The Long Way Up

Set Gather Talk Ponder Sturdy and dependable Making people understandable Eat Pray Chat And play Level-headed; plain Uncomplicated brain Draw Write Greet Fight No sides ever taken Ears ever awakened Scratches Spills Homework And bills Wisdom clearly unspoken Not a trivial token Biscuits Tea Bibles Congee Every consumption noted Though never getting bloated Movies Songs And some Sing-alongs Heard every word Cool kids and nerds Diapers Milk Pillows In silk Held up the sleeping Carried the weeping Letters Tears Blessings And fears Witness to lives lived out That's what it's about Solace Solitude Attributes Attitude Long-standing, standing strong Steady amidst the throng Constant, ever-silent still Force of nature; iron will Inclusive; no exceptions Straightforward; no pretensions Affording all equality Embracing anonymity Set Gather Talk Ponder . . . . . . . . . .

It will almost be a year now since I discovered The Chosen -- the first multi-season show on the life of Jesus and His followers -- and its precepts and posited theses still reverberate in my mind up to now, giving my brain some really substantial moral, existential, and spiritual ruminations. The series is simply wonderfully-produced . One of the show's elements that has gotten me completely impressed is the level of excellence displayed in the way its narrative structure is crafted: from its pacing, to its characterizations, all the way down to its dialogue, The Chosen's script is entertaining, engaging, thrilling, and thought-provoking. The series writers undeniably took a page from their ancient, world-famous source material. The first season is a great example of how adeptly Tyler Thompson, Ryan Swanson, and Dallas Jenkins made use of their writing proficiencies to tackle -- or, at the very least, present -- profound religious conundrums that many of us wrestle with on a ...

A heavy, sinister canopy covers the sky as distant rumblings of thunder reverberate through miles of tranquil dreariness. Overhead, clusters of stratus, cumulus, and nimbus clouds seem to intentionally congregate for the sole purpose of darkening the already somber midday. Strong gusts of cool wind dance to and fro above the pitch black mountain peaks, making occasional dives into the valley below it; they make ominous whistling sounds as they bounce off each other, adding to the natural orchestra of boisterous thunder and deafening silence. On the ground level, three men dressed in distinctively different black-themed outfits arduously trudge on the valley floor made up of dark charcoal soil and jagged gravel. As they slowly persist on the terrain, they notice the barrenness of the landscape: treeless slopes as far as the eye can see; several gradients of gray, ash, and lead decorate the sides of cliffs jutting out of the earth; no sign of any possible shelter from harsh elements; an...

A father plays a major role in the lives of his children. An understatement? An overstatement? Well, whichever your preference, it's a true statement; one that has been poorly heeded, greatly ignored, or severely missed out. Anyone can biologically sire a child -- we got a lot of that going on these days; but to be a father in every sense of the word is, for sure, such a tall order, which is why many men -- for several varying and valid reasons -- opt out of their responsibilities. One such responsibility inherent to the paternal role is the privilege of representing the Heavenly Father to his children. This wouldn't be much of a stretch if men, to begin with, had an existing relationship with their Father in Heaven growing up, and have spent their season of singleness practicing being God-conscious in whatever form of relationship they had with other people. But sadly, that isn't the case most of the time. So, whatever a man learns during his bachelorhood he usually carrie...

Even after realizing lies Analyzing rude, loquacious eyes Risking life, embracing aftermaths Leaving every artificial rath Easing, and releasing lethargy  Also reeling, lacking empathy Running low, espoused antitheses Learning endings are resyntheses Every afternoon resetting light And requited ladylove elide Rambling, languishing, eating, aching Losses earned adding, ricocheting  Elected at reordered limits  Affected, reading lasting edits Romance, like electorates, adjure Livid, each anathema recur  Essex adjusts, rousing lawlessness Apathy rusts, liquid earnestness Righteousness leaving every abode Living entreaties already rode  Escape, a recourse laborious  Anon, reprobates left egregious Routing lust, evading atrophy Leches exposed, agile rectory Embers arise, rekindling lovers  Amplified, radiant laurels enter Rectify lucid errors appealed Lyrical emotions are revealed Endings are restarts legitimized Ardor refreshed, lenses energized Roads lead...

Zeus indeed commanded it Compelling all to bow A deafening sound, a rumble What do we do right now? Olympus dwellers exclaim And mortals choose parlay The father of the deities  Had something else to say Elsewhere, far, however The Son of Asgard tries Without a heavy hammer Who knows how he will fly Preceding or proceeding It ever will be heard When Odinson approaches The skies produce one word Perhaps another wielder Of wind and rain and hale Can aptly demonstrate here Where others ably fail Demanding eyes to witness And ears to hear the peals Let Miss Ororo Munroe Show you the real deal But really, as it turns out The noise, the boisterous din Brought stormy clouds and rainfall And joys come from within 'Cause Willy's favorite product Got soaked and melted, flowed Into a chocolate river Confectioners explode

"Jordan, make sure you stow the hose and the cart properly in the barn, okay? It's almost dinner time. You know your Mom does not want us to leave the food waiting at the table and get cold!" The voice of the elder male reverberates across the field as he finishes herding the last of his sheep into the pen for the night. His instructions were promptly heeded by the younger male, who was making his way into the mahogany-hued outhouse. "I'm on it, Dad. Were you able to catch up with Polly? Today has been the twelfth time she's gotten lost -- or run away. Such a cheeky little bugger, she is!" As Nigel shuts the gate of the sheep pen, he starts heading towards the barn, where his son is. "Yep! She'll be right, son. She never wanders too far off anyway. But..." he pauses mid-sentence as he stops by the door of the outhouse, looking at Jordan tidying up the rest of the barn. "We could definitely use some help around here. I'm knackered e...