Zombie-pocalypse

   It is the season of haunting, the season of terrors. All across the country, people adopt disguises in attempt to make themselves unrecognizable. They show up on our doorsteps with their hands out. They make dire threats and terrifying noises, alternated with begging in order to fill their pockets with goodies. We are held hostage in our own homes by these dark creatures that besiege us with their shrieks, threats, and demands.
   Yes, it is that most dreaded, terrifying season. It is the season of elections. Politicians span across the land like hordes of zombies. Their emotional threats and promises and their irrational arguments will steal our brains, if we allow them. Each candidate wears a mask of patriotic, benign, compassionate generosity, as each adopts a tone of sincere rationality. And each candidate depicts his opponent as a rabid, voracious creature intent on the destruction of everything we hold dear: our lifestyle, our economy, and our form of government, not to mention the desecration  of every dearly held value from the sanctity of life and family to the method of determining the NCAA football standings. According to each candidate, his opponent threatens the very bread and circuses on which we depend. If we are to avoid the Zombie-pocalypse, we must give them candy, in the form of votes and tax money. We must give one candidate treats in order to avoid the tricks of the demonic opponent (or so each would have us believe).
   So, on the morning after the election, when the politicians have retreated to Washington like spirits returning to graves when the cock crows, we are left with empty candy bowls and perhaps empty skulls (to go along with the empty promises).
   The winners chortle and celebrate, while the losers retreat to glower and lick their wounds as they plot revenge. The sun rises over the land. Those of us who have not surrendered our brains to the political zombies shake our heads in consternation as the cycle begins anew.
   And in graveyards across the country, we can hear the faint sound of whirling and perhaps a low moaning from the graves of the forefathers who started our experiment in democracy.

The Aging Satyr

I haven't posted anything here in some time. I am posting my latest poem. I would appreciate any response, suggestions, etc. I'll be interested in what people say.

The Aging Satyr

The image in the mirror contemplates

the kindly eyes, serene benignant smile.

The physiognomy reflects a mind

controlled by thoughtful structured intellect.

Behind the careful civilized façade

an alter ego lurks with leering eyes.

The satyr’s nostrils flare, inhale,

entranced by  wafts

of flowers’ fertile musk.

The pendulous flesh of fruit

that droops from languid vines

delights the lolling tongue.

The slurps of heady wine,

 juice of rounded ruby grapes,

               intoxicate and slake his burning thirst.

Nymphs frolic, innocent,

                              curved limbs of porcelain

flow to the flute’s enchanting call

               like Krishna’s milkmaids dancing.

The satyr leers and smiles

               at plies and pirouettes,

the flash of nubile flesh.

Their impromptu choreography

arouses memories

of lust

more ember heat than flame.

The dancing done, the graceful nymphs depart

like fading notes of music on the breeze.

The wistful wanton satyr sighs and turns

to the restraints of intellect that bind.

Perhaps constraints of thought that form the walls

of his confinement, shelter more than jail,

the consolation of philosophy.

As aging soothes the itch along the nerves

and appetites become a memory,

contentment’s mellow solace may replace

the rage of lust, voracity of flesh.

The satyr gazes out from smiling eyes:

the longing smolders, bittersweet, within.

Robert C. Covel

15 October 2012

The Grass Can Wait

I decided that, instead of a blog, I would publish my most recent poem here. I hope to get some reactions.

The Grass Can Wait

Sitting in my Lazy Boy

cold drink beading the glass,

notebook in hand,

a poem in my head.

Outside, the Georgia summer blaze,

hazy, hot, and humid,

the Zoysia sod, a verdant carpet

luxuriates, and thrives, beneath the sun.

With empty tank and bag,

the hungry mower waits to graze the grass.

Meanwhile, my images take root

and grow toward the light of consciousness.

Words and lines sprout

beneath the gleaning pen,

planted in rows across the page.

The choice to mow or write,

dilemma to resolve,

to harvest grass or poems:

the grass can wait.

Another good gray poet

contemplating spears of grass,

retired and loafing at my ease,

I watch the seasons ebb and flow

through changing states, the rise and fall of grass

that falls and springs

beneath my boot soles.

As inspirations spring,

turn into poems across the years,

vegetation sprouts, life from life.

I contemplate the empty page

and my own passing days.

I know that, outside, the grass grows.  

Meanwhile, the grass can wait.

Robert C. Covel

3 September 2012

Law, Logic, and Human Nature

  I recently sat in on Superior Court proceedings in Carroll County. In the three hours that I observed, I was overwhelmed with the sadness and desperation of the defendants. It struck me once more how much of human suffering is the result of ego, emotion, and appetites. I observed cases involving back child support, property foreclosure, and violence over a girl between a current and an ex boy friend. While the cases themselves were very different, at least on the surface, they were similar in their root causes. All of the defendants (and in some cases the plaintiffs as well) were in their situations because of a lack of self control.
  The defendant in the child support case was behind in payments over fifty thousand dollars. He had tried to hide assets by deeding over his house to his current spouse. The judge was not impressed, and the gentleman was sent to jail on the spot for being in contempt of court. Needless to say, he had a very different lunch that day than he had expected. The case of violence involving relationships was caused by the three people involved challenging one another through (anti?) social media and through direct physical conflicts that resulted in some minor injuries and temporary incarceration of one of the three people involved. While the plaintiff and the defendant both had lawyers, the plaintiff really had no case. Her text messages, Facebook taunts, and direct witness testimony showed her lack of a legal case. Ironically, she had one leg in a cast, so she really didn't have much of a leg to stand on! And finally, the foreclosure case involved a man representing himself. He also had no case, because he did not know who actually owned the mortgage on his property. His request was rejected, and he was given a short time to remove himself and his belongings from the property.
  All three cases showed how much people cause their own "quiet desperation," to use Thoreau's term. If any of the people involved had had enough rationality to control their emotions and appetites, they would not have even been in court that day and would doubtless have had happier lives overall.
  I guess the bottom line is, if your life is a train wreck, you can blame the engineer of the train. And you can see the person by looking in the mirror.
  If I were a judge, I am afraid I would have a drinking problem. I cannot imagine having to listen to such tales of desolation and desperation day after day, and having to pronounce  sentence on such unfortunate people. Self control is the essence of serenity in human life.

Law, Logic, and Human Nature

The blind men and the elephant

The Blind men and the elephant is an ancient story, probably from early Hinduism. I thought this story might make a point with all of the continuing controversy on CFA. First of all, let me say that I am a Zen Buddhist, and as such I don't oppose any religious group for their beliefs. I do oppose treating anyone with anything less than compassion and understanding. I also do not think that I have a lock on the truth on any topic. (By the way, a shout-out to Leigh O'Farrell, my very talented former student who made the elephant depicted above!)
  The story goes like this: There were five blind men who were blind from birth. They kept hearing the word "elephant" and did not know what it meant. They got someone to bring an elephant so they could touch it and understand the word. They agreed that each one would touch a different part and then get together to discuss the experience. The first one touched the trunk; the second touched the ear; the third touched the leg; the fourth touched the side; and the last one touched the tail.
 The first man said, "The Elephant is like a great snake with a mouth on one end."  The second man said, "No, the elephant is like a great fan moving in the air." The third said, "No, the elephant is like a tree trunk." The fourth said, "The elephant is like a tree trunk." And the last blind man said, "No. The elephant is like a rope with a tassel on one end (and it doesn't smell very good!)."
 Of course, all of them were all correct (at least in part). The picture above has a quote that I used to say in class after telling this story. "I am only one blind man, and the world is a very large elephant." We all perceive the world around us in very different ways. Our perceptions are controlled by our cultures, our religious beliefs, our educations, etc. And each of us tends to believe our own view is the correct view. But the universe (and our world) is a very large, complicated place. Many of the world's controversies are the result of our inability to accept other people's right to their ideas, attitudes, beliefs, and, yes, gender orientations. We are all right, and we are all wrong. And based on our human limitations in this suffering world, we are all doing the best we can with what we have. So enjoy your view of the elephant, but know that it is not the only view.