Ode to DaDs

Was it the Marine Corps
that taught you cleanliness?

You taught me to scrub a commode
better than Mr. Clean
while you vaccumed our beige-carpeted and walled
garden apartment

You taught me to shake hands firmly
as a man would
especially a woman's

You taught me no hatred
of colored, or weak, or stupid, or foreign, or cruel
or poor ones;
to treat people with respect and intelligence
every time

You taught me respect for humanity
that The Tao
would not
until four years later

You taught me to tee my butts
and jam them in my back jean's pocket                                 
which my wife still uncovers in the wash
and hates finding the stinky things

You must've taught me to drive
your salmon '57 Chevy Bel Air hardtop with no posts               
and it was good enough
to earn my California license as a kid
despite running over curbs

And you taught me respect                        
for our many girlish dates                                                           
and of women likewise                                                                  
to love them all                                                                          
with "Treat women well."

And so "I Do" has meant more than mere words                       
after 43 years with my first wife;                                                     
a strong redhead                                                                           
you gave me courage to approach                                         
without fear of showing a good heart

And you Dad, you taught me responsibility also                            
to work dedicated at a job                                                           
and remain loyal                                                                            
as you supported a family of four at first                                    
then five, then six, seven, eight and nine

And though I never drove your faded green Ford Fairlane            
I remember family Sunday drives                                           
around the gorgeous Delaware Valley                                            
in cold, cool, warm then humid seasons

And you taught me                                                                        
that our recalcitrant decrepit lawnmower                                  
could be repaired                                                                             
by your tenacity                                                                            
and cunningly constructed temporary fixes

So I don't give up hope easily,                                              
fulfilling my Taurean nature

And I learned to arrive early                                                    
which increases my sweetheart's lovingness                                
not keeping her waiting

You both gave me freedom to break rules                                   
and I broke them                                                                          
until one of you said                                                                   
"He must go to his Father."

How else would I have learned                                                       
to tee and clean                                                                               
to respect and drive                                                                         
to dedicate and not be late and                                                        
to love without fear?

Thank you DaDs!                                                                  
Rodney Senior my first and least known                                 
Ralph Senior my last for near on five decades

What's in a Dad's name or appelation?                                     
except example and words?

Sad to think both of you gone physically                                     
but not spiritually                                                                           
not internally                                                                                 
not emotionally                                                                              
not laughably                                                                                
not memorably                                                                                                       
Because I Am your Junior Apprentice


Copyright 2015 Rodney Richards                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Reposted from BahaiTeachings.org

Inspired by The Glory of God

Rodney Richards  •  January 25, 2015   •   

1

Comments

The Baha’i teachings contain enormous wisdom. For me, every time I read Baha’u’llah’s or Abdu’l-Baha’s writings, I feel powerfully informed and inspired. Sometimes I let that inner inspiration transform itself into poetry. Reflecting on the two passages below from Baha’u’llah’s writings, I wrote this poem at 1:30 pm on the 16th of December, 2014, while sitting on a Presbyterian Church bench dedicated to the Glory of God.

    "Having created the world and all that liveth and moveth therein, He, through the direct operation of His unconstrained and sovereign Will, chose to confer upon man the unique distinction and capacity to know Him and to love Him—a capacity that must needs be regarded as the generating impulse and the primary purpose underlying the whole of creation…. Upon the inmost reality of each and every created thing He hath shed the light of one of His names, and made it a recipient of the glory of one of His attributes. Upon the reality of man, however, He hath focused the radiance of all of His names and attributes, and made it a mirror of His own Self. Alone of all created things man hath been singled out for so great a favor, so enduring a bounty." – Baha’u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha’u'llah, pp. 65-66.

It’s Always There

My eyes often travel downward
I see the tuft of grass in the sidewalk crack
     and follow my urge to pluck It
I spy the dirty napkin caught on the church’s lawn
     and bend down to dispose of It

Then they travel upward

I bask in Sol’s glow behind the clouds 
     and push my body and face into It
I meditate on His Godness
     and speak words of praise to It

Then they travel inward

I feel the wrath of ire at the speeding car
     and the dangerous driver in It
I sense the love from my own true love
     and wonder how we have held It

Then they meander the world

I find Banana Split ice cream in the fridge
     and spoon the deliciousness out of It
I watch the senseless hate turning to violence
    and wish mankind to end It

Grass, napkin, Sol, Godness, wrath, love, ice cream, and hate
     all lay in my Path

I acknowledge them with unhesitating impulses
     to touch, feel, give way, absorb and consume them

All the essences of this life we humans experience
     every day, every wakeful moment of It

The Its of existence at our fingertips
 
    "These energies with which the Day Star of Divine bounty and Source of heavenly guidance hath endowed the reality of man lie, however, latent within him, even as the flame is hidden within the candle and the rays of light are potentially present in the lamp. The radiance of these energies may be obscured by worldly desires even as the light of the sun can be concealed beneath the dust and dross which cover the mirror. Neither the candle nor the lamp can be lighted through their own unaided efforts, nor can it ever be possible for the mirror to free itself from its dross. It is clear and evident that until a fire is kindled the lamp will never be ignited, and unless the dross is blotted out from the face of the mirror it can never represent the image of the sun nor reflect its light and glory." – Baha’u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha’u'llah, pp. 65-66.

The opinions and views expressed in this article are those of the author only and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of BahaiTeachings.org or any institution of the Baha’i Faith

Poetry or Prose? You decide

The theory of Everything movie moved me
  and moved my spouse to tears at times
It was sadness over Love's rollercoaster
  and Fate's cruel decisions

Did the universe start from a singularity?
Did God say "Let there be Light" 
  and there was?

The universe is Matter and Energy
  even Dark it's been said
Does Dark even exist?
Or is it the absence of Light?

How many Elements are there?
  Just 98 natural ones
    and 20 synthesized
Oh really?

I don't see Light
 or Sound
 or Vision
 or Sensation
 or Mind
  on the Table

Did Time start from a singularity?
Did God say "Let there be Time"
  and there was?
As if

Why must we label everything,
  put a number to everything
  put an equation to everything

Isn't Being enough?

No, not for humanity, not for us

The Search is everything


Enjoy your day, week, month and year
Best
Rodney

Part 1 of 2: Writing is Easy: Getting Started

If you're just beginning to write, about your life, a poem, a novel, anything, just remember: Writing is Easy.

The easiest place to start is with something you know, what you've done, or what has happened to you. That's the heart of memoir writing. After you've written a short story or event, go back and edit and polish. That's the hard part of writing for everyone, if you want to do it well, and it's what creative non-fiction is all about. The process for creative fiction is no different, other than you can let your imagination run loose.

Here's an example of the way I started writing prose for other's consumption:

"I had never written one word about my life before I retired in April 2009 and found I had the time. And I only started then because my wife Janet said to me one June day, “Why don’t you write your memoir or something? It’s better than doing nothing! All you do is read mysteries and thrillers and watch TV anyway.” Two weeks later it had sunk in and the idea had grown, I got my lazy ass up and went downstairs to our basement, pulled the chair up to the computer, and started writing about day one, May 1, 1950 in Doctor's Hospital, Washington D.C. Added some years before that, as I got going, so I could give some background on my parents, who both grew up in Princeton, New Jersey. I was done with it a year and a half later after 293 pages, using Calibri 11 point type in MS-Word. Plus13 appendices totaling 108 pages and a bibliography. And all that was size 8.5x11. Too much!

And it was all very easy. Again, I just started at the beginning and wrote what happened. I wrote what I could remember and didn’t embellish. I didn’t delve into records, photos, historical documents or other notes. I inserted an underscore _______ for details I didn't have at my fingertips.  I only asked Janet three times to clarify some issues, and we’ve been married 42 years, so she knew. Then I searched the Internet for a cheap press to print it in paperback form, and got the book and appendices done for 30 bucks using VistaPrint, one copy only. Then I let Janet read through it, the unexpurgated version in 8 parts, which took her about three months. I was cool and aloof the whole time, never bugging her. She’s very good; an educator by profession. She didn't confront me or challenge my memory once, she just made short notes in the margins. Not even that many actually. And those were only to correct glaring mistakes in grammar. She is a teacher after all. After reading Stephen King’s On Writing, I think of Janet as my I.R. – Ideal Reader. I love Janet, I really do, and confide in her with everything.

I love her even though, on the evening she finished it, she looked over when we were both sitting in bed, and said, “Rod, to be honest, that’s one of the most boring stories I’ve ever read.” Totally deadpan, totally flat, totally sincere. I was crushed but didn’t show it. I didn’t ask why. I thought, Well, I’ll read her notes and see what I can improve. I thanked her for her honesty, and notes, even though I hadn’t seen them yet. However, I was really surprised over the next week when I studied them.

I knew Janet was an avid reader, so I couldn’t dismiss her viewpoint, not that I would anyway. She always has five or six books on her nightstand. She reads the current best sellers and then some. She loves mysteries and thriller authors like Deaver, Baldacci, Follett and Patterson. All guys I loved reading also until switching to non-fiction 2 years ago. She loves other bestsellers like The Tipping Point, Freakonomics, Fast Food Nation and that ilk too. I’ve read many of them after she’s done, before she loans them out. 

The problem was, there were hardly any meaningful, or what I call meaningful, notes in the margins of her critique. I was expecting to see edit marks, cross outs, factual corrections and, most of all, opinions.  I got very little of that. Instead I read: “No!” "Repeat of page 74," “Move!” Doesn’t fit here,” or “Not clear.” In other words, nothing telling me how to write better, or at least I thought not. So I spent time going through my manuscript, doing some moving and editing, but using my same tired style.

I do think my memoir has all the elements of a good story. Abandonment, murder, strict Catholic upbringing, hedonism, fights, drugs, arrests and jail stays, failed college, sex, mental hospitalizations, marriage, government work and more. Even the Baha’i Faith which no one has heard of. But how do I make all that interesting and compelling? I was clueless. I really didn’t know where to begin, even though my autobiography was done. 

To be continued. Part 2: Finding My Writer's Voice

Copyright 2014 Rodney Richards