Sunday, November 23, 2008

Ahab's Big Trip

From II Chronicles 18 and Andy Stanley's Morning Talk
**much artistic license taken, thank you ;)

Wealth and dignity were Jehoshaphat's reputation,
and so he became the Great King's relation.
Ahab, the Evil, was Jezebel's honey
and known for his love of cult worship and money.

One year, Jeho treked down to the in-laws,
The feast Ahab ordered led cigars and great guffaws.
He spoke of intentions to capture a crossroads
and requested adherence to "Thee Brothers Fight Code".

"Jeho, if this strategic hamlet I attack,
Can I count on you to watcheth my back?"
Jeho replied, "We're family; don't ask,
But let's seek the Lord in planning this task."

Ahab called prophets and prophets arrived,
They swarmed as 400 bees honey a hive,
"Yes, King" and "Surely, God will deliver",
"We have asked and the gods have given the answer."

Jehoshaphat ordered a word from Jehovah,
"God's blessing's horsd'ouvre is victry's aroma."
"Are there prophets of 'I am' remaining?"
"I've heard so much Baal talk, my ears are straining."

"There's one dude I know; His name is Michiah",
"He'll turn Sunny Optimist into a cry'a",
"He brings down a party before he says, 'hi'",
Around here, we call him, 'that baddest news guy'

Jeho was determined to speak with this mac,
Ahab sent a messenger to bring the man back,
Ahab loved parties and hosted unending,
The prophets knew exactly whose gold they were spending.

So they yelled, "Go and fight! You'll win and we'll cheer!"
Be a sport before leaving and pour me a beer?
Mic heard the party and the messenger whispered,
"Agree with the masses or your buttocks they'll blister."

I'm not with these sugarlips, I speak for the Lord,
Parties don't thrill me, He has my reward.
"Ahab, your sheep will be lost in the hills.
They'll have no one to lead when their shepherd's blood spills"

Zed, a bold prophet knocked Mic in the face,
"Truth broke its lease when it moved from MY place.
Perhaps you can tell me which way it went?!"
Mac spoke, "The Judge will soon settle the rent."

Ahab was sobered and could hardly stammer,
"Send this prophet of God to live in the slamma!
Release him when I feast in my bed, and
feed Mic naught but water and bread!"

"You'll never return, but perhaps I've misheard,
If Ahab goes, he's dead--People, mark my words!",
So, they threw Mic in prison and locked the door,
and Jeho and Ahab gal'loped to War.

Ahab began thinking while the posse's en route,
Of the possible wisdom of the Ol' Fashioned Coot,
He suggested to Jeho a change of costume,
That would highlight J's glory (and prevent his own doom).

"I'll wear the garb of a common enlisted,
If you'll act as leader, please stand in your bro's stead."
The good king of Aram, the rich little foe,
Ordered no man as target but Israel's king KO'ed.

The chariot cabbies spied Jeho and thought they'd won,
They unsheathed swords on Judah's High Son,
But Jeho knew God and requested more life,
And Aram's boys knew he was no place to focus their strife.

Meanwhile, a young man while practicing aim,
Faced to the clouds and arrowed in game,
The unmanaged arrow flew straight to the seam
of Ahab's shabby armor--and took down the king.

Counsel is treasure and worth a long wait,
Its purpose to save and not to elate,
Rush and end paying a price you'll not afford,
When seeking yourself and ignoring the Lord.

___

I'd never heard that one til today. :)

Rushing, Impulsive, More Ahabish than Jehoshaphatish, Slowing Down Slowly
Aubrey

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Peter Pan Passed

Fantasy is fun
To brandish a sword,
To befriend pirates,
Inch across planked boards

Nothing beats
Imagination,
To have royal blood,
To sling noon's twin guns.

To advise great kings
To lasso the bandits,
To outwit the Brain
and wear his best spandex.
To digest bear poison
and skip home for lunch,
To stop the meteor
with a casual hunch.
To scale stacked windows,
To drive polished cars,
To win all the races,
To bend prison bars.

Fantasy is fun,
Sweat and blood showered
Rapunzel the Sweet
In her cold tower.

Fantasy is fun,
But sometimes it's not
To be on your own;
It's not as you thought.

The plank is a scrap from Dad's latest build;
The cape is a blanket with holes and yarn pills.
The sword is a stick you grabbed from the yard;
Doorknobs won't steer home, though you turn them real hard.

Peter Pan Passed
Rapunzel's split ends
Tarnished her beauty
We call them "pretend"

Monday, November 17, 2008

Mister Smith

Mr. Smith sagged. His eyelids drooped, lazily hanging over the pools that collected near his pale eyes. His jowls laureled his chest as if marking the victory of having outlived. He was an old veteran whose new uniform was a single pair of overalls and a faded flannel shirt.

Mr. Smith’s house paid homage to the man himself by slumping along with him. A tiny folding stool sat on a tiny rotting porch—and I passed the scene everyday on my walk from the white house on Maupin to Pike and the college campus. First, the ochre stucco, then the smell of woodstove, and finally, the slouching man with a few-toothed smile and a trucker’s cap greeted me with a slow wave.

We would chat, Mr. Smith and I. I was fishing for stories and starving for wisdom. Mr. Smith was merely using the porch, his solitary venue for meeting new friends, to its maximum potential.

He spoke of the back surgery that would make it possible for him to be married again. I wondered if this young woman (who had a new name each time we talked) would show up as I stood on the edge of the grass so Mr. Smith could introduce me. He warned me about “dirty truckers” as he listened to their conversations on his radio during the times he wasn’t parked on the porch. He talked to me about his supply of canned ham. Finally, he talked to me about his time in the military and his mom. He scratched out her recipe for “Coffee Can Bread”, which he still ate with canned ham salad for nearly every meal, and gave it to me as a gift one day.

I still have that recipe tucked away somewhere and I think of Mr. Smith and our meandering conversations when I read it. I think of all the other misters and misses who sit on their porches in silence, waiting for someone to walk by and see them. I wonder how many of us will set up our own small stools on worn and weathered porches someday and peek down the street, hoping for a slow stroller who might have a minute to gab.

I should have asked his name.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Okies, stand up!

On behalf of those born (ehem) or raised in Oklahoma, I object. Thanks, Susi, for the link. ;)

Not all Okies sport mullets!

Oklahoma Foxies

Carrie Underwood

Garth Brooks (when the thunder rolls, indeed)

Woodie Guthrie (anyone who can honk a horn like that is h.o.t.)

James Garner

Geronimo (Apache warriors have "smokin" in the job description. Tomohawk? Check. Battle hair? Check.

Mickey Mantle (Take me out to the ball game...)

Brad Pitt

Jim Thorpe