Archive for September, 2012

Theology, Biblical Archeology, Philosophy and Poetry all in One. A great poem written in response to recent findings claiming to challenge Christ’s celibacy!

Susan Daniels Poetry

there is a gospel of mary
on a fifth-century papyrus
that is not canon
& an infancy gospel of thomas
where the child Jesus
rolled 12 sparrows from clay & spit.
they flew away, singing.  not everything old
is true, & not everything true
is comfortable.  or relevant.  or gospel,
even if that word is in the title
glyphed in aramaic or greek

we who sing through mouths
lit holy know salvation does not fly
with a tale of 12 sparrows
or a celibate Christ, or a married one;
but the divine breathing, bridging & dying
a way for us to God through flesh
& sacrifice. a scrap of papyrus
does not change the Christ i know
who walked through death.
the cross & the tomb are empty.
thomas the doubter
put his hands inside that body
before he believed.

it is not what is known
but what is risked that saves

without touching
we…

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Talk of trade offs!

Health & Family

Talk about a longevity strategy no man wants to pursue. A recent study published in the journal Current Biology finds that Korean eunuchs — castrated men — lived 14 to 19 years longer than other men, suggesting that male sex hormones play a role in life span.

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Haiku – the paradox of knowledge

By Noel A Ihebuzor

ignorance softer
on probing human minds than
mild uncertainty

 

minds searching answers

encounter further questions

causing yet more thirst

 

***Haiku written in response to a great post by Susan Daniels. I then added another verse!

Beautiful poetry by Susan. A must read! Prompted this clumsy reaction – your song, Susan
floats softly like feather strokes
flashing like the dazzle of white teeth
on darkened Serre gums
how such tender caresss words still cut
like a sharp serrated knife,
piercing deep, stroking and stoking
is the paradox of a song
that blows, glows, warms and melts
all at once, four as once

Susan Daniels Poetry

if i could stretch my spirit
to where you are, i would haunt you
through the door we call dreaming

but it is difficult to spin a strand of self
that far, so instead i will call you here
sculpted of shadow where i want skin

sometimes distance is distance
& sometimes longing feels a little bit like loss.
perhaps we will dream an us together,
want drawn by want to a place where desire
is answered by touch, tangible
& real as the weight of your mouth moving over mine,
the heat of your breathing.

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Urban Jungle Blues – A Duet

By Noel A. Ihebuzor and Susan L. Daniels

Another wandering day finds worn out minds
worrying on a wavering road wound tightly around anxious
feet lost and soles tired, tiring,
endless stomping, souls emptying, core eroding
trapped penniless in hard bone want
rides and crosses opulence heaving full breasted
never meeting anywhere or nowhere, desert islands, different
indifference, whether in narrow winding slums spawning hovels, grime, crime and anomie or in suffocating metallic structures that pierce the sky
seated on wide arteries on gridlocked checker boards
where automobiles choke the lungs with fumes of affluence,

Here, this city no longer smells of steel galvanizing
but oats baking into cereal O’s, and the main street
pedestrian mall frames four tracks for trains that do nothing
but run from the banks to the university
in a 30-year straight line, all the stores closed
except pharmacies, pawn shops, Chinese take-out,
stores that sell bright synthetic shoes for drag queens and prostitutes
or lottery tickets, cigarettes, and beer

The city sprawls, growls, as grim faces with automated smiles
and ATM voices greet and grit set teeth
co-travellers on the subway, rush without seeing, not feeling
and when seeing move on before sunshine thaws well frozen
protector shields of indifference and anonymity
to open a space now dreaded in this place where we pace
in a metal jungle of tubular bars, well rehearsed smiles,
a maze that breathes fear
behind stale glass windows or airless hovels
that color eyes and imprison minds
and minds stagnate in the stupor of sterile promises
that become hazier as mind become heavier, and stubborn dreams
slowly tip to cheap end points, needles, skins, threads and ropes

This is my downtown, my city of brown and black faces
strangled by surrounding white arms, where all the jobs grow
past the bus lines and reverse commutes from suburb to suburb;
but still in this heart blocked by abandoned factories
rises an energy.  Students fill the coffeehouses and jazz clubs,
wrapped in black, borrowed sophistication after a night
in the theatre district or gallery parties, and warehouses shift to lofts
and still more galleries, pop-up shows mushrooming between the cracks of sidewalks

like brilliant intoxicating fungi
as street festivals paint the air
with basil and cinnamon, mixing with those oats

urban centres call
sell hopes that reach for a sky
darkened by hard hearts

those sidewalks

littered landscaping
of trash cans never emptied
dreams full of promise

so emptying

***Susan and I explore the challenges of urban life in this duet. Though our backgrounds are different, our duet brings out some of the universal features of life  in an urban setting  – hence, the title, Urban Jungle Blues. As always, this was fun!  Susan’s voice is in italics, Mine is in regular type. Kindly let us know what you think of the duet!

A good read for men…and women!

BroadBlogs


By Raymond Bechard

Excerpted with permission from “How to Lose a Woman Forever” on The Good Men Project

Raymond Bechard summarizes Travis McGee’s views on women into 22 rules to losing the love of your life forever.

Only a woman of pride, complexity and emotional tension is genuinely worth the act of love, and there are only two ways to get yourself one of them. Either you lie, and stain the relationship with your own sense of guile, or you accept the involvement, the emotional responsibility, the permanence she must by nature crave. I love you can be said only two ways.

Travis McGee, The Deep Blue Good-By, 1964

1. Don’t protect her.

She’s a big girl. There’s no reason to help her feel safe in the way she needs to feel safe. There are no guarantees in life so it’s not rational to expect security in relationships. (And nothing…

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World

The violence looked spontaneous; it was anything but. Instead it was the product of a sequence of provocations, some mysterious, some obvious. It seemed to start in the U.S., then became magnified in Egypt and was brought to a deadly and sorrowful climax in Libya — all on the 11th anniversary of 9/11. The cast of characters in this tragedy included a shadowy filmmaker, a sinister pastor in Florida, an Egyptian-American Islamophobe, an Egyptian TV host, politically powerful Islamist extremist groups and, just possibly, an al-Qaeda affiliate in Libya. The instigators and executors didn’t work in concert; they probably didn’t even know they were in cahoots. Indeed, some of them would sooner die than knowingly help the others’ causes. Nonetheless, the death of Ambassador Chris Stevens and three other Americans at the U.S. consulate in Benghazi was the result of a collective effort, with grievous consequences.

As the Obama…

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