Tag Archives: pain

Disconnected: Free Verse Lament

Dark thoughts,
deep weeping,
well up in my soul.

The world seems disconnected
from me,
and I from her.

Why does the water-wading song
drill through
my bedroom door,
as if to mock me
and my lullaby memories?

I am abandoned
by all who I thought
loved me,
and who
I truly loved
and lived for.

My mistakes
have unraveled
all my life,
and I feel
no mercy,
no compassion,
no hope,
no love,
except for
the faith
and hope
I have
that,
maybe,
He loves me still.

Cold Medicine Free Verse

As he wearily made his way
to his king size empty bed
alone
it was a song better left unsaid,
unsung.

He heavily breathing
from sinus infection
and midwinter cold
and allergies
and dust,
from cleaning up messes
that were not his own,
yet were,
taking the green pill,
medicine that would cure
his cough
or at least let him sleep,
(although he must be woken up later to take the medicine that would keep his heart beating.)

And he just watched a movie
about lunch
that reminded him of a film
about dinner,
and why has never anyone made one
about breakfast,
the most important meal of the day,
because after breakfast no one can write.

Don’t wait up.
And the movies and the poems that spawn them,
he wonders if he could write such,
that perhaps some obscure
Art House actor and actress could make them come to life
and seem more real
and less pretentious than they are.

Then, in the midst of his rambling,
the door opens
and she who was once
the author and finisher
of his life and salvation
interrupts
and he doesn’t know if it’s about
old men’s diapers
or the ice cream mess
he had to clean up from the floor
because she,
unaware,
left it there.
Will the House burn down someday?
Is he the only one who can see?

And the art house films
remind him of his daughter,
cosmopolitan
(though not in a cosmo girl type of way,)
but living in the Queen City
or the Big Apple,
and now he is out
in rural deplorable land
and he wonders if his lack of connection
to the arts,
to music,
and to Passion
is robbing him?
Or is it feeding his soul
with something much deeper,
much more mature,
something that Nature can bring
only to those who are immersed
deep
within her.

He shuts his eyes
and picks his toenails
and slowly moves
back
and
forth,
wondering if he will fall
while reaching for
the box of Kleenex
rescued from the back
of a non-functioning SUV,
at first covered with mouse feces,
but then underneath functional enough
to capture
the dregs of his draining brain
as he pushes
and pushes
and pushes
so hard that
his ears pop.

Ill I’ll Sit, Doing Nothing: Free Verse Lament

Ill I’ll sit,
doing nothing.

A beautiful sunny,
mid-winter’s day
beckons,
but I,
sinuses backed up,
mouth agape,
feel no urge
to venture out.

Snot pushing up
into my brain
seems to plug
every
and any
thoughts I might have.

Hazy-headed,
I attempt to breathe,
but instead
mearly gasp.

There should be more
to write about,
to think about,
to do,
but this giant screen
covers and prevents
any outlet
of creativity.

My coughing
hurts my back,
makes me want to crawl
back into bed,
snuggle under
warm covers,
where I can’t breate,
and will only think
of how I should be doing something,
anything.
But what?

Youth Sunday School Teacher Apology Letter

Backstory: My wife and I teach Sunday School to 12-17 year-old youth at the Chattanooga Valley Ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Flintstone, Georgia, twice a month. This year, our study is on the Book of Mormon. 

The first class was to be a discussion of what the Book of Mormon is, how it was written originally, how it came to be in our time, how it was translated, and how it is a second witness, along with the Bible, to the divinity of Jesus Christ. Normally, we engage students in give-and-take discussions, where we learn as much (or more) than they do. However, there was so much history to get through, and such limited time, that I basically took control of the discussion and “firehose taught” the lesson.

Afterwards, my wife told me that she’d never seen me “teach” that way before, and she didn’t like it. One of the students said “Well, he’s showing that he knows more than we do,” and another said that I was, sometimes, rude. In response, I wrote this email of apology to the parents of the students, as well as to the leaders of the congregation.  Lesson learned (I hope) —

“In today’s youth Sunday school lesson about the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, I departed from my usual Socratic, discussion-oriented teaching style. In an effort to get through a lot of material very quickly, I used a very aggressive question and answer style that negated a lot of discussion and a lot of testimony. In an effort to discuss the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, the history of the Book of Mormon, and a way that the youth could summarize what the Book of Mormon was, how it came about, and how it related to particular points in history, I basically steamrolled any discussion.
In an effort to express my fervent testimony and belief that the Book of Mormon is divinely inspired and that it is a second witness of the Divinity of Jesus Christ, I cut off any discussions or expressions of testimony from the youth.
As a result, the class members, your children, may feel compromised, negated, hurt, and not validated. This is certainly not my intention. I admire the youth in our class, and think they’re easily the finest and most well thought out class I’ve ever taught. But I’m certain it didn’t come across like that.
I apologize for being offensive, I apologize for any feelings that I may have hurt. Please be aware that your children and those you may be responsible for may not like what happened in class today. If this is the case, I would welcome the opportunity to speak with them and you and to offer my sincere apologies.
The Book of Mormon is the Word of God. Jesus Christ is the Savior. His Church has been restored on the Earth. But my enthusiasm for those truths should never trample the great commandment of loving my neighbor, and not offending the children.
Again, I’m deeply sorry.
David Kuhns”

I Didn’t Dare To Steal Your Dreams

You blame me,
us,
them,
for stealing your dreams.

“How Dare You!”
you shout,
face twisted, contorted
into emotion.

Sadly, no one told you,
no one guided you,
to know,
no one can steal your dreams.

Just you,
and only you,
can let your dreams,
hopes,
desires,
visions,
slip away.

You can blame others
all you want,
as loud as you want,
but the truth is this:
You’ve lost your dreams?
That’s on you.