Last January I began writing poetry again after a pretty long hiatus. Haven't written much in a very long time. This is National Poetry Month and so I am going to try to write one new work every day.

Haiku is one form that I need to work on. Brevity is what is required, a poem that is captured in the speed of a camera flash. *P-O-P* and the moment is captured in its stunning irony, paradox, and beauty. Word economy can be based on not using articles and adverbs, which I try to do.

I am more comfortable with tanka and shadorma. The poems are five to six lines in length, but it mostly focuses on syllable count. Tanka uses the 57577 syllable structure, while shadorma is based on a 353357 syllable count.

There are a number of other styles I have never attempted to use in my writings. Most European styles that I was exposed to in junior high school don't phase me. I don't mind rhyming words, as I find that to be more challenging than not rhyming. Blank verse is okay, and it works best for when I do something that is stream of conscience.

The pens are ready, the papers are blank. Let's see what happens next.

www.poets.org

Michael was a theology major attending Southwestern Adventist University, and claimed New Orleans as his home town. At lunch one day Michael told me that he felt God's judgment was going to fall on New Orleans. He didn't know when, but based on all that he saw in his home town, he could say with certainty that the wickedness of the city would rise up like the stench of Sodom and God would bring forth judgment. Voodoo and paganism, the hedonistic and bawdy celebration of Mardi Gras, and other things he was aware of made the city "feel" evil.

I haven't seen Michael since he graduated from SWAU, so I don't know what he thought about Hurricane Katrina, or if he was in New Orleans when Katrina hit.

The recent earthquake and nuclear disaster that has hit Japan has led to more people talking about God's judgment being poured out in biblical proportions. I have never visited Japan. I know some Japanese history from the rise of the Shogan to the Meiji Restoration, as well as modern Japanese culture. But I do not know how wicked the country may truly be. Some have looked at World War II and have said Japan "deserved" the natural disaster that struck it, and yet, I don't buy it. I don't see it as God's judgment against the Japanese people.

If God was to punish Japan for its sins, then what of Thailand? Both countries are notorious for thriving sex industries. When God looks at Thailand, does He find ten righteous people, resulting in His sparing the country of the disaster that Japan faced? Were there no righteous people to be found?

In my opinion, the natural disaster is not God's judgment against any nation or against any people. Disaster strikes. It is a part of life on this planet. And while some disasters can be predicted, some cannot. We are in the right place at the right time when something hits. Or not. It is a chance we take as we risk our lives one day at a time for our daily bread.

Back in the 1980s it was said that AIDS was God's judgment against gays and drug users. They were living an unclean lifestyle that God did not approve of, and AIDS was His way of "getting back" at them. It was God's judgment, God's wrath, for living an immoral lifestyle. People in the health care industry were fearful of the disease and would not get near an AIDS patient. Families were afraid of the disease being spread to them by a son or daughter who was HIV-positive. Because of fear, a lot of AIDS patients died alone with no one standing by to comfort them or to stand by them when their lives ended.

One day I reversed the angle on this concept. What if AIDS was not God's judgment against gays? What if it was God's judgment against Christians? Jesus Christ said to His disciples that they would be known by the love they shared one for another. If I read the Bible correctly, then a true Christian will not be afraid to give aid to the sick and the diseased. There is a reason Mother Theresa worked with lepers, and love was her motivation. Her love for the leper cast out the fear of leprosy. Should love also cast out the fear of AIDS so that Christian health care professionals can be there to comfort their patients?

I look hard at this issue. I do not like wearing gloves because they interfere with my sense of touch. Yet, if I was in a position to where I have to perform CPR on a patient, or work with someone who is bleeding, then I must wear the rubber gloves as a part of preventing the spread of a disease the patient might have. Do I put on the gloves? Or do I take the risk and possibly catch an infectious disease? It is an issue as I have been trained in CPR and first aid and am a former American Red Cross instructor in both areas. I need to recertify as soon as possible.

The natural disasters that fall on us are not signs of God's judgment against sin and sinners. I see them as God's judgment against Christians. Peter wrote that judgment begins in the house of God. God's family is to be judged.

The Ten Commandments have a couple of interesting things to say about this. One commandment says that we are not to take the name of God in vain. Another says that we are not to bear false witness, that is to give false testimony. There are two types of Christian in this world in which we live in, and I will tell you about them. There are the genuine Christians who love God to the point that they would die a martyr's death for their faith in Him. Then there are the posers. The posers claim to be followers of Jesus Christ, but there is no love in them. They claim to be something they are not. They tell lies about being one thing when in truth they are something else.

Judgment begins in the house of God.

The world doesn't care much about the Bible and doesn't know anything about what makes up a true Christian. Yet God inspired men to write what they wrote and they gave us a check-list of things to look for in a true Christian. The key is going to be living a sacrificial life dedicated to Jesus Christ. John tells us that the saints at the end of time will have the testmony of Jesus Christ and the spirit of prophecy. Jesus says that love will define the character of His followers. A true believer offers mercy, seeks justice, helps with widow and orphan, and gives without any hope of anything given in return. Like the Shulamite woman, a true Christian doesn't take time to work for selfish gain, but works in the hopes of lightening the burdens of others.

Not many true Christians in the world.

But it is full of posers who take the name of Jesus in vain. Jesus spoke of a farmer who planted a field of wheat. The next day servants noticed something was wrong. There were too many plants in the field of wheat. They were not able to tell the difference between the wheat they had sown or the plants that had been planted during the night. The farmer told the workers that they would let the crop grow together and in the harvest they would know by the fruit the plants bore which ones were wheat and which were not. That is the condition of the church today. There are good Christians, and there are posers. You can know by the fruit of a person's character who is and who isn't a true Christian. Watch how they react to the natural disasters that strike. Do they respond with a loving heart and care for the victims? Or do they stand back and tell jokes?

God is judging the people who claim to be His children.

I grew up without a car, so there are a lot of things I didn't learn, like the art of automobile maintenance. Prior to my parents' divorce, we had a car. After the divorce my mom drove around my grandmother's 1955 Plymouth Belvedere. My grandfather retired from Armco Steel in 1967 and he bought a blue Chevy Impala. After the Plymouth died a long, slow death, my grandfather would occasionally let my mom borrow the car. He never seemed happy to give mom the car keys. The first time I had a chance to drive my grandfather's car, mom was in the passenger seat. I was making this left hand turn and mom freaked out when she saw this tree.gr I saw the tree, as well, but had fifteen feet of clearance, as it was on a small rise overhanging a sidewalk at the corner of 29th Street and Lexington Ave in Ashland, Kentucky. It was no big deal. Nerves, I guess. I noticed the play in the steering wheel and didn't like it. I was 16 years old in 1980, and got my permit in 1981. It would be seven more years before I got my driver's license. This would shape my future relationship with cars, walking and martial arts.

Following high school I spent 45 minutes walking to the local community college. My initial route took me up one hill, down the same hill, around a couple of corners, and then back up a hill. Prospect Avenue was a nice climb. Later, I walked straight down Lexington Ave. to 13th Street and up one hill. I walked this five days a week. I didn't get my first car until 1988, and I didn't have it a month. It was a 1975 Mercury Capri, with five-speed manual transmission and a glass-packed muffler. Bought it for $600 and sold it for $500. Then came the Ford F-150 that eventually threw a rod. And the Ford Pinto that died on me a few months after arriving in Odessa, Texas. I spent a long time walking long after I got my driver's license. Surprisingly, one of my best photos of me ever taken was my Texas DL photo. While in Odessa I walked to work, walked to a friend's place for role-playing games, walked to Univ. of Texas-Permian Basin for journalism and criminal justice classes. I worked as a dishwasher for a restaurant during my time there, and sometimes walked home wet. I didn't mind it in the summer, but the winters were a bit of a drag.

Attending college in Keene was a good thing, as I didn't need a car to go very far. There was a store in town, but it didn't have what Wal-Mart had, so once a week my roommates and I got a ride into Cleburne for shopping. We were security guards for the school, and that offered plenty of time for walking around campus for four to six hours at a time, depending on time of year.

After returning to Ashland, I spent more time walking. Walk to the movies. Walk to the grocery store. Carry it all back. Walk to work. I burned out on walking. Even now I am tired of walking. I hate walking. And I get fed up with hearing people tell me walking is the best exercise. I don't care how good walking is for a person. Sometimes I feel as if I have walked more miles than I ever got do drive.

Television in the early 1970s introduced me to sports. Turn on a television on Saturday morning and there were all the wonderful, unedited cartoons showing Wile E. Coyote digging in and then getting crushed by 16 ton anvils after taking a thousand foot freefall after his parachute failed to open properly as he pursued the Road Runner though the desert. I grew up understanding comedy. Bugs and Daffy and Scooby-do helped a lot with this. But the afternoons were dominated by football. I got lucky enough to watch a few minutes of a game, and then found a good creature feature to watch. One afternoon I chose The Mysterians over NFL football. There were a couple of programs imported from England that I was lucky enough to check out, as well, including UFO and one of the puppetry sci-fi programs produced by Gerry Anderson. Maybe it was Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons, I am not sure. AS you can tell, football and basketball were not on my list of priorities. I got more out of an hour of professional bowling with Earle Anthony than I ever did with the NBA, NFL or MLB. My grandparents were both Cincinatti Reds fans, but I lost interest in baseball during the 1986 baseball strike. I did see part of a basketball game in third grade, toward the end of the school year at Cleveland Elementary School in Dayton, Ohio. It was enough for me to try out for basketball the next year at Crabbe Elementary School in Ashland. I didn't make the team, but I did have one successful block on a shot, but it was on my own teammate. The same year I was encouraged to play tackle for little league football, but that didn't work out so well, either. To this day I don't follow any sports, and am not a fan of any professional team. The Super Bowl is of interest but mostly because of the promise of new, ground-breaking commercials.

I must say that I found Fox Sports football pregame show to be very entertaining. Terry Bradshaw gave me one of the best quotes of all time that has kinda become a life philosophy on some levels. The interaction between coach and quarterback was being discussed. Some quarterbacks have coach-sized egos that can be problematic during a game. When Jimmy Johnson was chewing on Terry, Terry just shouts him down. "I call my own plays!" Fox had the best pregame show in the busines. Haven't watched it since then because I went from Odessa to Keene a few months later. That was nearly 20 years ago. Who remembers pregame show interaction after 20 years?

Last night in Taekwondo we were working on back kicks. The left foot leads as you face the bag. One rotates the head right, rotates the shoulders and hips right. As the rotation progresses, the left leg is planted, taking up the body's weight as the right leg is cocked. The head continues looking over the right shoulder, making sure the target is visible. When it is visible in the peripheral vision, the right leg is thrust rearward, and the torso goes forward so that the body is balanced on the left foot. To recover from the kick, the right leg is rechambered and then takes the lead position in a defensive stance.

I am 46 years old. I weigh in at close to 300 lbs. My classmates are elementary school students and no one is old enough for high school. I watch them practice their kicks and sometimes take their falls when they lose their balance. And I am thinking I am trying things the vast majority of people in my age and weight range would never attempt. I am filled with a pride in doing something few others would try to do, and yet feel shame in allowing myself to grow so bloody big around the middle, affecting my balance when attempting the kick. There are other martial artists who have grown to my size and are in my age group, but they have 30 years of experience over me. They talk about their injuries and recovery times. When younger the body healed more quickly. Then I hear stories of men who earned their black belts one or two generations ago, still actively fighting and honing their skills in the ring. Men who are pushing 60 and 65 and older. Helio Gracie continued Brazilian ju-jitsu his entire life, and died in late 2009 at the age of 86. I look at where I am and wonder what realistic goal I should set for that day when I pass the test for blackbelt. One rank at a time. I need to focus on green belt. One hour a week of TKD isn't enough. I need it at least five days a week to work on my stretching and balance.

As for walking, I'll take a tuk-tuk home.

Martial artists are good at kicking butt because they are used to kicking many different items covered with padding. 

After my last session with Kru Aum I contemplated this simple mystery of the kick. Bruce Lee explained the punch and all that it symbolized, but concluded that for all of its symbolism, a punch is just a punch. While I see a kick as just a kick, filled with its own mystery worthy of contemplation during the performance of a poomsae, in the end a kick is just a kick. And there are many well-padded ends out there worthy of kicking. 

Leaving Chuncheon, South Korea, meant leaving behind my brothers and sisters in the dojang where I first started learning Taekwondo. It was in that school where I earned my yellow belt, the eighth gup status in the art. There are nine gups before black belt. The white belt is ninth gup, and until I test again, I will wear the symbol of the eighth gup, the yellow belt. I never returned to the dojang after leaving Chuncheon, and prayed that the opportunity would come again. I found one or two TKD schools in Chiang Mai, but money was the only problem I faced while living there. I saw advertisements for a school in Bangkok, but took a job in Ubon Ratchathani instead. It would be seven months before I again found myself learning TKD.

Around Christmastime at the local mall, I saw a junior student wearing a dobok. The back of the shirt said Taekwondo. With a controlled sense of excitement I asked the boy's father about the school. He asked a security guard to translate, and I found my way to the fourth floor where other kids were dressed in their uniforms, wearing assorted colors of belts. Most were black belts, some were yellow belts. I didn't see many of the other colors represented. I spoke briefly to the instructor after his class. The next week I returned. There was a senior instructor up from Bangkok assisting with testing. We spoke again after classes. The next week was New Year's weekend, and there were no classes. Another week passes. This time after the class was over, the instructor and I spoke briefly and I was given a chance to show him what I remembered from my studies from nearly four years ago. I was accepted as a student. 

The next Sunday night I arrived and worked with Kru Aum for an hour. As there was not yet a uniform for me, I worked out in street clothes. Black pants and a tee shirt were my uniform that night. As my foot hit the pad over and over again, all I could think was how good it felt to be doing this again. It was good to be corrected as we went through the Taeguk Il Jong. It was good learning some new moves in preparation for the next poomsae required for the next test. 

Last Sunday I was given my uniform, the dobok. The dobok is patterned after the white clothing of the peasant class of Korean history called hanbok. Kru Aum also gave me a yellow belt that is long enough for me to wear. In South Korea, my instructor took two yellow belts and had them sown together, then cut to the right length. In practice we worked on side kicks, front kicks, and roundhouse kicks, and defensive moves. 

This past Sunday, we worked out again. I still need more practice for the Taeguk Il Jong, but have much to remember regarding blocks, punches and kicks. I need to work on stretching. Above all I need to get my weight stabilized 260lb range for a little while so I can continue to safely lose the body fat. I am back in the dojang again, and it feels good. I have been away from home for too long.

I hope to blog more often this year. With an iPod Touch G4 it should be much easier. The screen is a little bit bigger than a business card. The keyboard brings back the good old days of hunt-and-peck typing. I have yet to put the camera and video through their paces. I will say that this is the best 7,000 Baht I have ever spent. I purchased the 8-gig version, but perhaps I should have spent the extra 3,000 Baht for the 32-gig version. No, I have no intention of getting an iPhone. I will, however, take an iPad if I can't get a MacBook.

More later.

Greetings. I hope everyone had a good Christmas and that 2011 came along peacefully.

More later...