Begin a new life in Christ

Dale G. Renlund

"God invites us to cast our old ways completely out of reach and begin a new life in Christ."

Dale G. Renlund

I'm always very lavish

when I give away my sins;

I've got so many of 'em

that I keep 'em in large bins.

I hope the Lord is patient

as I toss 'em far away,

cuz sometimes they creep back

and beg for room in which to stay.

And so I kick them out again,

and drown 'em good and deep,

and pray that virtue constantly

into my life can seep!

Verses from stories by Christine Hauser, JoAnna Klein, and Chris Mooney

Christine Hauser

SOMEONE IS PUTTING COWBOY HATS

ON PIGEONS IN LAS VEGAS.

@christineNYT

We don't know who, we don't know why,

perhaps they drop out of the the sky;

but pigeons wearing cowboy hats

are strutting 'round like big fat cats.

The heavy rollers stop and stare;

the mob enforcers turn to prayer.

The cops don't see a broken law;

perhaps it's artwork gone Dada.

If I saw pigeons with a Stetson

I'd fly away like old George Jetson!

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SCIENTISTS DISCOVER SPONGES SIP

SUGAR FROM THE OCEAN

@nonojojo

A sponge don't have to wear a shirt

or a necktie while inert.

Perched on coral reefs, this blob

has an awful easy job;

sipping sugar from debris

that the ocean gives it free.

Freeloading from dawn to dusk,

it has neither feet nor tusk.

No eyeballs and not an ear

to discover danger near.

But then, who'd want to eat a sponge?

A goat would not dare take that plunge!

Nothing causes it distraction

from its diligent inaction.

When one dies, I guess it goes

off to Congress -- there to doze.

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GREENLAND IS MELTING

@chriscmooney

Like a summer ice cream cone

Greenland's melting to the bone.

All its ice is headed for

someplace on the ocean floor.

Soon the place will be as bare

as a baby's derriere.

Tides grow higher, flooding breeds

houses high on stilts and reeds.

Forget those snowballs down in hell;

the ones in Greenland aren't too well!

The Priesthood

President Russell M. Nelson

"How I yearn for you to understand that the restoration of the priesthood is just as relevant to you as a woman as it is to any man."

President Russell M. Nelson

When God restored the priesthood

upon men on earth today,

He meant that it should bless us all,

in ev'ry sort of way.

A power that parts oceans

in the hands of righteous men,

flows into a woman when

she guides her own children.

The money shot of miracles

that gets publicity

is less important to the Lord

than sweet fidelity

that comes especial strong

from all the women of the world --

without their love and charity

priesthood power will stay furled.

A poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

My grandmother used to buck me up, after some terrible childhood tragedy like dropping an ice cream cone on the sidewalk, by saying "Well, it's better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick."

I guess the calico patch she wore over her left eye gave her the right to use that expression; she obviously had some experience in the matter.

But as I grew older I noticed there were more and more people using that expression, and not in a kindly, grandmotherly, or comforting fashion. More in a literal, threatening way.

As a teenager I went to work in a textbook store near the University campus. My job was to use a rubber mallet to bang apart metal snap-together shelves and store them in the back room until they were needed at the beginning of the next semester. It was dull, clanging, work, so sometimes I would step out into the alley to eat a pomegranate. My boss, who had a wart on his neck that he called his head, caught me at it one time and immediately began whittling a wooden dowel into a sharp stick.

"We'll see if eating a pomegranate on MY time is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick" he muttered maniacally as he shaved the dowel. I didn't bother to stick around, or ask for my last paycheck. I got on my bike and pedaled away to a Wheeler & Woolsey film festival being held at the Varsity Theater in Dinky Town. They were no Laurel & Hardy, but at least they never poked each other in the eyes with anything more pointy than a banana.

Every spring the Spinifex came to town, telling fortunes and mending clothes pins. I fell in love with one of their young women, named Wilta, on a soft May night. We held hands and gazed at the gibbering moon -- which I afterwards learned should have been gibbous, not gibbering -- and I promised to join her tribe in its mysterious wanderings. The next day I showed up at their camp with my portmanteau packed with baseball cards and dozens of ketchup packets. But before I could become a member of the tribe I was informed I had to be initiated into the rituals of their Sharp Stick Dance. 
I kicked Wilta goodbye and never looked back, until I was in the next county.

 For a few years I was free from sharp and pointy sticks. I managed to marry and raise a family, until one dark day an old lady showed up on the front lawn, waving a sharp stick in the air and cackling like something out of Macbeth. I shooed her away, but in a few hours she was back with six more old crones, each waving a sharp stick and chanting in unison "Poke! Poke! Poke!"

I put on my snorkel and went out to confront them.

They chased me down the street so fast and so far that I never had the chance to say goodbye to my wife and kids. Or our pet rabbit. A belated farewell . . . my little bunny Foo-Foo . . . 

As I wandered from town to town, doing odd jobs to keep body and soul together, I remembered that Robinson Crusoe had poked sharp sticks into the ground on his desert island, and then watched them grow into fruit trees. I began to obsess about sharp sticks being poked into my eye in order to start a mango plantation. It got to the point where I couldn't keep a regular odd job anymore, and was forced to humiliate myself by managing a hedge fund. 
I prefer to forget those desperate times . . . 

What I've learned is that there are sharp sticks everywhere in life. In closets; in bowling alleys; in museums; in factories, warehouses, and especially offices; on Wall Street; and even in the United States Botanic Garden. And they are all aimed at one of my eyes. 

So I got in the habit of carrying my own sharp stick. It was very effective. Whenever someone came up to me asking if I knew anything better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick, I simply showed them my sharpened Popsicle stick, and they backed off. After several dozen people asked me how to make one themselves I realized this was an entrepreneurial bonanza. I started my own online pointy Popsicle stick company, called Popstickineye.com, and was recently featured on the cover of The Financial Times. Our first dividend was a quarter million dollars. Now I'm branching out, having funded Stickitwherethesundontshine.com last month with the backing of the Doug Collins Investment Group.

Oh, and I lied -- I did find my wife and kids again; they were living in Tampa, and had traded little bunny Foo-Foo for a pair of gerbils. Feeling betrayed, I gave them each a sharp Popsicle stick and left them to their own devices.  

*********************************

Email response from an old friend in Hawaii to this story:

stickitwherethesundontshine.com is a real domain name that someone owns.  It is "parked" and for sale.  How much I don't know.

A snorkel will not save one's eyes from being poked with a sharp stick, but a snorkel mask would.

Your stories are often more deep than my shallow mind can comprehend.  But they're usually enjoyable reading anyway.

Verses from stories by Rod Nordland, Rachel Nuwer, and Gerry Shih.

Rod Nordland. NYT.

US FLUSHES TRILLIONS DOWN THE

AFGHAN TOILET

@rodnordland

Watsa couple trillion

when it comes to waging war?

Afghanistan is learning

they can ask for more and more.

The Pentagon's addicted to

success at any price;

Kabul just chuckles softly,

cuz they got us in their vice.

The money that we've spent

with no results is sure immense;

Trump could sure have used it all

to build his stupid fence!

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WILL THE CHINESE BUY ARTIFICIAL

RHINO HORN?

@RachelNuwer

Were I to live in old Shanghai,

fake rhino horn I would not buy.

Although Armani knockoffs would

be completely understood.

But when it comes to potency,

I would not take a wannabe.

So if the rhino goes kaput,

just splice some genes for a reboot!

***************************

BOOK BURNING IN CHINA FOR

FUN AND PROFIT.

@gerryshih

How I love the smell of burning books upon the air!

The Chinese do it constantly with lots of Asian flair.

Their libraries think fealty to Mao and all his kin

is demonstrated best by burning books with happy grin.

As the words go up in flames I know that better days

are coming as religious texts are fed into the blaze!

Photo Essay: Haiku Memories. Vol. 8

Floating above the clouds

is the immaculate light 

of meaning.

Sunrise

is merely sunset

without the warts.

A white plant

in the dark morning --

Christianity.

Automation

still has use

for elbow grease.

Arrogant green --

flaunts itself

but is no warmer.

Photo Essay: Haiku Memories. Vol. 7

Bug

on the wall --

that's all.

Flowing bark 

Frozen bark

Forgotten bark

Lunch --

cheap plastic

containers.

Empty chapel --

white walls

brown pews.

A leaf

on some twigs --

not yet compost.

River --

whisper to me,

why the hurry?

Green bench 

Brown trees

Black road.

The examined life

takes place

here.

Constant Vigilance.

David A. Bednar

"Constant vigilance is required to counteract complacency and casualness."

David A. Bednar

"All is well in Zion" is the death knell of our church,

lulling us to smuggish ease as things begin to lurch.

Ev'ryday repentance is the watchword we must bear;

whether life is difficult or whether it is fair.

Camping on plateaus is not the way to paradise;

God expects us to keep climbing, and to pay the price.

Help me stay alert, O Lord, for perils on the way

as I journey back to Thee where happily I'll stay!

Verses from stories by Jason Farago, Katie Mettler, and Roxanne Roberts.

WHEN IS A BANANA NOT A BANANA?

@jsf

Bananas are symbolic

of so many things in life;

they represent all starchiness

and sexiness, and strife.

So when they're put upon display

for art patrons to adore,

it's only right some goomba

eats 'em up like stevedore.

Next time that an artist

wants to tape up something rare,

I suggest considering a pointed prickly pear.

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SMACKING BUTTS ON LIVE TV

@kemettler

Smacking butts on live TV

is a sort of infamy.

Now reporters will not dare

take along their derriere,

fearful that some redneck Grinch

will give them a slap or pinch.

"Meet the Press" becomes inferior,

cuz who can sit without posterior?

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THE TRUMPS DON'T SOCIALIZE NO MORE

@_RoxanneRoberts

The Trumps don't socialize no more;

they'd rather stay at home and snore.

So humble and so quiet, they

stay indoors the live-long day.

The Beltway with its lights so bright

does not lure them them out at night

(plus Trump's tuxedo is too tight.)

They don't like crowds or ceremonies

(unless it's their own kind of cronies.)