Have you ever had a problem that wouldn’t go away, where every answer you threw at it seemed to come up inadequate or wrong?
You worked tirelessly to handle the darn thing, certain that finally you had it licked, and then to your amazement, there it was again, standing right in front of you with a smug smirk on its face. Yes, problems can and do smirk. They can also spit in your eye and give you the finger. Like some people, they seem to find it amusing when they can get a rise out of you.
I used to react to these pesky problems. I would put on all my battle gear like a dutiful soldier readying for war. I’d put on my best frown and sharpen my evil eye. I’d gather mighty curses to be tossed at my foes like grenades. I’d want to break something or plot some kind of secretive vengeance that I could implement against them when least expected. That’s what problems seem to want, they relish in their obscene power to consume us, to eat at us from the inside out.
Then one day I woke up, put my problems aside and decided to assume responsibility for a whole different world of problems other than my own. Big problems— like the opioid epidemic and the promulgation of gender confusion, the inexcusable injustice of psychiatric labels and the drugging of millions of innocent children via our public school systems, the false and abusive nature of the Psychiatric Diagnostic Manual. I had never previously dreamed that I had any responsibility for these social failures and false purposes that now riddle our society. When I finally began assuming some responsibility for these social ills and their flagrant betrayal of human trust, my individual problems suddenly lost their all consuming power. In the light of this new found optimism, I began receiving way too many smirks and middle fingers to acknowledge any single one of them. They simply fail to get a rise out of me. I can look at them with integrity and certainty that I go to battle wielding the greatest weapon of all— the truth. I know it is they who are the problem, not I or our children.
My new book, THE GOLDEN STALLION, is for kids aged 8 and up. It is my contribution to righting a wrong. It is my assumption of my own responsibility for a social problem our kids face in this age of special interests and academic misinformation. I hope it speaks to your parental needs and your child’s innate wisdom of the soul.
Richard and Mary Rensberry, Authors at QuickTurtle Books®
It is on occasion, after a day of drenching rain, they come out to play. Rain is music to their earthly souls, a primitive reminder of the percussion of sex, the need to partner-up and get down to some serious love making in the wet grass and dirt as lightning bugs and stars ramp up to flicker.
In the Amish Country, night crawlers are not neighborhood hoodlums. They don’t hang around on street-corners at two o’clock in the morning smoking pot. They aren’t out dealing Meth or accosting senior citizens for some meager amount of cash to buy a hit of crack cocaine. Continue reading
There is an abundance of love poetry for the simple reason that its emotional upwelling is so strong. Love emotions feel wonderfully good and cannot be contained. All artists strive to capture the essence of love. In contrast is the turmoil of divorce and all the accompanying emotions of betrayal and loss. All poets are a tuning fork for the expression of these feelings. If one lives, one is emotional. Death is the one that is emotionless. Continue reading
I believe cultures resonate to the vibrations artists create and instill upon their work. Author’s words carry the weight of their focal points. This focus can help or harm the society into which their creations permeate.
As an example, a comedian stands in front of a community and pokes fun not at everyone in general but at a select group of people. The vibration moves and resonates with like seeds of prejudice harbored by his audience and grows. Soon we have ill feelings being expressed against a select group of people. Good or bad? Continue reading
USE THE ABOVE LINK FOR A FREE DOWNLOAD OF MY BOOK UNTIL MIDNIGHT PST DECEMBER 1. I would greatly appreciate reviews posted to Amazon. When you go to Amazon Books just type my name into the search and my books will come up so a review can be shared. Thanks.
I have been writing poetry since the age of twelve and created my first chapbook at the age of fourteen. After showing a few sample poems to friends and neighbors, the chapbook was relegated to a dusty drawer to disintegrate into fodder for a rat’s nest. Some of the poems were good, many I am sure were bad, but all originated from a bludgeoned or joyful heart, mine. I am almost certain the rats found them more pleasurable than any of my human readers. Continue reading
The motor runs
Of discontent, Continue reading
to the broken fellow
who went to war.
than you get
to your employer. Continue reading
I soon discovered that the Vulture had been recruited as a delivery boy. He was dispensing the goods and rather efficiently to Kim’s clients.
I needed to get out ahead of him if I wanted to witness a transaction, so when the Vulture left Market St. to go down fifth, I moved on down Market and went into a t-shirt shop that Two Fingers had solicited when I had been tailing him. I cruised down one of the aisles to the rear of the store near a set of stairs and parked myself behind a rack of Giant’s pullovers. I pretended to browse with interest through the shirts. Continue reading