August 13, 2010
Science doesn't answer all of the questions.
So...
how did those bugs know
those other bugs don't taste too fine?
Then,
how did they get the word out
to the rest of the swarm or hive
to change their spots or stripes
to look like those other bugs?
First,
they must have had one
heck of a research team
investigating the necessary DNA markers
needed to evolve.
Perhaps,
they thought real hard,
gritting their tiny little mandibles,
chanting “I think I can! I think I can!” until
the right shades and hues popped out on their tiny little exoskeletons.
Maybe
they just used Match.com
to hook up with the right
mates to propagate
the appropriate gene pool.
However
they did it,
them some smart bugs.
Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Cacophony of Quiet
August 6, 2010
Just sitting in the backyard.
The sun rounds
the bounds of the trees.
crickets
crickets
crickets
crickets
crickets
whistle
click
trill
twitter
click
trill
chirrup
click click
trill
trill
trill
hidden frog
raspy zipper solo
amplified
raspy zipper solo
echoed
raspy zipper duet
in the next yard
squirrels
lustily playing leaping
in the pine
piquing
cross branches cross branches
that crackle crackle complaints
as they pass
cicadas plug in
warming up with the sun
the arrival of
galvanic vibrations
evolves
lively revivals
of vibrant vivace
vocalizing volumes
of verve
Just sitting in the backyard.
The sun rounds
the bounds of the trees.
crickets
crickets
crickets
crickets
crickets
whistle
click
trill
click
trill
chirrup
click click
trill
trill
trill
hidden frog
raspy zipper solo
amplified
raspy zipper solo
echoed
raspy zipper duet
in the next yard
squirrels
lustily playing leaping
in the pine
piquing
cross branches cross branches
that crackle crackle complaints
as they pass
cicadas plug in
warming up with the sun
the arrival of
galvanic vibrations
evolves
lively revivals
of vibrant vivace
vocalizing volumes
of verve
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A Psalm of the Morning
July 6, 2010
You, Lord, make the earth turn
to see the sun again;
You guide the moon in its orbit
to give light in the darkness.
You, Lord, aged the stars and the galaxies
to shine at the appropriate time;
You alone, Lord, know the edges
of the universe in every direction.
It was You, Lord, that exposed Your thought
and in a micro-nano-millisecond
set in motion the world to come.
How great are You, Lord.
How far more intelligent
than the greatest minds of men combined.
You, Lord, make the earth turn
to see the sun again;
You guide the moon in its orbit
to give light in the darkness.
You, Lord, aged the stars and the galaxies
to shine at the appropriate time;
You alone, Lord, know the edges
of the universe in every direction.
It was You, Lord, that exposed Your thought
and in a micro-nano-millisecond
set in motion the world to come.
How great are You, Lord.
How far more intelligent
than the greatest minds of men combined.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Big Bang
July 5, 2010
This started as a quick assignment in Creative Writing 238. We were instructed to quickly write a list of sounds, select one, write a descriptive paragraph. I selected "car crash" and wrote what I could remember of sounds from a car crash that I had experienced. Looking for notes to another story, I found it and noticed poetry within the text. All of the lines are pared down from the original. As I arranged the lines into a more poetic form, I saw new meaning in the words. Creation. Thus, the last stanza.
no picture before
the attenuated screeching of rubber on pavement
no visual prior
to the dull, unmetallic
thud
of grillongrill
absence of images preceded
cr unc hin g of g la ss
whOOOOOOOsh
exploded into
temporarily sightless eyes
a chasm of time
interrupting
the normal flow of traffic
darkness turning around
blindly facing a new direction
dust and gas and twilight
intertwining
in the confining atmosphere
stumble out coughing
have i been in an accident?
This started as a quick assignment in Creative Writing 238. We were instructed to quickly write a list of sounds, select one, write a descriptive paragraph. I selected "car crash" and wrote what I could remember of sounds from a car crash that I had experienced. Looking for notes to another story, I found it and noticed poetry within the text. All of the lines are pared down from the original. As I arranged the lines into a more poetic form, I saw new meaning in the words. Creation. Thus, the last stanza.
no picture before
the attenuated screeching of rubber on pavement
no visual prior
to the dull, unmetallic
thud
of grillongrill
absence of images preceded
cr unc hin g of g la ss
whOOOOOOOsh
exploded into
temporarily sightless eyes
a chasm of time
interrupting
the normal flow of traffic
darkness turning around
blindly facing a new direction
dust and gas and twilight
intertwining
in the confining atmosphere
stumble out coughing
have i been in an accident?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
By the Water's Edge
No Date
A cool breeze. The scent of pine. The stillness of the water. Birds play at the water's edge. Dragonflies dart through the reeds. Fish hide under lily pads. A weekend camping trip by the lake? No…my less than a quarter acre backyard with pond.
When I first bought the house, the only things in the backyard were a couple of crepe myrtles in the far corners, a few small red-tips along the edge of the property, and a lone mimosa smack in the middle. The mimosa died soon after I moved in and had to be removed. The backyard was dubbed “the great Savannah plain” by my wife Lynn and daughter Carrie because it was so wide open.
I planted some pine, a few cedar, and a willow to get a woodland feel and some shade. It needed something else. One Saturday when I had nothing else to do, I took the better part of the day to dig a hole where the mimosa used to be. (Being not in good shape, I thought it would take several days.) It has been a work in progress since.
What has been surprising is the amount of enjoyment we as a family have received from this hole filled with water. Watching the growth of plants in and around the pond is a source of constant wonder. My green thumb is more a shade of brown. We're often amazed at the height of the reeds transplanted from a nearby ditch, some over six fee; the many leaves of water lilies that cover over a third of the pond; and the yellows, reds, and pinks of the flowering cactus, caladiums, and water lilies.
In the morning or early evening, we like to feed the fish—originally about a dozen 24 cent goldfish, now grown to 5-6 inches. Sometimes we do this as a family (dog included), sometimes alone; but there always seems to be something peaceful…soothing…in watching these huge goldfish swim about sucking up the flattened flakes of food. One winter the pond actually froze over and we watched as they swam about under the ice. In the spring, we look expectantly for baby fishes. Many have survived, in a variety of colors other than gold (some with black, some all brown, one or two white), to become part of our school.
Spring also heralds the arrival of an amphibian or two. Our youngest daughter, Catherine, has seen first hand as scores of eggs become tiny tadpoles. Not all of the eggs make it that far and only a few of the tadpoles get very big. I believe visiting birds or the fish have enjoyed a tasty delicacy. Even so, the deep throated songs of the adults serenade our suburban home with a nighttime woodland lullaby.
Our little pool has also hosted a variety of winged creatures. We've seen the glistening blue-black crow, brilliant red garbed cardinal, the somber dusty gray dove. The pond has become their little Greek public bath, their mini Irish pub; a place to meet for a dip and a drink. But my favorite winged guests have to be the dragonflies. Metalic blues and greens zipping through the reeds; hovering on crystaline wing over lily pads; resting in the sun on a rock—these beautiful insects add aerial life to the still water.
But the birds and fish and frogs aren't the only ones who like to play in the water. On hot summer days, Catherine and her friends love to sit on the edge and soak their feet. I fixed a place just for that purpose—I knew the temptation would be too great. There are also stepping stones to cross or squat on to watch the fish. Our grandsons, Arthur, 3, and Ethan, 1, are constantly intrigued by the water's edge. (I get up a lot to make sure they don't try to walk on water.)
Our backyard pond certainly is a great source of enjoyment, aesthetically and educationally, for the entire family. But you know, I wouldn't pass up an occasional weekend camping trip by the lake.
A cool breeze. The scent of pine. The stillness of the water. Birds play at the water's edge. Dragonflies dart through the reeds. Fish hide under lily pads. A weekend camping trip by the lake? No…my less than a quarter acre backyard with pond.
When I first bought the house, the only things in the backyard were a couple of crepe myrtles in the far corners, a few small red-tips along the edge of the property, and a lone mimosa smack in the middle. The mimosa died soon after I moved in and had to be removed. The backyard was dubbed “the great Savannah plain” by my wife Lynn and daughter Carrie because it was so wide open.
I planted some pine, a few cedar, and a willow to get a woodland feel and some shade. It needed something else. One Saturday when I had nothing else to do, I took the better part of the day to dig a hole where the mimosa used to be. (Being not in good shape, I thought it would take several days.) It has been a work in progress since.
What has been surprising is the amount of enjoyment we as a family have received from this hole filled with water. Watching the growth of plants in and around the pond is a source of constant wonder. My green thumb is more a shade of brown. We're often amazed at the height of the reeds transplanted from a nearby ditch, some over six fee; the many leaves of water lilies that cover over a third of the pond; and the yellows, reds, and pinks of the flowering cactus, caladiums, and water lilies.
In the morning or early evening, we like to feed the fish—originally about a dozen 24 cent goldfish, now grown to 5-6 inches. Sometimes we do this as a family (dog included), sometimes alone; but there always seems to be something peaceful…soothing…in watching these huge goldfish swim about sucking up the flattened flakes of food. One winter the pond actually froze over and we watched as they swam about under the ice. In the spring, we look expectantly for baby fishes. Many have survived, in a variety of colors other than gold (some with black, some all brown, one or two white), to become part of our school.
Spring also heralds the arrival of an amphibian or two. Our youngest daughter, Catherine, has seen first hand as scores of eggs become tiny tadpoles. Not all of the eggs make it that far and only a few of the tadpoles get very big. I believe visiting birds or the fish have enjoyed a tasty delicacy. Even so, the deep throated songs of the adults serenade our suburban home with a nighttime woodland lullaby.
Our little pool has also hosted a variety of winged creatures. We've seen the glistening blue-black crow, brilliant red garbed cardinal, the somber dusty gray dove. The pond has become their little Greek public bath, their mini Irish pub; a place to meet for a dip and a drink. But my favorite winged guests have to be the dragonflies. Metalic blues and greens zipping through the reeds; hovering on crystaline wing over lily pads; resting in the sun on a rock—these beautiful insects add aerial life to the still water.
But the birds and fish and frogs aren't the only ones who like to play in the water. On hot summer days, Catherine and her friends love to sit on the edge and soak their feet. I fixed a place just for that purpose—I knew the temptation would be too great. There are also stepping stones to cross or squat on to watch the fish. Our grandsons, Arthur, 3, and Ethan, 1, are constantly intrigued by the water's edge. (I get up a lot to make sure they don't try to walk on water.)
Our backyard pond certainly is a great source of enjoyment, aesthetically and educationally, for the entire family. But you know, I wouldn't pass up an occasional weekend camping trip by the lake.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
O, de Clouds
April 28, 2009
This just in! Seriously. I just sent this freshly composed piece of poetry to the printer for the first time just moments ago.
I like clouds. I enjoy photographing them. They're huge. Majestic. Mysterious. Full of potential. They provide shade. Rain. All pointing to an artistic and ingenious and mighty Creator.
Besides, Jesus did say he would be coming back in the clouds. I'm just looking up and waiting!
O, de Clouds
O, de clouds make me happy.
O, de clouds make me smile.
O, de clouds make me giggle,
jus' like a chil'.
O, de clouds dey be puffy.
O, de clouds dey be white.
O, de clouds a' time be gray,
dat be all right.
O, de clouds make de rain fall.
O, de clouds hide de sun.
O, de clouds go de wind blow,
like a chil' run.
O, de clouds up on de mountain.
O, de clouds down by de sea.
O, de clouds dey in de valley,
ever'where I see
O, de clouds.
This just in! Seriously. I just sent this freshly composed piece of poetry to the printer for the first time just moments ago.
I like clouds. I enjoy photographing them. They're huge. Majestic. Mysterious. Full of potential. They provide shade. Rain. All pointing to an artistic and ingenious and mighty Creator.
Besides, Jesus did say he would be coming back in the clouds. I'm just looking up and waiting!
O, de Clouds
O, de clouds make me happy.
O, de clouds make me smile.
O, de clouds make me giggle,
jus' like a chil'.
O, de clouds dey be puffy.
O, de clouds dey be white.
O, de clouds a' time be gray,
dat be all right.
O, de clouds make de rain fall.
O, de clouds hide de sun.
O, de clouds go de wind blow,
like a chil' run.
O, de clouds up on de mountain.
O, de clouds down by de sea.
O, de clouds dey in de valley,
ever'where I see
O, de clouds.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Gettin' His Hands Dirty From the Start
(March 10, 2009)
I was really tired that night. Really tried to sleep. I was already in bed when a line for another poem I was working on came to me; so, I had to write it before I lost it. Then another thought for another poem (I had notes for 2 or 3 in progress). I brought the flashlight into the bedroom so I wouldn't disturb Lynn. I really wanted to sleep, but if the inspiration kept coming I wanted to be prepared. Yet, I really wanted to sleep. This was merely part of a list of poems I would like to write exploring the divininty within humanity in the form of Christ or more precisely that God ain't afraid of getting dirty. I only slept for 3 hours that night.
Gettin' His Hands Dirty From the Start
I was out in the field the other day
just lookin' things over—
it was such a nice day and all.
I was just kickin' dirt clods,
when I came across one
kind of looked like my Grandpa Massey.
And lookin' at that clod of dirt,
that looked like Grandpa,
got me thinkin'
about something I read in the Bible.
And in the beginning
there wasn't much of nothing.
So God made something,
and comparatively speaking,
it was kind of messy.
And the angels stood back,
amazed and afraid,
as God rolled up his sleeves
and stuck his hands elbow deep
in the mud.
Now to you and me
this mud was about as clean
as any mud can get.
After all, it's God-made mud.
But to God, who ain't had dirt
tracked into his kingdom for ever
('cept for maybe that Satan fellow),
mud is mud.
But he done it any way.
And by the time He was done
moldin' and pattin' and shapin'
this stuff,
He had done made a man.
Well, He wasn't quite done yet.
The fellow wasn't quite alive.
So what does God do?
Now at this point,
when the angels see God
start to do what He's about to do,
the angels gasp
(that's right—gasp)
'cause God begins to give
mouth-to-mouth to this mud-man.
And lo and behold,
the guy starts to breathe.
And to walk and to talk.
And he names all the animals
and tends to this garden God made.
And then he ends up
doing something stupid later on
that gets him kicked out of this nice place
to places where he has to break up clods of dirt.
But God really took a shine
to this guy anyway.
And the angels are still amazed
at how much God cares
about these walking clumps of dirt.
Me.
I kicked the clod that looked like Grandpa.
I was really tired that night. Really tried to sleep. I was already in bed when a line for another poem I was working on came to me; so, I had to write it before I lost it. Then another thought for another poem (I had notes for 2 or 3 in progress). I brought the flashlight into the bedroom so I wouldn't disturb Lynn. I really wanted to sleep, but if the inspiration kept coming I wanted to be prepared. Yet, I really wanted to sleep. This was merely part of a list of poems I would like to write exploring the divininty within humanity in the form of Christ or more precisely that God ain't afraid of getting dirty. I only slept for 3 hours that night.
Gettin' His Hands Dirty From the Start
I was out in the field the other day
just lookin' things over—
it was such a nice day and all.
I was just kickin' dirt clods,
when I came across one
kind of looked like my Grandpa Massey.
And lookin' at that clod of dirt,
that looked like Grandpa,
got me thinkin'
about something I read in the Bible.
And in the beginning
there wasn't much of nothing.
So God made something,
and comparatively speaking,
it was kind of messy.
And the angels stood back,
amazed and afraid,
as God rolled up his sleeves
and stuck his hands elbow deep
in the mud.
Now to you and me
this mud was about as clean
as any mud can get.
After all, it's God-made mud.
But to God, who ain't had dirt
tracked into his kingdom for ever
('cept for maybe that Satan fellow),
mud is mud.
But he done it any way.
And by the time He was done
moldin' and pattin' and shapin'
this stuff,
He had done made a man.
Well, He wasn't quite done yet.
The fellow wasn't quite alive.
So what does God do?
Now at this point,
when the angels see God
start to do what He's about to do,
the angels gasp
(that's right—gasp)
'cause God begins to give
mouth-to-mouth to this mud-man.
And lo and behold,
the guy starts to breathe.
And to walk and to talk.
And he names all the animals
and tends to this garden God made.
And then he ends up
doing something stupid later on
that gets him kicked out of this nice place
to places where he has to break up clods of dirt.
But God really took a shine
to this guy anyway.
And the angels are still amazed
at how much God cares
about these walking clumps of dirt.
Me.
I kicked the clod that looked like Grandpa.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Faith of Science
(May 2006)
Were you there?
Did you witness the Bang?
or the Boom?
(If no one was there, did it make a sound?)
Was there a bystander
to the splitting of Dark and Light?
Day and Night?
Did you see
the whorling, swirling, mixing
of rocks and gases,
compacted compounds
(ta da! the energy pill)
(We still have to
figure out where
that little sucker
came from.
What?
It's always been!
Behold!
The Omnipresent Rock!)
become planets and suns.
Was it you that started the clock ticking
to decree the cosmos birthday
to be in the billions and billions?
Start the clock!
Atomic or planetary?
But wait!
Planets unformed,
atoms unstable.
Time unmarked, irrelevant.
Rewind.
(The speed of light is slowing
and the rowers keep on rowing.)
And it's all unconnected—
connect the dots,
see the signs,
imagination unwinds—
your “evidence” doesn't scare me.
I oversimplify?
God!
Maybe it is.
Were you there?
Did you witness the Bang?
or the Boom?
(If no one was there, did it make a sound?)
Was there a bystander
to the splitting of Dark and Light?
Day and Night?
Did you see
the whorling, swirling, mixing
of rocks and gases,
compacted compounds
(ta da! the energy pill)
(We still have to
figure out where
that little sucker
came from.
What?
It's always been!
Behold!
The Omnipresent Rock!)
become planets and suns.
Was it you that started the clock ticking
to decree the cosmos birthday
to be in the billions and billions?
Start the clock!
Atomic or planetary?
But wait!
Planets unformed,
atoms unstable.
Time unmarked, irrelevant.
Rewind.
(The speed of light is slowing
and the rowers keep on rowing.)
And it's all unconnected—
connect the dots,
see the signs,
imagination unwinds—
your “evidence” doesn't scare me.
I oversimplify?
God!
Maybe it is.
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