Today was officially the final day of the Christmas season. Throw Out Your Stupid Tree Day was a giant success. This is also the day I meditate on the most recent Christmas past while peeling little bits of deleted Scotch Tape from my haggard carpet fibers.
Every rare once in a while I write a poem that I don’t despise. Rarely are they whimsical, but… this one is. Thanks for stopping by RoP today.
Lie down and flap,
flailing arms and legs.
Look up into a sunburn.
Hear the girl fly
beside you.
Dreams up in gray cotton
spread into wings.
We didn’t have a name for him, though we knew that he was coming the following day. He was a scheduled birth. The doctor told my wife, “You can have him on the twenty-ninth of December or wait until next year.” For tax purposes, not because we were prepared, we chose the December date; and the night before he was pulled out Cessarian-style, I named him Noah Michael.
Today he is nine enviable years old. He brings balance to the force. When he was little, I used to hide behind walls and scare him to see his reaction. Noah’s flight mechanism is broken; so he appears to be fearless. When I said, “Boo!” he would come charging straight at me with his little arms in windmills. Later I had
As years go, 2009 was one of them. Not the worst, and no where close to my best year of life, my first, which consisted of drinking breast milk until I passed out and/or messed myself. Fortunately I believe that I am not alone, and that pretty much the whole of society has lost their damn minds in the last two years.
About a year ago I launched Ream of Paper, with little more than a dream, and the belief that I am so darn interesting, (funny and good looking) who could avoid reading my glorious thoughts. The answer was shocking.
No more sojourning through that pesky “valley of the shadow of death” crap.
Gone are the “trials of many kinds.”
blasphemy never looked so good.
Pick up your cross in this trendy poly/cotton blend and be the envy of the sheepfold. Oh yeah, and when you fast, put on a clean tee-shirt!
Dear Staples,
Someone posing as Jesus is trying to steal your button idea. Please sue them immediately.
Your Friend,
reamofpaper.com
His fists flexed closed as he said, “I don’t want a God you can hold in two hands, one if you’re experienced at holding babies! I don’t want a God covered in afterbirth or crowning out of a young woman. I don’t want a God wrapped up in a blanket covered in meconium. I don’t want a God clutching at a woman’s breast. I want pomp, and God-type things. I want thunder and rain and lightening, well-placed too.”
I agreed with him more than I thought I might. I added, “You know, I don’t want to have to wonder when Jesus first realized that he was God. If he had to come as a baby, I want for him to be lying in a tidy crib, looking up toward the heavens remembering playing golf with Gabriel or cosmic bowling with Lucifer before he fell from the sky.
It’s difficult to believe that people described as Wise Men would follow a star to a remote hamlet, the Roman-occupied City of David. What vested interest would they have in a Hebrew Messiah? The Hebrew scriptures forbade the use of astrology. Then in an interesting twist of plot, some of the first worshipers of the infant-deliverer discover this baby by chasing an unusual star.