Summer Portfolio 3
Summer Sunset
(Photo by Mike Hall)
Treess are silhouetted as the sky turns all shades of red and yellow as a summer sunset is seen from my porch.
July 31, 2009
July 30, 2009
Signals from the Soul
Signals from the Soul
It is easy to tell when
a soul is dying…
the body in which the soul
belongs is crying.
It bleeds from cuts.
Muscles relax too much.
People don’t eat enough.
The body goes to fast
as if the day won’t last.
Skins turn red from a rash.
These are signals from the soul
to let a person know that
something is wrong with the
heart.
July 29, 2009
Come Into the Light Gently
Come Into the Light Gently
When Brother Adrian Parker had his first child, Brian, he didn’t realize what kind of family he would eventually have, or realize the effect children have on lives of adults. He wrote this for Brian.
Come Into the Light Gently
Come into the light gently, my dear one,
for the bright lights outside of the
womb will make you cry.
This will be your first response,
but not your last.
This is a brave new world, which
is constantly changing, and
you will grow to meet its demands.
This is an early photo of Adrian when he first started his insurance business.
July 28, 2009
Monday Morning
Monday Morning
Monday Morning
I don’t have to go to work today,
but it seems I have much to do.
After breakfast, I have dishes to
wash, and take the trash out , too.
I need to check my e-mail, and write
a check because the rent’s due.
I would like to get on the Internet
to buy another pair of running shoes.
I need to call my new boss, and
ask about some policy issues.
I have some photographs to send
to a friend who I knew in school.
I need to exercise and walk around
the block since the sky is clear blue.
Most of all, I dedicate this poem to the
time together this weekend with you.
July 27, 2009
Pistol-Packin’ Mama
Pistol-Packin’ Mama
This pistol-packin’ mama is hot on my trail.
She has been my shadow since I got outta jail.
She rides long in the night so she will see the day
when I’m punished for crimes she believes not paid.
The sand blows and parts her parched red lips.
She sets uneasy in the saddle with her tired hips.
I feel like I’m free, and anyplace is a home.
But she is just a step away wherever I roam.
Her hate is boiled in a caldron of vengence,
and lives to spite my pride and my presence.
With a .45 Colt by her side, she blindly can aim.
But she doesn’t have to shoot to inflict pain.
This pistol-packin’ mama is hot on my trail.
She has been my shadow since I got outta jail.
It’s hard to see she once was my lover.
But after I went to jail, she found another.
The time there was hard, and I felt alone.
She was the focus of a new life, a new home.
I wish I knew what I did that was so wrong
that makes her hunt me down so hard and long.
I know she’s a good shot ’cause she’s got close,
but the only thing that saves me is my nose.
I quickly pack my bags when I feel she is near.
It is her ungodly rath and temper that I fear.
This pistol-packin’ mama is hot on my trail.
She has been my shadow since I got outta jail.
I am not a criminal no more; I paid my dues.
Yet, relentlessly, constantly, I’m being pursued.
That woman has something crazy inside her head.
If she gets to close to me, she will end up dead.
My probation officer says I have to stay on track,
or he will be the first SOB to bring me back.
I’ve spent 10 years in a place I recall has hell
and the memories are burned in my mind well.
She’s on her high horse trying to bring me in,
and if it’s a contest she wants, let the duel begin.
To this poem in Spanish, click here.
Pistola-Packin ‘Mama
Pistola-Packin ‘Mama
Para ver la versión original en inglés, haga click aquí.
Pistola-Packin ‘Mama
Esta pistola-packin ‘mama está caliente en mi camino.
Ella ha sido mi sombra, ya tengo Vete de cárcel.
Ella paseos largos en la noche para que ella vea el día
cuando estoy castigado por los crímenes que ella cree no pagadas.
Sopla la arena y parte de su tostado labios rojos.
Ella establece incómoda en la silla de montar con sus caderas cansado.
Yo siento que estoy libre, y en cualquier lugar es un hogar.
Pero ella es sólo un paso de lo que vagar.
Su odio es hervido en un caldero de la venganza,
y la vida a pesar de mi orgullo y mi presencia.
Con un .45 Colt por su lado, ella puede ciegamente objetivo.
Pero ella no tiene que disparar para infligir dolor.
Esta pistola-packin ‘mama está caliente en mi camino.
Ella ha sido mi sombra, ya tengo Vete de cárcel.
Es difícil ver que una vez fue mi amante.
Pero después me fui a la cárcel, se encontró con otro.
El tiempo era difícil, y me sentí solo.
Ella fue el tema central de una nueva vida, un nuevo hogar.
Ojalá lo supiera que lo que hice fue tan mal
que hace que su caza de mí tan duro y largo.
Sé que es un buen disparo porque ella tiene una estrecha,
pero lo único que me salva es mi nariz.
Yo mi paquete de bolsas rápidamente cuando pienso que está cerca.
Es su temperamento impíos rath y que me temo.
Esta pistola-packin ‘mama está caliente en mi camino.
Ella ha sido mi sombra, ya tengo Vete de cárcel.
No soy un criminal sin más, he pagado mi cuota.
Sin embargo, sin descanso, constantemente, estoy siendo perseguido.
Esa mujer tiene algo loco dentro de su cabeza.
Si ella llega a cerca de mí, ella acabará muerto.
Mi agente dice que tengo que estar al día,
o será la primera SOB para traerme de vuelta.
He pasado 10 años en un lugar que recuerdo ha infierno
y se queman los recuerdos en mi mente también.
Ella es alta en su caballo tratando de poner en mí,
y si se trata de un concurso que quiere, que comenzará el duelo.
July 26, 2009
Save the Trees video
Save the Trees video
A new video from Sand Castle Productions illustrates the poem, “Save the Trees,” poem by Elias Tobias.
If you can not get the video to work below, find the video by clicking here.
“>Video
July 25, 2009
Summer Portfolio 2
Gaining Ground
(Photo by Mike Hall)
Facing a hefty defense during a summer flag football game during a graduation party, the ball carrier uses all of his abilities to rush to the goal line, marked by the telephone pole in the background.
July 23, 2009
The Battle
The Battle
In this battle no one dies,
For little climps of lies
Cling to one another and side
So that one may survive.
In this battle there aren’t any rifles
But nothing amounts to a mere trifle.
And when the wounded are put in heaps
The Menace upon the soul creeps.
In this battle something is lost.
Time and patience are the costs.
The common troubles are the foes
And it is the battle of the soul.
To read this poem in French, click here.
July 22, 2009
Circus of Emotions
Circus of Emotions
Brother Bill Kelso sure has had a way with women, and 
his love life, especially in college, could be described as a circus. Some of the acts were tense as high-wire acts without safety nets, and some were, well, just imagine a clown. He wrote this poem with one woman in mind in college.
Circus of Emotions
There’s a circus of emotions in your heart.
Some people come to the circus happy,
some come sad, but the smiles and
actions of the clowns make everyone glad.
There’s a circus of emotions in your heart.
Three rings of events attract interest
simultaneously, and all acts demand
you to look, laugh, and clap your hands.
There’s a circus of emotions in your heart.
Lions and tigers need to be tamed, and
several sideshows, for a price, can be gamed.
Never is every night at the circus the same.
There’s a circus of emotions in your heart.
The smell of fresh popcorn fills the air.
People you will never see again are there,
and you hope the circus will stay forever.
There’s a circus of emotions in your heart.