I posted a poem or two on Poetry.com a while back. It was my poem called “Leaves”. Since I did this, I keep getting emails from Poetry.com that I’ve won awards. Here’s a couple of the email titles:
Abe, Your Poem “Leaves” Won The Editor’s Choice Award!
Abe, You’re Nominated For The Best Poems And Poets Of 2007!
When I read on through the message, it says things like this:
And, if you decide to order a copy, we are so certain that you will love the quality of the edition and the way your poetry is presented, we can proudly offer an unconditional, iron-clad guarantee. If for any reason you are dissatisfied, your money will be promptly refunded.
The plaque and membership are individually valued at $135.00, but today you can order them together for $75.00 (plus $14.00 shipping & handling), which is a $60.00 discount off the regular retail price. Please take the time to review the benefits of becoming a member of the International Society of Poets and join today. We’ll send your Editor’s Choice Award plaque and membership package immediately upon your acceptance of this offer.
The subject and the content of the message convey very different messages. The subject is designed to interest me as I have supposedly won some award, but the copy is that I have to buy something to get my award. I like the former, but not the latter. Since I have to buy my award, I don’t feel like it’s a real award. It feels like a copy writer is selling to me based on the assumption that I might believe that I’ve really won an award. Is it ethical? It might be, but it feels deceptive.
You may or may not know that I also write and narrate children’s stories. I put up a site a year or two ago and have been working on it sporadically. I’m looking to put a more consistent effort into this writing as I’ve been getting more and more emails asking for more stories. My most recent writings are not recorded yet; however, there are podcasts that can be downloaded so you can play stories in the car for your child.
Here’s the link to my Children’s Stories site. I intended it for children from ages say 3 to 7, but I’ve been getting feedback that adults enjoy them as well. So, I may need to revise my thinking on the age range.
I’m looking to place these stories into both an ebook as well as a compilation CD. Once those are available, I’ll let folks know.
A long time ago way up in the hills of Scotland near Upper Obney, there was a little boy named Robbie MacFarlay. He was a well behaved young boy of ten years. Robbie always obeyed his parents and looked after the cattle and took care to keep the sheep out of the garden.
He was a good lad and did his chores as best he could, but he couldn’t help feeling there was more to life than just looking after the stock. Sometimes, he felt very lonely being up so far away from town and other lads and lassies. As the time went on, he tried his best to tame his restlessness.
One day his mum asked him to take much of the wool that had been spun into town for trading. He was instructed to get as much silver coin as he could but a trade for new tools would be a blessing for his father, a wood cutter. The boy was so pleased and excited to go to town on his own that he could hardly wait. It was a long walk to Perth, but that was where he could find the best price for wool.
On his way into Perth, he decided to rest and have his bannocks and cheese. As Robbie rested and took his lunch, he noticed there were a great many stones lying about. Seeing as how he had some time, he began to stack them into cairns. Robbie felt it was great fun stacking the large stones into pillars as tall as he could reach. After he’d built a few cairns, he set out on his way again.
Another time he rested his bones, as the sack of wool would get quite heavy over the miles. Again, he found himself building the cairns. He did this three more times before reaching Perth. While in Perth, he found merchants willing give silver coin as well as tools for a wood cutter. Happily, he tied the coins to his waste purse and took the tools in his bag.
When he returned home, his mother and father were delighted. His father said, “Robbie! I thought you were standing in the hills just dillying aboot and jammerin’ away to the rabbits and mice. Och! Nay, you were doing all things good and right brining what yer dear family needs!” And so, when Robbie was asked again by his mum to go to Perth to trade the wool for silver and tools, he jumped at the chance.
While walking on to Perth, he admired his cairns. Still standing proud and true. He had never felt so proud. This time he stopped at different spots, here and there, eating his bannocks and stacking stones. Again, when he returned, his parents were delighted at the prices they were receiving for their fine highland wool.
On one particular trip as Robbie was coming in to Perth, he overheard a merchant’s conversation to another saying, “Och! Aye, there’s definitely a brownie aboot! All these cairns popping up all over the place…noo one right in the mind would be building cairns all over the hills for noo reason! It’s a brownie alright. And that brownie’s up to mischief!” Robbie had heard about brownies. Wee little men who were kin to the fairyfolk. It was said they lived out in the hills and sometimes in houses. He knew people were always careful not to upset a brownie for all the mischief they could bring on. Still, he couldn’t help chuckling to himself about the merchants thinking he was a brownie! It was such an interest to him that he decided to keep it a secret.
As time went on, Robbie built more and more cairns and the people in the town of Perth began to talk more and more about the Cairn Brownie. “What’s he buildin’ all them cairns fer? They be wit oot rhyme or reason.” one would say. “Might be the brownie’s got plans for building some stone huts but he can’t make up his mind where to put ’em.” said another. All the while, Robbie would chuckle. Although, one merchant, Allan Gow, asked Robbie on one particular trip if he’d ever seen the brownie building any of those cairns. Robbie said he had never seen the brownie building a cairn. And, that was true as Robbie had built every single one of those cairns himself. However, fearing what some might say, he didn’t offer to Allan that he had built them. Robbie decided he mostly likely ought to stop building cairns.
On his was back from Perth, Robbie decided he just might take some down. He started to dismantle one not so far from town when one of the merchants who was heading out to his farm saw what Robbie was doing. “Robbie MacFarlay! Doon’t you lay one finger on that cairn!” Allan Gow came running. “What in the blazes are ye doing, Robbie? Ye want to bring the brownie’s mischief upon Perth!” Robbie was stunned and was unsure what to say next when Allan said, “Robbie, you put that cairn just like you foond it as fast as you can. I’ll help ye.” After they had placed all the stones as they were, Allan said, “Robbie, take some ye bannocks and cheese and leave them here fer brownie. Last thing ye’d want is a right cross brownie thinking ye rather noo see his cairns. Best to leave a token fer his belly. Best to make a brownie happy wit bannocks, Robbie.”
Robbie did as he was told and bid Allan good day. He pondered this on his way home. He decided it was best to let the cairns be. They belonged to the brownie now. Robbie still made his trips and over time, the people of Perth became less and less concerned with the cairns. But, to this day, they still make sure the cairns are still standing outside of Perth. Anytime one of the cairns falls, someone restacks the stones and makes sure there’s a bit of bannocks and cheese because it’s best to make a brownie happy wit bannocks.
This musing was mix of walking through San Francisco at night on a way to a party after my children and wife had gone to sleep. Those are the main ingredients. Oh, also add the morning after rain.
Streets are wet but the sun is shining. Around the corner the remains remain, as they do. Shopping carts and yelling incoherent anger blended with despair. But not so far away, 20 feet, business is thriving.
In the darkness before now the rain poured on us all. I was asked twice or more for money. In the seedy, the seeds can grow. Or the new gentry can take risk. Over time, the cure of all ills, there is no risk. But for the short, which is ours, there will be spoils for some and riches for few.
And so still I was walking. There was a bus full of promise. There were the affluent and the non-invited. Concrete and steel, the time’s decor, show affluence still. Many are drawn, I am. For as long as I can span, I am drawn too.
But the return was fraught with public transport. A sure grounding in the reality of human suffering. Some expound the joys of commonality, others revile. I watch with eyes half open.
The time was short again. And this led to now. As it always does. Supposedly on the way to forever. Humans, myself will never see forever. We may be in the ever for now.
With children though, a parent must plan. And care, and toil, and boil and guide the disciple through all of this.
When I ride the MUNI in San Francisco, I find myself very aware of the good fortune that has come upon me in recent years. Public transport is often a sure grounding in the reality of human suffering. I can see why some people choose commonality and others revile it.
Living near Market Street in San Francisco, I am often exposed to people in despair shouting incoherent, angry words. The shopping carts filled up completely with blankets, bags, items that could still be of use, etc. It is definitely a sight; although, far from an enjoyable one.
I remember a man sleeping on the street. As I came closer I looked at his face. He was actually awake but squinting at people through his sunglasses like a child who is pretending to be sleeping. I imagined he was like a child in mind. Stunted somewhere along his way towards adulthood. Another day, as he was being chastened for prowling through rubbish, I heard him screaming in retort about how Sandra Day O’Conner somehow will vindicate him. From my perspective and probably those who have the ability to read blogs, it was a bizarre response.
I wonder about his life and how he came to be that way. I’d like to make sure that if I die before my children are self-sufficient that their fate would never come to be like his.
Walking through Union Square, I noticed a woman dressed in a fancy but wild way. She was speaking in short terse tones and I could tell she was angry. I looked at her as I was trying to understand if she was in fact talking to herself or chiding someone on a phone. She looked very wealthy and had a shopping bag full of fine hats. I think only someone with access to an unlimited supply of funds would have such hats. As I came closer, it was clear she was not speaking to anyone in particular but was just insulting people as they went by. For me, she held up her hand to block my face from hers and said something to the effect of “I don’t want to see a talking head on top of a walking corpse…” Yes, it was something like that. It was rude, and it was a bit sick. I imagined that she had been in luxury in most of her life and was now somewhat stranded with the common folk. Or, maybe she was mentally ill. I would put my money on the latter. After a few more steps, I decided not to keep her vileness she wanted to pass to me. Although, some of it has remained as I am writing of it now. Writing can serve the purpose of emptying the mind. So perhaps it is fitting and proper to write about it.
Of all the images I have conveyed, I am so glad that those are not the images people see when they see me or when I see me. I know times will change and things will happen, but for now I feel quite fortunate and thankful.