November 26
No Mickey Mouse
The Wonderful World of Disney belonged to normal children; kids with Sunday nights and not the tear filled screaming which punctuated my weekends. I had no time for the creative melodrama built to add interest into the dull little lives of safe little ones. There is no Disney for me; no clean pasteled figures frolicking. I know only the freshened wit of the wizened rabbit and the frenetic slamming of that distorted duck; these are there for me. Teaching me the dark humor of the life I lead; preparing me to laugh at M*A*S*H, yet still never cluing me to the fact that Carroll O’Connor was only teasing, so still I cried to hear his rants, but the dry irony of Hawkeye, war and blood, those I got. I was carefully led there by the Merry Melodies.
Check your mental attic for spiders
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CLIMBING ON THE ARC
If time swings and the seasons swirl
And I pulse out my existence
Why does the birds wing flap
And rain fall down?
If the song comes from my Mothers lips
And my Father tells his tales
And I dance my heritage with each step I take
Why does the flower open to the bee
And the swan trumpet her way home?
If everything pulls from the ground
And reaches for the light
Then how can I duck my head, hide my heart
And pass this all off as a coincidence.
Am I less than the rain or greater than the swan?
Why can’t I just climb on the arc
And let the continuum spin its web around me
Well, you see I can but will I?
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