INRI (A Poem)

I love my pen;
by it I post
the page, the lines that cross

my mind have crossed
here through my pen
the page to which I post.

But what I post,
has it, then, crossed
the soul with mortal pen?

I that penned and posted to the cross?

The Office (A Poem)

I am a book

A weapon

A yoke

You know this

You must!

You set my ribbons in place

Firmly, grasping at the words within

Gasping at the “Glory Be”

Slipping into slumber

As the world turns

I sit on my shelf

My pages unturned,

Containing within myself

Liturgy! The Word of God spoken! A life worth living

Oh but why do you ignore me?

Adore all else until the last light

Forces you awake

Asleep in my pages

You lie.

I see frustration burrowing within you

Pages drifting out of your spine as you

Forget.

Who you are?

What you’ve done?

Then all you can do is heave

Your rot-less husk of a hardback

Into your shelf and open

Me. I. Your friend and your mentor.

Your closest ally and your starkest reality.

It is I, bound in this menial leather,

That is freest.

And you will again fall asleep,

Many hours forgotten,

Unwritten.

Unspoken.

Not so much prayed as endured. Not so much spoken as sighed.

Candlemas (A Poem)

The crowd comes to gather the darkness.

No light to their wicks has yet sprung.

The church doors allow them no entry.

The night is no longer so young.

Face spreads to face a grey pallor.

No mouth to an ear spreads a lie.

Years upon years mark the aged.

In darkness, they ready to die.

Yet hark! Now a spark among tinder!

Yet see! Now a flame doth arise!

Its light, now a color ‘midst pallor!

Its warmth, now a shine in their eyes!

Now candles light, one to another!

The flaming bright, miming the sun!

Face looks to face, sees a brother!

Hope, with the fire, has won!

For Christ has now entered the temple,

And the Holy of Holies revealed!

The veil is now torn for the priesthood,

The crowd opens doors to be healed!

Glory to God in the highest,

For the people have longed to be free!

Glory to Father, Son, Spirit,

One God and one Lord, Trinity.

Ron Dicianni: "Simeon's Moment"

Philosophy According to Boot Laces

     On a normal day, I have gotten into the truly odd habit of wearing a pair of tough little work boots that I brought back from Christmas break with me. These suede ruffians that I attach to my feet, while being resistant to the rain, ice, or snow that we here in Juneau to intermittently experience, have an uncommon and ignominious curse bestowed on them by the footwear gods: the curse of boot laces.

     Every morning, in order to function correctly during the day, I have set before me a grim and time-consuming task: lacing up my boots good and tight. It is my burden to make sure that each lace that threads through the 7 pairs of lace-holes on each boot is tightened to a sufficient strength. This task is made all the more complex due to the fact that my laces stretch and drag in and out of the holes in a most un-smooth and thoroughly dissatisfying way. This means that I must tug voraciously at the laces for each hole to get them satisfactorily snug. It is only after this that I can tie the knot well, which is another set of complains completely. Let us just say that my knot-tying skills have diminished since I learned back in Kindergarten.

     As a consequence of this drudgery in the morning, it falls to me every evening the task of then undoing all of my morning’s work in order to take the boots off. This morning tightening logically makes it impossible for my foot to even contemplate freedom from the boot without substantially loosening the laces. This I particularly despise, as my former habit of tying my shoes only once, and then slipping them on and off had become muscle memory, now only to be frustrated by a constrictor of a boot. This tightening up and loosening out of my boot laces would drive me up the wall and force me to give up my boots forever if it were not for one virtue that the process entails.

     In this morning and evening ritual of precise tugging, I have learned that boot laces require intentionality. I have to be completely sure that I am going out the door before I actually do it. These boot laces make me think about what it is that I am doing, and answer to why I am doing it. As I step out of my dorm room, I have to know where I am going and why I am going there. If I did not know these things, I would never have laced up my boots. Likewise, I must also know when I am home to stay, and unlacing my boots solidifies this. If I did not go through the process of taking off my boots at the end of the day, would I feel at home at all? No, I would not, and I would not value being at home, either. The patience required by such antiquated means of foot-security makes me have to know and value where I am and where I am going.

     My friends, we live in a generation cursed by the craving for accessibility. We don’t just want to go somewhere, we want to be somewhere, and be there quick. I mean, how many of us would jump at the chance to have a portal gun, or a flying cap, or even just a plain old car? To have things like this would mean that we could go anywhere, anytime, in just minutes. But would we ever appreciate it being there?

     I’m not saying we should all wear suede work boots (well…maybe I am), I’m just saying that a little inconvenience makes for a lot of appreciation. I’m just saying that when you tie your shoes, when you make the walk from housing down to campus, when you make homemade food (hey, I'm a college student, it's a longed-for commodity), when you lock and unlock your door and the beginning and end of the day, you have a greater ability to appreciate what you are doing with your life.

     Happy lacing.