Saturday, December 24, 2011


from The Disciplines of Existence, Part Two:  The Sciences of the Soul, Chapter Two:  Sociology

The struggle between communal living and
     the solitary life is endless;
And in the mind, the balance between intimacy
     and distance is tenuous.
We fight tendencies towards every-man-for-himself,
     and keeping our chins up,
But, in the end, we surrender to selfishness,
     knowing that solitude's enough.
We persecute those who have found room within their
     lives for others besides themselves;
We drive them from us until they retreat, bewildered,
     into their own withdrawals.
The promise of natural selection gives hope for the
     demise of their weakness;
Through isolation, identification and action we can
     enforce loneliness.
In time they will die out, leaving no descendents,
     not even distant relations;
The inferiority we project reveals us as the
     superior ones.
There is no room among the masses to make any
     concessions to the recluse;
An unfeeling, insecure majority cannot allow them
     to reproduce.
Emotions bring discomfort, we must be oblivious
     to the pains of others;
There is too muck progress to be made to willingly
     be love or hate's prisoners.
The evidence clearly shows that no benefits
     come from emotional excess;
It makes life untidy, makes people face themselves,
     makes all the tears difficult to suppress.
Are the rights of society superior to those of
We hold our riches up to ourselves, but they still
     keep finding flaws in our jewels.
We have refused to recognize the reality of
     our interdependence;
We reject our human-ness, embrace the social
     norms and values of bees and ants.
We see those that feel as less productive,
     deserving to die--no apology;
They interrupt our mechanical lives,
     complicating our sociology.
Despite the loss of one lowly worker, we cannot falter,
     our work continues;
We stop momentarily, lose our rhythm, push the dead
     away--no time to lose.

CWR April 1992

Friday, December 23, 2011


from The Disciplines of Existence, Part Two:  The Sciences of the Soul, Chapter Two:  Sociology

I know that there are secrets that are better left unfound;
I know that there are noises that I've heard without a sound.
How can I be so giving?  How can others be so cold?
Can I keep my sanity when I feel what's still untold?
I find it hard to kide my feelings, hard to hide my hand;
I find it hard to play games that others can't understand.
I can hear your voice before the tension vibrates the air;
I can sense the feelings before you even know they're there.
I can't remember anyone I've met and haven't known--
Connecting with senses and thoughts, as if they were my own.
Few have had the opportunity to see my soul bared;
I have been cautious, withdrawn and detached before I've shared.
Occasionally, some perceive what's behind my smokscreen;
There's so much more that can never be known, that can never
Be seen.

CWR October 1989

Trail of Tears, Part One

from The Dsiciplines of Existence, Part I: The Arts of the Ethos, Chapter One:  Genealogy

Suddenly, with bitter realization,
Long-held hopes and dreams lie shattered;
To pretend is no longer protections;
Survival demands more than delusion,
And hoping that the effort somehow mattered.

Carefully examining the course of the years,
She charts the high points and the lows;
Remembering the joys and the fears,
She retraces her steps on the Trail of Tears,
And, though exhausted, on she goes.

Somehow, all the years weren't wasted,
But she's not quite sure just why;
The memories leave her exhausted--
Too tired to calculate the costs,
Too tired to laugh or cry.

CWR  June 1986

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


from The Disciplines of Existence, Part Two:  The Sciences of the Soul, Chapter One:  Sociology

I sit her in the dark, huddled, frightened, crying
     and still wondering why;
I recoil from the shock, disengage contacts, and watch
     the world passing by;
I feel I'm no longer shaping events, and now
     I'm only reacting;
I must do something to regain control, my life is
     here for the taking.
Where do these feelings and the voices come from?
     Where will they go when I'm gone?
The voices tell me what to do--what will they
     say to me when I'm done?
Needing love, not believing I had it, but now it's
     all after the fact;
I pull the trigger, starting the chain reaction
     of the last lonely act.
My emotions--stored energy--ready to explode
     in a split second...
The results of my actions, resulting from their's
     in turn, will leave them stunned.
Expectantly, my soul awaits the spark that will
     set off an inferno;
I wonder if I'll recognize the signal, but feel
     that somehow I'll know.
Trembling fingers--how can so many seem to have
     a hold on the trigger?
My resolve is sure, the answer clear, I could have
     done it today, but for an empty chamber.

CWR March 1992