Sea Wind

A wind blown from the east
Delectable new feast
Mixed well with tastes of wine
And dark and ruddy brine

The sea we love to hate
Our ship's bedfollow mate
With drunken spirits donned
We pace the decks prolonged

The sail a learned muse
Collecting silent clues
Her drapery takes form
New mysteries forlorn

Soft ballads from long past
Drift swiftly by the mast
The lookout man asleep
New dreams now plummet deep

And all the crew astray
In lands of grass and hay
They graze the brightened fields
Old bitterness to yield

Are these the ancient times
The winds that strike in rhymes
The rhythm of the past
Old mariners surpassed

But never drowned or stilled
These visions heavy filled
With flavored tastes of wine
Sprung up from out the brine

F'er + 1

Today is an anniversary. An anniversary to myself. It has no formal name. But it has what an anniversary must never lack.

Henceforth from this day, I shall always endeavor to walk boldly and unfailingly in the ways of my Lord. I shall ever strive to seek after that which will bring glory unto his name.

Yeah. Today is an anniversary, but it will never be celebrated like today. It will never have much remembered significance after today. F’er is a mask, a man behind the curtain. And a man behind a mask is allowed to present an oath in the genre of ceremonial address. A person is free to describe any new kind of genre.

But I just told you that F’er is a mask. The man behind the mask does take pride in this day which to him is an anniversary. A year ago today marked a turning point. The closing of a prolonged ceremony. A decision to attend church. That was a small part of the decision. The church service is of little significance. It was the decision, which prompted further decisions. Shalom. The People’s Republic of China. New friendships and fellowship. New purpose. An amazing relationship. To be followed by even greater events and further decisions in a great chain of unfolding.

I shall call it, “F’er + 1.” And there will be much napping. It should be a day of rest and thanksgiving.

Humble Beginnings

F'er has no plans of abandoning JiVE. Many pliable individuals have joined the blogging bandwagon only to become disillusioned by their sense of isolation. With no one to read the fruit of their literary labors, they become something worse than starving writers. Quitters. Poor pathetic quitters, selling out for the duties of the so called "real world."

F'er is no quitter. These ramblings are his humble beginnings. He is learning his craft. He is amusing himself. His audience is minimal. His brain configuration nominal. Always alliterating and fastidiously forming rightly timed rhymed phrases. Carrying heavy symbolisms through word-walled mazes. Symbolisms symbolizing literary masterpieces. F'er constructs timeless symbolisms.

Stick around.