Posts Tagged ‘Kuhns’

Consider Opportunity Cost — Revolutionary Blogging Sonnet

August 11, 2019

When I consider
all that may be gained or lost,
I far too seldom
think of the opportunity cost.

Playing soccer or baseball
was never a bad thing,
but I never once asked
what eternal growth they’d bring.

I can think of many times
I went to play in the sun.
But the more valuable games
were those with more than just fun.

It’s the eternal things which must be considered and weighed
to decide if time is well spent, or just frittered away.

Based on a April 2019 General Conference talk by Elder Dallin H. Oaks.

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Perfect God Is Not A Perfectionist: ConTEXTing Free Verse

August 10, 2019

My wife posted this on her Facebook yesterday:
‘I created something today and was grappling over whether it was good enough. . David responded, “It’s good enough… why do you think it has to be perfect? Do you think God is a perfectionist?”
“Probably,” I replied.
“No, He’s not. He can’t be… He created us.”
Touche!’
After I thought about it, I changed my mind and wrote this free verse:

Because God IS
just
perfect,
He made us
perfectly
imperfect,
so we can learn
and grow
and become.

Ein Hoch Zu Willy Tell — Happy Swiss Independence Day (a Video)

August 1, 2019

Warm up your yodeling chords, break out your Alphen Horns and Swiss Cow Bells, and gather round while I (loosely) translate a funny poem I heard a long time ago, while serving as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Zurich, Switzerland mission.
The poem deals with, of course, the story of Wilhelm Tell, the famous patriot who found against the Habsburg (Austrian) empire and their evil representative, Gessler. I don’t know who the poem is by — having lost my copy of a copy of a cassette tape decades ago — but the funniest part of the poem, as I remember it, goes like this:

Sein Sohn rief
“Komm schiess
mir doch ein Apfel von die Birne!”

Der Pfeil traff toedlich …
einen Wurm,
der in den Apfel wohnte.

Erst still,
dann brach ein Sturm des Jubels los!
“Ein HOCH zu Dir, Willy Tell!
Jetzt geh’n wir ein trinken, gel?!?!!”

Roughly translated:

His son called
“Come on! Shoot
the apple from my head.”

The arrow was deadly …
to a worm
that lived in the apple.

At first, it was quiet,
then broke forth a storm of jubilation!
“Three cheers for Willy Tell!
What do you think!?!?
Three cheers! Now let’s go get a drink!”

What strange twist of fate reminded me of this poem? Well, first, it’s Swiss Independence Day (More Cowbell!) Second, as I was peeling and slicing my free freestone peaches (refer to my other videos and articles about the peaches and what I’ve learned here on NaturesGuy.com, and then this fruity article, and then this article on experiential writing on IdeaMarketers.com (since it has to do with writing and creativity), I discovered small worms in the center of the peaches. Yes, I cut them out. (At least I hope I did!) But that’s what reminded me of the phrase “der Pfeil traff toedlich/einen Wurm, der in den Apfel wohnte.”

Hopp Schwyz!

You Might Not Remember, But I Was There — ImproVerse Free Verse Birthday Letter

July 31, 2019

My first born son -- I was there-- July 82
Good morning, my first born.
I know it’s early,
just like it was years ago,
but I wanted to let you know that I am here.
Just like I was there then.

Your mother had worked so hard,
and it was painful,
and she was exhausted.
So she smiled tenderly at you,
said “Hello, little one!”,
and held you awhile.

Then she handed you to me,
and she drifted off to sleep,
to get much-needed rest.

How I loved you!
How glad I am that I had the chance
that few fathers have.
I got to hold you for a while,
right after you were born.
I was there.

That seems to be the way it was,
wasn’t it, for years?
I was there.
No Harry Chapin song
(Cat’s in the Cradle)
applied.

Because of the work I chose,
I was there
when you caught your first football
at six months old
in the Johnny Jump-up.

I was there for your first day of school,
and your first church talk,
and your first overnight camping trip.
And when you stole home with the go-ahead run
in the championship Kirkland National Little League game,
I was there as your third base coach.

I was there
for your soccer games,
and your rocket reports,
and your problems,
and your triumphs,
and your blessings,
and your first fish,
and your first dance,
and your first car,
and your Eagle Scout award,
(and all that led up to it!),
and your graduations,
and your first trip to college,
and on
and on
and on.
I was there,
always so proud of you.
I still am.

Now you’re a father yourself!
You’re far away.
And it may not seem like I am there,
but you are always in my thoughts
and my prayers.
Just as you’ve always been,
and always will be.

And I always want to be there,
if not with you,
then at least for you.
Happy birthday, Itty Bitty Kristian!
I love you.
Love, Dad.

Isn’t The Answer Obvious? Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

July 31, 2019

Why is Hillary/
irrelevant in U.S.
politics? She lost.

Joyful Jalapeno Burn: Haiku

July 30, 2019

Fresh tomato jalapeno salsa - July 2019What exquisite joys/
summer brings: Fresh tomatoes,/
jalapeno burn!

Warm Georgia Summer Evening Surprise: Improverse Blogging Haibu

July 26, 2019

From the inside, through my 90’s shaded-design oval door window, it looked like recent Georgia sunsets: Cool, golden, breezy, comfortably worthy of a front-porch sit for a spell. I knew the frogs would be chirping and croaking and screeching melodically, there might be a whip-or-will or mocking bird or mourning dove singing joyfully at the setting sun, and various and sundry unidentified bugs would be rhytmically scraping and creeking and thrumming and whatever they do, lacing a deep-layered cacophony of sound like a grandmother’s old, well-worn quilt over the newly-mown hay and lawn and the soon-to-be-harvested gold-and-black-tassled corn in the field just beyond the broken-in-half hickory tree.

Surprise.

Stepping out onto the porch, the evening’s still, stiffling air laid on my face and arms like mold in a plastic bag full of what teenaged boys might call “garbage cheese” — not quite rotted into limberger, but still stenchy and pungent enough to make me want to avoid taking a deep, rich breath.

No breeze.

Instead, as I stood still and watched the sunset dapple through the aged oak and hickory trees, as I tried to revel in the natural symphony I’d expected, the damp-dank humid humors of the evening felt as if I was at the end of some God/Satan spraygun of tangible air-mist-grime-pollen. And no scents. Nothing to make breathing the languid vapors worthwhile. No sense of reward or joy or revelation. Just deep cotton-like vapors filling my nostrils and throat and lining my lungs.

I sat down anyway, rocked slowly the way one should on a Southern porch in late July, and waited for an evening breeze to come and wash away the fog-like depth of the moment so I could, at last, completely see-hear-taste-smell-feel-sense all-in-all around and through and in me.

And a distant owl hooted.

When unexpected/
nature clouds your mind, be still./
She’ll clear your senses.

Deep Quilt Georgia Summer Sunset -- July 2019

Do As You’re Told Leg Rot – ImproVerse Free Verse Lament

July 25, 2019

I did
as I was told.
I went
to the ER.
I saw
doctors, nurses, NPs.

I filled out
all the forms
as I was told.

I waited
on insurance.
Now I’m watching
my leg rot off.

What To Do When You’re Done Doing? – ImproVerse Haiku Lament

July 25, 2019

What should I do when/
there’s no more to do and no/
way to do something?

On Being “Woke” – ImproVerse Political Rhyming Haiku

July 23, 2019

If you have to say,/
In a self-right way, you’re “woke”,/
Then you’re still dreaming.