Fit Benefit

Fit Benefit

9 October 2017

Today my personal power and wealth

Are indicated by my good health.

I’m strong enough that whatever life’s endeavor,

Today I feel like I could live forever.

This internal sense of superiority

Comes from my very own authority.

I don’t need any one else’s permission,

For sure I’m not bowing in submission.

I’m grateful for my physique’s agility

And all that gives me a sense of virility.

Even if I’m the one and only witness,

I’ll celebrate to honor my fitness.

Romancer Answer

Romancer Answer
23 May 2015

My love is like a blossom
Or a beautiful bloom.
The feeling is awesome,
Like a heady perfume.

Sadly, flowers don’t last long
And the petals quickly drop.
I hope my ardor proves to be strong,
Strong enough to come out on top.

I don’t usually give cut flowers.
Their beauty fades, goes pretty fast.
Blooms may express love’s powers,
But I want my love to go on and last.

Let my love be something that endures.
Perhaps, of a substance yet unknown
To represent my love as it matures.
Maybe I want beauty carved in stone.

Stone won’t change in my lifetime.
A statuette would only gather dust.
Should I celebrate with a rhyme?
Sure, poetry will keep my love robust.

Vilification Vexation and Visitation Vindication

I worked on this poem and the next one "Gay Fetes in the Streets" during the same week. I'm not happy with this poem, but as I stare at it I don't get inspiration to change anything. For me "Gay Fetes" has bounce which this one doesn't.

Vilification Vexation and Visitation Vindication

19 Sept 2011

In January 1985, I was excommunicated 

From the Salt Lake City based church.

I had gotten divorced and relocated

To Monticello, back in my parents’ perch. 

In spite of what the disciplinary court stated, 

I still attended church with my family.  

That year the Manti Temple was renovated

And used for the endowment liturgy. 

I interviewed with the bishop and was given 

A recommend to attend the rededication fest. 

To get to Manti, for six hours we had driven,

Meaning we had to put on our Sunday best

Early in the morning, adding to the trip’s griefs,

Grateful to be in cars, not pulling handcarts. 

We were waiting with our white handkerchiefs

For the Hallelujah Shout and hope in our hearts

For a choice spiritual feast validating our beliefs.

While queued up, awaiting permission to enter 

A member of the Stake Presidency came down the line

Greeting members, happened upon this dissenter

And took away the prized recommend of mine.

Oh, the disappointment of expectations negated.

How was I supposed to feel? What to do?

There was no appeal by the powers delegated,

So I just walked around the venue.

Skip ahead to September 2011,

We went from Cleveland by bus 

To Kirtland’s little bit of heaven.

At the visitor’s center we got to discuss

And were escorted by tour guides

Over to the Newell K. Whitney shop of retail. 

Downstairs, we saw the store’s insides 

With barrels, baskets and account’s detail.

Also, the bartering section for trading wares. 

Then thru a door and up the narrow stairs, 

Was the parlor with table and chairs.

I placed my palm flat on the table 

And felt a strong surge of emotion, 

Not happy or sad, just strong, I was unable

To identify what for me was a crying potion. 

Next was School of the Prophets vestibule

With benches to sit on while being instructed, 

Then, finally the bedrooms with a spinning mule.

After the store, we were conducted

Thru the Whitney house, Johnson hotel, sawmill

And ashery where potash was produced. 

Then we followed the sidewalk uphill 

Past the temple and got introduced

To the other visitor’s center overseen

By the Community of Christ church.

John Hamer presented a historical slide scene,

By narrating the slides with original research,

He followed the history of Mormon leadership, 

Revelations and temple purposes; explaining 

Splinters and offshoots within the Mormon grip. 

Then we walked over to the sacred building. 

The green door was held open for us to enter.

All were admitted. We climbed the stairs to

The upper assembly hall. After the presenter, 

We were ushered up more stairs and thru 

The attic school rooms, then back down to the hall. 

Finally we were allowed to sit in the lower auditorium. 

We were told, here during the dedication that all

Had seen, beheld its abundant spiritual emporium.

The people thought of themselves as saints

And sanctified the temple by their sacrifices

Truly the Lord’s House for worship without restraints.

This hall had signs of current religious devices. 

I looked around at the Affirmation attesters

Then tears flowed when I thought of praying 

Together with them in the temple of my ancestors.

I was touched to the core, that’s all I’m saying.

Tower of Power

In reading thru my emails, I clicked on a link and was suddenly looking at a map of London which reminded of a poem I wrote last summer.

Tower of Power

29 July 2009

I am the White Tower.

I am the center of power.

I was built to house kings

And their many things.

I was already old

When men pulled cold

Steel hard

From the scabbard.

You may have heard stories

Tales and allegories

Of violence

And silence,

Of threats

And secrets.

Thru it all

I’ve stood tall.

There has been the clash of arms

And the sounding of alarms.

I know the smell of gun powder

Each time getting louder,

Yet standing prouder.

Over the years

I’ve heard the cheers

And the jeers

Of loyalty

And adversity

For my royalty.

I’ve heard men moan and yell

Curse and wail

In their cell

While I served as their jail.

Yes, cry

For I,

I am the center of power.

I am the White Tower.