Day Lilies Will Wilt

We recognized the day after, true lover perfection, sneaking up on us, and when we were 27, 30, we pressed our bodies close to each other, and I knew that I was not the only lonely person in the world, and we married in chaos. Ours were days of whirl around the corner of life, me leaving a trail of beer bottles, you beginning a walk with tears, and those broken promises, I could never handle the pressure of grading papers, and the red pen never meant much to me because even now I fully and totally disagree with a system of bad marks that has turned our daughter into a neurotic high achiever, giving up husband, love, and parts of life that could make her a whole person. There is nothing I can do but watch as she earns what almost destroyed us, what she may someday turn into a synthases to harvest the wheat of perfection. We both had the good sense to pull back before it killed us and chose what she ultimately will select in true behavior beyond the “taught.” beyond that utterly stupid “woman” professor who called you fat in front of a whole room of graduate students, you who could not stomach a system of degradation; you did enter into a life of service, and me leaving a system which called a human approach to teaching writing at the University of Iowa bad, a school ten feet above the worst educational experience I ever had where a system of loony goose women, taught by insane women, and a woman who could not qualify finally for teaching, to call the University of Iowa bad. Their universities, well, they were simply bad for us; now I would know who to avoid. I went on to stop that trail of beer bottles, to earn in high regard, an MFA with a 3.9 GPA though comprehensive taken three times with red marks, nevertheless from a better school, and then enter into a life of service, and a life of a sober dad, and a life of a disabled person. I say with God as my witness, I am a disabled success, and I worked more than 31 years at changing a system of poor care, poor education, stigma, and stupidity, to work sober with some of the most gifted people in the United States, Bill Tremblay, Lois Muehl, George Steinsberger, Phyllis Arends, Sara Lindquist, J Chris Nordgrun, Donald Baum, Jundo Cohen (in Japan), Jan Gross, and most of all Marjorie J Remacle-Taylor. These people believe in others, work to change what sometimes seems intangible; that which is ephemeral and quiet, and boisterous, and subtle, and poetic, and fine, and sacred: filled with psychological problems worked through, and health, and satisfaction, and care, and reality, and essential, and tearful, and happy: the Godly. These are the teachers of my life, people who taught me to love my parents, and our child, an adult woman, Laurel Ann Taylor. We all stand tall against systems of tyranny warping minds and leaving reality. These Folks, and people like us tell others that quality can’t be qualified, and quantified. These people, minister, psychologists, teachers, poets, loving friends, one nurse, people who believe all are special and deserve a chance to be normal, to rely on each other, not afraid to rely on psychological health, on the written words of angles, and Jesus Christ and the Buddha, and I have chosen Jesus, the good shepherd of little boys and little girls. We are people who can love in the nick of time, and know quality such as doctorates, masters, baccalaureates, and essences only to help others. Then I awoke and held her. She gave me my life. We all are fine at what we do, write, create, counsel, teach each other to teach each other. For me, she loved me first as I was, and the others expected me to do more, and I could. Now that trail of beer bottles will have left behind: always one day at a time. As much as our sacred bodies were

 

pressed together on a moon-lit night in Iowa City, as two lonely people discovered the power of love and belief on Lynn Street, as he found her so beautiful he knew he was breathless, her as no other, and they did go on to change the world in their own ways, and it was no use to wonder why.

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read.

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