being nothing more than the club in the managerial fist, and justified the fact by claiming they were only doing their job. Some, quite frankly, enjoyed the experience of power. But there were a precious few - about half a dozen or so whom I won't name, but if they read this blog will know who they are - who did not separate being a HR practitioner from also having a conscience, or treating people with dignity and respect. And, as time went on, it was these precious few whom I came to admire and respect, because, in many ways, they had a tougher job than I did. And sure, we didn't always agree on issues, and sometimes ended up in the Industrial Relations Commission contesting a dispute; but whether they agreed with me or not was never the issue. I knew these people always acted with principle and professionalism, and more than once they demonstrated their compassion toward people to whom it might have been very easy to be indifferent.

I have also had the immense privilege of working with some of the most talented, committed, and knowledgeable people one could ever hope to encounter in life. It has been inspiring and humbling to witness their commitment to the cause of human dignity, and I have often seen the terrible emotional price they paid for the sake of helping others. Of course, like all humans, trade union officials are not plaster saints: I have seen the incompetent or the indifferent, those who were not cut out for the job and those who simply viewed it as a step to somewhere else. But the overwhelming majority were motivated by an abiding desire to even the balance of bargaining power between the corporation and the individual, and to prevent the strong from victimising the helpless. And most conducted themselves with a courage and persistence and a self-sacrificing generosity that was wonderful to witness.

Ultimately, though, what kept me going were the numerous examples of courage and dignity which I saw displayed by so many ordinary working people under the most horrendous of circumstances. I have seen people bullied and victimised and terrorised who nonetheless refused to yield to fear or the cult of hierarchy; ordinary, everyday, remarkable people for whom their right to dignity was more important than security or popularity or the pressure to conform. And so often it was these same people who, when I thought I hadn't done enough, or achieved a sufficiently good result, told me with disarming honesty just what I had achieved, how much I had changed their lives for the better. The small results were so often the most significant: the mere fact that there had been someone on their side, someone to stand beside them and speak for them was what they most often appreciated. And that was moving and humbling and uplifting beyond my power to describe.

And so it hasn't been easy, making the decision to leave. But there have been other calls on my life growing within me for the last few years; calls which had always been there, but which I had briefly stilled through my work as a union official. But those calls can no longer be stilled. I do not know what the future holds; I have my hopes, but I am aware that I have not been made any promises, either. But, regardless of all that, I know the time has arrived: the roads and strands of consequence have converged, and I need to go forward toward that calling which I feel it is my life's destiny to serve. And so now I have aid aside one vocation, ready to pick up the new.

But perhaps it is not as simple as that. Perhaps the vocation of trade unionism has prepared me for the vocation of ministry; perhaps this is not an ending of one thing, but simply the beginning which toward which that thing was leading. Perhaps it is not a severing of strands but a tying off of loose ends, and their continuance in a new thread. But be that as it may, one thing is over and a new thing has begun; and I am grateful for the old and looking forward to the new.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: If we do meet again, why, we shall smile! If not, well then, this parting was well made. (William Shakespeare)

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

The Sadness of Pretence

In recent months, a number of prominent conservative politicians and religious figures in the US have been "exposed" in a series of sexual and political scandals. One thinks of Tom de Lay, who was involved in buying political influence and favours; of Mark Foley, who sent sexually inappropriate messages to teenage congressional aides while chairing an anti-child abuse committee; and, most recently, Ted Haggard, pastor of the conservative evangelical New Life megachurch, who has become embroiled in allegations of drug-fuelled trysts with a homosexual prostitute.

All these scandals have received high publicity for a number of reasons. One involves the predictable public fascination with the salacious; there is a certain voyeuristic element involved. But of especial note has been the satisfaction many have derived from the "downfall" of the men involved: seeing them tumble from their prominent positions, witnessing the "disgrace" of people who had previously asserted themselves as "guardians" of "moral values". I call this the You're no better than the rest of us syndrome. Others call it "tall poppy syndrome", or simply refer to the satisfaction many derive from seeing someone get their "come-uppance". Whatever you call it, there is no doubt that many derive gratification from the "shame" to which these "fallen" figures are exposed.

In one sense, this is understandable. Frequently, these figures have risen to prominence and sustained their influence by peddling to prejudice and fear, by engaging in "crusades" against "moral corruption" and "evils" within society. These activities frequently result in minorities or relatively defenceless sections of society being targeted for no other reason except that they make convenient scapegoats, or useful agencies through which the ambitious and unscrupulous might achieve their purpose. In these instances, people often regard it as "poetic justice" when a figure whom they have regarded as a "bully" or a "bigot" is exposed as having "skeletons in the closet".

Likewise, it is often satisfying to many to see that those whom we regard as having taken the "moral high tone" and indulged in "preaching" are themselves guilty of the very "sins" against which they have formerly railed. We are thus able to dismiss them as hypocrites and award to ourselves the moral "high ground" in the light of the "fallen" person's double standards.

Nor do I exclude myself from this practice. I have often smirked in self-satisfied affirmation upon hearing that this or that conservative politician or religious figure has been "found out". As a "progressive" who has often been vilified by "moral crusaders" (whether individually or as a member of a target group), there is a deep appeal to personal vanity and a sense of one's own righteousness when the other side's "towering figures" are found to have feet of clay.

But upon reflection, I find that this should not be the case - indeed, I should know better. For it seems to me that what these scandals reveal is not the hypocrisy of the people involved, but the sad, artificial pretense that certain theological and socio-political worldviews impose upon humans. Pretences that are a denial of reality - that are a denial of life - and which create impossible expectations which no mere mortal could live up to.

And I know this from my own experience. Many years ago, I knew a young woman who was a member of a conservative pentecostal Christian denomination. Indeed, her father was the pastor of the church she attended. But the more I came to know this young woman, the more I realised how dysfunctional her life was: a spiral of lies, deceit, shame, and despair generated by the fact that her "faith" demanded of her things which she could not possibly deliver and at the same time remain an integrated human being. For example, she was expected to be a virgin until she married; and yet, the "Christian" man she was at the time engaged to (and who was lauded by her parents as a "model" person), was both having elicit sex with her and putting pressure on her to keep the fact secret. Moreover, as time passed, she realised that she was not heterosexual but homosexual: this was her true sexual orientation, and the secret sex she was required to have with her then-fiancee was not only riddling her with guilt, it was damaging her self-identity. Eventually, and due to a variety of reasons, she developed alcohol and drug dependencies, all of which she kept secret from her parents; she could not tell them because she knew that any such admission would be seen as a "failure" on her part, a "shame" and a "disgrace" in which she had "let down" her parents and her church. They would not react with compassion and care and concern - despite the fact that her father was a pastor and her mother a counsellor - but with rage and condemnation.

Nor is this an isolated example. But the point of it is that it seems to me that the kinds of figures who frequently feature in scandals - especially "sex scandals" - are the very people who are worst affected by the artificial milieu created by frantically conservative moralism. In order to be a member of the church, in order to be "respectable" and "acceptable", they have to live a lie. And you cannot go on living a lie: either you will implode psychologically and emotionally, or someone will find out and "expose" you. Especially if you make a career out of pretending to be someone you're not.

Another is the so-called "saving myself for marriage" movement, wherein teenagers are encouraged to vow to "save" their virginity until marriage. I've seen kids as young as thirteen and fourteen wearing wedding bands as a "reminder" of their "vow". Is it just me, or does anyone else realise how unhealthily morbid this is? Aside from the actual obsession with sex and the impression it creates in vulnerable minds that sex is somehow "wicked" or "dirty", has it occurred to anyone how actually counter-productive it is? One survey I saw actually suggested that over 80% of teenagers in California who take such a vow "break" it within 12 months. Why? Because - it seems to me - the obsession with sex, with making it "forbidden", actually increases the potency of its allure; the more you depict something as "out of bounds", the more you make it the locus of otherwise unattainable thrills and excitement. In other words, the more you make it attractive.

And the result? Guilt, lies, deceit, secret double-lives, a cycle of shame and avoidance. Despite their bravado, no teenager likes to know their parents disapprove of them, or are ashamed of them. No teenager relishes the prospect of owning up to their mistakes - especially in the context of knowing they'll get not comfort and support but blame and recrimination. So having succumbed to temptation - a temptation created by the hysteria of the adult community - most teenagers in these circumstances will prefer to avoid the disappointment of their parents and just pretend it didn't happen, or that it won't happen again. Or, if it does, that their parents are "better off" not knowing. All too often, these situations end in tragedy - even if it's the tragedy of a person having to carry an unnecessary load of guilt and resentment with them for the rest of their lives.

I feel sorry for Ted Haggard and others like him. Not because he doesn't think like I do, or agree with my point of view. Just because he has a sad, warped view of "faith" that forces him to live a lie instead of as a complete and fulfilled human being.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: The more hidden the poison, the more dangerous it is. (Margaret de Valois)

Saturday, November 04, 2006

The Definition of Loneliness

I was recently summonsed for jury duty.

I've actually been looking forward to this for a long time. Ever since my name went onto the electoral roll, I've waited for my opportunity to undertake jury service. Not, I hasten to add, because I relished the opportunity to sit in judgement on any of my fellow citizens. On the contrary, I have always been aware of the terrible responsibility that frequently rests upon jurors, and my anticipation of jury service was anything but tinged with rose-coloured perception. Rather, I viewed jury service like voting: part of the simultaneous privilege and responsibility of citizenship. Serving in a jury would be both a reminder of my duty as a citizen to strengthen civil institutions through participation, and of my great good fortune of living in a democratic society where the legal process was underpinned by the involvement of the citizenry.

So wouldn't you just know it that when I finally do get summonsed, it couldn't have come at a worst time. Right in the middle of my theology exam. I had actually been anticipating that the exam would be concluded before I was due to report; but it was only after I received the summons that I discovered the exam would be running into the period after my jury service commenced. Accordingly, I was hoping - somewhat reluctantly, I have to admit - that on the day I was summonsed to attend, I wouldn't make it out of the general jury pool. Or, failing that, that I would be able to convince the court that I should be excused.

I and my fellow jurors gathered in the jury pool room. Eventually, the supervisor informed us that of the sixty or so people present, some forty of us would be selected at random to serve as a jury pool, from which a jury would be empanelled for a trial commencing that day. I waited as each name was called, my hope and anxiety in equal portions increasing as I escaped the calling of names...until, right toward the very end, I heard my own name. With a silent sigh, I answered to my name and took my place within the jury pool.

I won't tell you what court was involved, or the nature of the charge. Except to say it was a serious matter. As the jury pool filed into the courtroom, I found to my surprise that I was sitting next to the dock, within touching distance of the accused. I could hardly believe my eyes: the young person in the dock looked all of sixteen. Obviously, they must have been older, but all I saw in that moment was a vulnerable young kid.

Immediately, I was assailed by a wave of compassion. Regardless of who this person was, or what they were alleged to have done, I realised in that moment that here was an individual whose future had not merely been suspended, it had been changed completely, perhaps even eradicated. Obviously, I was conscious of the other side of this particular coin: of the victim of the alleged crime, and that person's family and friends. But as I examined the accused, I could see the emotions flickering across this young person's face: fear, anxiety, helplessness, and a sense of restlessness not unlike that one might expect from a caged animal. Nor was this person acting for the benefit of the jury: as it turned out, most of those who were to be empanelled sat with their back to the accused. I was one of the very few who could see this person's face, see their wide, staring eyes and apprehensive expression.

And the terrible, terrible loneliness. The accused sat in the dock at the back of the court. Their counsel sat at the bar table with the prosecutor at the front of the court, facing the judge. No-one sat with this young person except for a stolid guard who obviously wasn't there for moral support. The accused was utterly, completely, on their own. The fact that they were so young added poignancy to their isolation; they could see the whole court, see their counsel talking to one another, even on one occasion sharing a professional joke with the prosecutor. But this person had no-one to talk to, no-one with whom to share a reassuring smile or even a supportive squeeze of the hand. All they could do was follow the proceedings; and, during moments of intermission when the court's attention was occupied by other matters, contemplate their thoughts.

What was passing through this young person's mind? I wondered. Were they contemplating the possible future that lay before them if they were convicted? Were they wishing that if only they could have their time again, they would do anything other than be in the situation that had ended with them coming before the court? Were they thinking of family or friends? Of ruined prospects? Of the victim of the alleged crime and their family? Or were they simply too numb with fear, with the enormity of their current circumstances to think coherently?

I noted the nervously tapping fingers, the fidgeting feet, the occasionally bowed head. What state of mind did they reflect? What thoughts? What fears? I was overwhelmed; felt sick at heart, felt utterly wretched for this young person, and for the human condition that produces situations like this...

Eventually, my name was called. I explained my situation to the judge, and was excused. And with relief, I might add. I wanted no part of the terrible sadness I sensed was unfolding in this court.

Eventually, the jury pool members who had either been excused or not empanelled were discharged. As we were lead from the court, a burst of sunlight washed across my face. I was suddenly, intensely aware of my liberty, of the fact that I was free to leave that court. And I wondered: would that flood of compassion I had felt for the accused have affected my judgement had I been free to be called and empanelled? I would like to think not, and in retrospect, believe that, like most jurors, I would have judged the case on the evidence. But I would have felt the full weight of my decision, whatever it may have been, having caught in that glimpse of the accused not a possible criminal but a vulnerable human being, terribly, cosmically alone.

As I walked away from the court, I whispered a silent prayer: God be merciful to all those involved - the accused, the victim, and their family and friends.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: Man's capacity for justice makes democracy possible; but man's inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary. (Reinhold Neibuhr)

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Three Poems

Wish You Were Here

Launched from dreams to wakefulness,
I lay beneath the covers, listening.

The warmth between my arms was empty air,
the shades within my heart

shadows of your parting kiss.
Launched from wakefulness into my dreams,

I lay beneath the covers, listening:
rain against my window pane.


Kiss

I held you in my arms.
Your heart fluttered,
the captive bird held
within the circle of my love.

I felt the thrill,
the tremble in your bones.
The kiss was light,
yet shook you like a 'quake,

feet of clay. Were you scared,
or just afraid
I'd find the child
hiding in the dark?


In Absentia

I miss -

The eyes, the lips,
whirling,
falling into emptiness,

holding onto life
and joy
and love,

onto thought
and flesh
and time,
when time spent

passes like a winking eye,
like a smile:
fleeting, full,
thoughtful,

like the night,
like the bright
coloured light of dawn,
of the sun rising.

Like the morning sky,
like waking in each others' arms,
dreaming,
laughing, smiling.

I miss -

you!