Is This Play Coming to a Stage Near Us?

The Persecution and Incarceration of Hillary Clinton as Performed by the Inmates of the Republican National Committee Under the Direction of President Donald J. Trump

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Spiritual Posting, October, 2016

 

In Genesis we learn that God has created people to live in community.  Adam and Eve are indeed “made for each other.”  But it doesn’t stop there.  We transport seeds that stick to our clothing.  Working animals and those we claim as pets continue with us even in our increasingly mechanized and robotic age.  Our world is filled with billions of people (and a vast multitude of other life forms that share the earth with us) who are our potential neighbors.  Sometimes we choose our fellow travelers, and other times we are the chosen.  Then there are those times when we are thrown together by chance or an indecipherable Providence (some of my best and most long-standing friends have come my way via that route).  As it says in a 1938 movie title, “Gold is where you find it.”  So it is with our companions.  All of a sudden, pow!  A neighbor shows up.  How did that happen?

We’re all pilgrims, wayfarers, in this life.  In whatever way we come together, at least one thing remains constant: those with whom we live and move and have our being are God’s beloved children or God’s beloved creation.  They may not always act like it—nor do we—but the love of God “doubles down” in the person of Christ Jesus.  We are wise and blessed to respond in turn with the love that is ours.  God help us to be neighborly to all we meet.

 

img_8846The Picture: The Marbled Orb Weaver spider on my cap somehow made a temporary home for itself between my cap and my head.  It hitched a ride from a trail near Powhite Creek.  It was quite the surprise when I discovered it.  While it was a colorful companion, I was glad to set it free (even though I read its bite is not poisonous).  It crawled off into a neighbor’s yard.  Our time of traveling together through life was over.  I wonder how it’s managing.

 

A Prayer: God, you have set us in a world filled with beauty, surprise, and opportunity.  Give us appreciation, flexibility, and the wherewithal to seize each day with joy for what your creation offers.  We thank you for your love that is infused throughout all that exists—seen and unseen, known and unknown.  Through Christ we pray.  Amen.

Limerick

Giuliani and Gingrich and Trump
Can be seen on TV “on the stump.”
Thus far, in their lives,
They have wedded nine wives.
That might even impress Forrest Gump.

The Silver Moon Reflects

THE SILVER MOON REFLECTS

Common Meter

Text by Bill Charles

 

Vs. 1    The sliver moon reflects the praise of daylight’s golden sun.

The silent stars bear witness to God’s universe begun.

 

Vs. 2    The color of the morning clouds evolves from mauve to white.

The seven seas that formed the clouds transform from dim to bright.

 

Vs. 3    A dolphin dives into the sea.  An insect crawls and creeps.

A red-tailed hawk soars overhead.  A mountain lion leaps.

 

Vs. 4    Both work and play consume our time and energy on earth.

We struggle through with grief and pain, with faith, hope, love, and mirth.

 

Vs. 5    Another day comes to an end in lair and nest and den.

The world has gathered strength from God to do it all again.

 

Passion Song (The Rogue’s March)

PASSION SONG (The Rogue’s March)

1.  Jesus comes to Jerusalem: a city of us and a city go them.

Roman leaders and Sadducees struggle for power against Pharisees.

CHORUS:  Ride on, Jesus.  Ride on, Jesus.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.

2. Jesus rides through the streets of town.  The powerful people are now moved to frown.

Here the greatest and there the least cheer for their Savior on his borrowed beast.

CHORUS:  Ride on, Jesus.  Ride on, Jesus.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.

3. Jesus rides over palm and cloak as placed for his journey by adoring folk.

Temple leaders begin to sweat.  This Nazarene is becoming a threat.

CHORUS:  Ride on, Jesus.  Ride on, Jesus.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.

4. Jesus, do not forget the way.  Yes, you will repeat it another day

Shouldering your crude cross of wood:  People’s reward for a person who’s good.

CHORUS:  Ride on, Jesus.  Ride on, Jesus.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.  Loud hosannas are all you hear even though you suspect your death is near.

 

78 and Counting (The Pi of Life)

SEVENTY-EIGHT AND COUNTING (The Pi of Life)

By Bill Charles

I looked up to the heavens to see what I could see,

When suddenly—what should appear?  A great big number 3!

I wondered if it was a sign of the Holy Trinity.

That seemed a little much, of course, but a possibility.

And then, I saw an image that put me out of joint.

It didn’t make much sense to me.  It was a decimal point.

Soon number after number sallied forth from left to right.

They fanned out till the end of them had vanished out of sight.

I thought I’d better hurry up and start my counting now.

I’ll count until the end, you hear.  I make this solemn vow.

One, four, one, five, nine, two, six, five, three, five, eight, nine, seven, nine,

Two, eight, four, six, two, six, four, three, three, eight, three, two seem fine.

Good grief!  They stretch out far and wide.  Seven, nine, five, oh, two, eight,

Eight, four, one, nine, seven, one, six, nine, three, nine, I’m running late!

Nine, three, seven, five, one, oh, five, eight, my time will soon run out.

Two, oh, nine, seven, four, nine, what can I do?  I have such doubt.

Four, four, five, nine, two, three, oh, seven, eight, one, six, four, oh, six,

Four, oh, six, two, eight, six, two, eight, I know I’m in a fix.

I realize what’s up there now.  I see “Pi in the Sky.”

No doubt, I’ll still be in the count in that “Sweet Bye and Bye.”

Job Sings the Blues

JOB SINGS THE BLUES          by Bill Charles

 

I’m all dressed up in sackcloth, and I’ve got ashes on my head.  (2X)

I’ve lost my health, I’ve lost my riches, and my children all are dead.

My friends, they say to me, “Job, you must have done something wrong,

Or why else would a loving God let you suffer for so long?”

Well, I maintain my innocence.  Now, hear me if you please.

If all I’ve got is friends like you, I don’t need enemies!

 

Oh, I’m all dressed up in sackcloth, and I’ve got ashes on my head.

I’ve lost my health, I’ve lost my riches, and my children all are dead.

 

My woman’s so angry with me.  She says to me, “Bless God and die.”  (2X)

I try so hard to find the answer, but I really don’t know why.

My friends, they say to me, “Job, you must have done something wrong,

Or why else would a loving God let you suffer for so long?”

Well, I maintain my innocence.  Now, hear me if you please.

If all I’ve got is friends like you, I don’t need enemies!

 

I’m all dressed up in sackcloth, and I’ve got ashes on my head.  (2X)

I’ve lost my health, I’ve lost my riches, and my children all are dead.

Book Announcement

My Amazon Kindle book Black, White & Greene:  Cheering ‘Em On at River Rouge High is now available for 99¢.  It tells the story of River Rouge (Michigan) High School’s first state basketball championship under Coach Lofton Greene.  Set against this backdrop is the story of cheerleader Margaret Shaw’s senior year in what was a rarity for 1950s America:  a racially integrated school.  Please enjoy the read.

Taps

A Note from the Poet: “Taps” was written in 1972 based on my experiences of playing for military funerals while a member of the 60th Army of Ft. Polk, Louisiana.  I often played from a position that was “semi-hid.” I would be off to the side, often near a tree.  The poem is male-oriented in keeping with the time in which it was written.

 

TAPS

By Bill Charles

The solitary bugler stands apart, afar, an introspective harbinger of grief.

His presence hid from eyes but not from ears, his notes bespeak a universal fate.

The straining eyes seek out his silhouette; the ears seek out his sounds o’er sobs and groans—

The eyes oft times rewarded with a glimpse, the ears with distant melancholy tones.

It seems until that trumpet of despair is sounded that the man cannot be gone,

But as the natural melody dies away, then all concede, reality has won.

Another man had left this vale of tears to music sounded in a major key,

A corpse to sleep the sleep of sleeps for now, in patient death to sleep until the day

When yet another trumpeter shall come to undo deeds of buglers of the past,

Confound our worldly wisdom right and left,

And summon last and first and first and last.

Event

img_8507            By Bill Charles

 

As a hot sunny day greeted the thousands of visitors who poured into the latest of America’s renamed national parks, only a few patrons noticed the words on the few stray signs that had escaped the renaming process:  Mount Rushmore.  The vast portion of the signage bore the new name:  Trump Park & Casino No. 74.  Pressing incessantly upon the guardrail of the viewing area, the crowd forced several losers over the edge to their well-deserved deaths on the rocks below as the emcee with the apricot-colored hair-like substance atop his head nodded his approval.

“You’re beautiful, beautiful!” said The Donald.  “Be sure to hang on tight to your betting stubs.”

Each member of the crowd followed his admonition.  Which one of the four presidents would be replaced?  The odds-on favorite was Theodore Roosevelt.  He wore glasses, after all.  His Highest Excellency President Trump raised his right arm and waved his hand ever so slightly.  The crowd fell silent.

“Here it is,” he said as he held up a neon orange plunger for all to see.

The cheering renewed for several minutes until the Trumpster waved his hand again.  Several loudmouths, slow to respond, were hurled—kicking and screaming, of course—into the chasm by more obedient members of the throng.

“They were probably rapists,” Trump remarked.  “I love you people who took care of that problem for us.  People who take care of problems before they get out of hand are winners.  I love winners.  Let’s give those winners a big round of applause.”  In less than a minute the ovation died out on its own to be replaced by a low murmur.  Trump continued.  “I know you’re wondering who’s been voted off the face of the mountain.  Let’s find out, okay?”

The crowd fell silent as Trump grasped the plunger with his stubby fingers and gave it a quick, firm push.  Nothing happened.

“Fooled you!” shouted Trump just before he broke into a hearty laugh.  The crowd joined him with such force that a nearby kettle of vultures removed themselves several miles to the west.  After a few seconds, Darn Old Trump waved the crowd to silence again and pulled out another plunger—apricot-colored, this time.  “This is the real thing, folks.  Okay, here we go.”

“One!  Two!  Three!” shouted Trump and the crowd together.

Down went the plunger setting off a large number of coordinated microbursts that took off the face of . . . Abraham Lincoln!  Lincoln’s nose collapsed and fell first.  His beard held on for a couple of seconds or so before sliding off.  His eyebrows remained attached for several seconds more and then slipped into the cloud of dust rising from the base of the peak.

“Okay folks, I know all about the betting line.  Most of you losers figured that it was going to be Teddy Roosevelt we’d be saying bye-bye to.  Bad guess.  Hey, I couldn’t wipe out T. R., could I?  No!  Think about it.  T and R are the first letters of my last name.  I love myself too much to do that.  Although I admit glasses are for losers.

“Think about it some more.  Lincoln was a loser.  He was probably diseased.  I read that somewhere.  His kids kept dying. His wife was a crazy skank.  He didn’t finish his second term.  Winners finish what they start.  And he didn’t have the resources to hire proper security.  I have proper security, believe me.  Well, that’s it for now.  When it’s time to unveil my visage, you can—and will—come back.  Okay, get out of my park.”

“Three cheers for President Trump!” screeched a glassy-eyed white man of middle years.

“That’s His Highest Excellency President Trump, dumb-ass!” riposted an AK-47-wielding ranger as she hit the man repeatedly in the groin with the butt of her weapon.

At that point the crowd shuffled off the premises while singing a snappy rendition of “Whistle While You Work” until only Trump and his retinue remained.