Meeting time in ten,
Processing ceramic-ly
What nature demands.
Mind is occupied
By blue and white striped candies
And red and purple.
Things and time pass by;
Level failed, I try once more.
How much time is left?
In panic I check;
Two minutes is all that’s left:
Skip some rituals.
© 2014 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged candy crush saga, consequence, counting the cost, poem, punctuality, ritual, timing
Walking down a desert path,
Sounds of stirring
Drew my eyes. Turning,
I beheld an object of wrath
Perhaps from the farmer’s wife.
It stopped, frozen: a deer
In headlights. A knife
Cut through my heart: fear.
Too dull, the blade, to last;
I laughed as I passed,
The mouse hoping I would not see.
Beyond his eyes, he turned to flee.
Walking down that desert path,
My eyes beheld
Another. He held
His youth as a tub a bath.
No sighting of farmer’s wife,
Too calm for cervine metaphor;
No fear of carnivore
Pierced him through with fear.
Filled with delight, he stood fast;
But before I passed,
He stopped his eating
In time to avoid a beating.
The many darting to and fro,
From hole to hole;
The two crossing the trail,
The first waiting for the second (aw, how cute!);
And the older fat one,
Too preoccupied with eating,
Too slow with his response,
So that if I had a heavier step
And a slower reaction time,
I’d be cleaning him off the bottom of my sandal.
© 2014 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged commitment, consequence, counting the cost, hiking, poem, self reflection, timing
If you determine in your heart
To carry out an anonymous act
Designed to bring happiness
Or a smile to the recipient,
You must be prepared for the part:
Fully accept the burden of facts
Known to you and God—and security cameras—the madness
Of the temptation to tell, to take credit, your new companions persistent.
If you would walk the unidentified way,
You must quench the thirst for recognition,
Bury deep the desire to reap rewards; in sadness,
Leave not fully formed the hunger incipient.
When others comment, your tongue you’ll stay.
For leaving no clues you’d better have a knack;
Wipe that smile off your face at their gladness.
And it’s best to not write about what you’ve brought to fruition.
© 2014 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged anonymous, burden, consequence, frustrations, introspection, love, poem, timing
I started this one sometime in early May, but due to several interruptions, I forgot about it until recently.
When you’re running late:
Headed to pick up a date—
Perhaps her name is Kate;
Or you’ve a meeting at eight,
To your rendez-vous you’d better hie;
And you realize there’s no good reason why,
Your brain begins to fly
To find some reason that’s not a lie.
When your obligations are not done:
The deadline is a rigid one—
Perhaps when Monday’s course is run;
Or you don’t want to disappoint your hun,
To the task at hand you’d better apply;
To avoid seeing disappointment in another’s eye,
Your brain begins to fly
To find some reason that will satisfy.
And yet, these times are ruled by fate,
When excuses are not shy,
And they will not make fun—
Unlike when you’re filled with butterflies.
Copyright © 2014 H.K. Longmore
This is an older piece, from what seems a lifetime ago, if not a different life. It describes in part the difficulty of returning to a place where all that you thought you knew about a person and their relationship with you was turned on its head. In the “Aggression” alluded to, I managed to hold my tongue, and prevent an assault from becoming assault and battery.
I returned to the place of Aggression yesterday
Though it still seems like today,
As parted have my pillow and head been, torn
Since yester-morn.
The Aggressor was not there.
If he were, to go I could not bear.
Forgiveness he would have feigned
For a time, on a day I felt alienated.
In his heart
Real forgiveness had no part.
He wanted to keep his reign
Of tyranny.
He called that day to apologize
For the way he antagonized.
Wishing to talk to no one, warned by caller ID,
I left curses unsaid and receiver on hook.
The place is haunting now,
Full of darkness and shadows
Everywhere I looked.
I tried cursing a chair
That it might break—doing no harm
To the person who’d sit in it.
Let the La-Z-Boy die in retribution
For my suffering.
No pattern or form to follow,
No magic incantation—
Only me, my mind, my movements, imagination.
Break or not, I don’t care—
I did it, that’s what matters.
Enough about that, lest
My heart get left
In the darkness in the basement, in the theft
Of my pleasant memories,
At the time of the Aggression.
©2000-2014 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged assault, atonement, consequence, coping, Henry Lawson, poem, relationships, resilience, self reflection, shame, timing
Uncomfortable in his skin,
He vowed it would never happen again.
He claimed mostly he was disappointed in him.
But allowing time for reflection,
It turns out he lied.
Yes, he was disappointed—
Even in his self—
But more than that,
Disappointed he didn’t act
When the timing was right,
Sorrowful for the confusion,
And heartbroken at missed opportunity.
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, consequence, coping, love, misunderstanding, poem, relationships, resilience, self reflection, timing
Leaving work one day I took my AWD vehicle through a patch of snow that wasn’t plowed. The magnitude of my velocity vector was too small, inspiring the second stanza. My pants and gloves got soaked trying to dig the snow out from underneath.
Was it this word,
Or that, that she said?
“Life” he thought he heard,
But ’twas spoken while she fed;
“Mouth” is thus not absurd.
Misheard.
It will not budge;
His car is stuck.
The ice-crusted snow it can only nudge.
Did he think he drove a truck?
Must he now homeward trudge?
Misjudged.
For words overheard in passing he could
Seek meaning, though lacking context.
Alternate possibilities, weight of wood,
He might settle on the wrong text.
The comment made, was it for the good?
Misunderstood.
Copyright © 2014. H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged consequence, counting the cost, introspection, misunderstanding, poem, timing
Odysseus and the Sirens. An 1891 painting by John William Waterhouse. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A recruiter for a company quite famous
Sought me out, activating my white ramus.
She shuffled the cards and splayed the deck
To tempt me with projects high tech.
The timing’s wrong, said I, though enticed.
She said she would again roll the dice
To see if feelings mine remained the same
In months a few (if few and couple share a name).
A couple have passed, and the idea’s tempting.
The coolness factor plays my vanity unrelenting;
But I’ve not heard her voice,
There could be a siren hidden in this choice.
And I’m still entranced by another voice:
The lure of siren or an angel that doth rejoice.
Yet voice of siren it cannot be, of this I am sure,
For a siren is always singing, always lures
And such is not the case.
Sometimes this voice is with caterwaul laced.
It oft times will test and try me;
Yet in proximity, from its power I cannot flee.
Is it the call of an angel then?
I have a key plucked from garden zen:
Pray tell, my friend, what is an angel?
A servant, a messenger—from Greek angelos.
No message by this voice hath been delivered;
No token of the Served hath my knees quivered.
A mere mortal then? And yet the voice I ken:
‘Tis a Muse for my pen.
So to the recruiter my thoughts return:
A siren lure, or an escape—a sauternes
To dull my mind, the power of the voice forget;
Kismet that the voice no more my heart beset?
My feelings do not so quickly change,
I’m loath my life to rearrange,
But it would provide the easy way out;
Leaving future wonder in full doubt.
My heart says the timing’s still off,
Though I avoid the voice by my cough.
Call it inaction, call it fate;
My head agrees and so I wait.
Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore
I headed to the mountains to go hiking by myself after work the other day. I planned to hike to a waterfall along the Wasatch bench, but as I drove, it felt right to go instead to a canyon I had seen in a friend’s Facebook post. I didn’t remember the canyon’s name, but I knew where it was and though I did not know for certain, I had a vague idea of how to get to the trail head. After passing Big Cottonwood canyon, I just went by what felt right—what my inner voice was telling me to do. A left here, up the hill, a left there, a right here, and—found it. At the trail head, I was reminded of the canyon’s name: Ferguson.
From the first part of the trail there is a fabulous view of the Salt Lake Valley. I’m sure it will be even better after a rainstorm. There are also some large, steep rock formations up the canyon, some completely vertical. 
I came upon some climbers and watched them for a bit. According to RunKeeper, I had gone about one mile (my phone lost GPS signal at some point, so I think it was actually further), at which point I decided I should turn around so I could make it home in time to play Ultimate. As I headed down, I encountered a local group of cub scouts heading up. One of the leaders lives one street over from me. We said hello and chatted a bit, then I was about to continue down, when another leader arrived from below. He said, “He’s just going to wait there.” They had with them a special needs young man who was ill-equipped for the steep, rocky, sandy terrain. He thought he was going on a short, almost flat hike around Silver Lake near the Brighton ski resort. Instead, he was facing this:
He had basketball shoes on, no socks, and his shoes weren’t tied. He kept slipping on the loose rocks on a particularly steep part of the trail, and he’d had enough. I knew the young man; I’ve coached him in church basketball and given him rides home from basketball. My neighbor suggested perhaps I could give him a ride home.
As the prophet Alma taught his wayward son Corianton, “that which ye do send out shall return unto you again, and be restored” (Alma 41:15 (12-15)) Having received so many rides when I did not have a driver license, I chose to give this young man a ride home, “sending out” that which I already received. One of the leaders came partway down with me, the two of us helping this young man down, as he had lost his confidence from all the slipping. This leader wanted to make sure I was okay with giving him a ride home, so I explained I am grateful that I am now in a position where I can pay those rides back.
It turned out that there was not enough communication to get enough people out to play Ultimate. Had I known there would be too few people to play while I was up Ferguson Canyon, I would have continued up the canyon, and thus not have been there to help. This lack of communication, once I was in Ferguson Canyon, had a causal effect on me being there to help. However, the fact that I was in Ferguson Canyon at the right time to help had three contributing factors: I wanted to go hiking, I got off work a bit early to do so, and I listened to “the still, small voice” within me regarding where to go. The young man I helped commented, “It’s really lucky that you’re here to help me.” I submit that it was serendipitous by the original definition, on account of me having the sagacity to listen to the still, small voice, though I was not seeking an opportunity to help others at the time. I also submit that my desire and plan to play Ultimate, my desire and plan to go hiking after work, and my desire to help others came together in a fit of synchronicity making a meaningful relationship between my activities that afternoon and evening. The Wikipedia article on synchronicity says “From the religious perspective, synchronicity shares similar characteristics of an ‘intervention of grace’.” Indeed, for my young friend, there was an intervention of grace that day.
Posted in essays, journal, my writings
Tagged Ferguson Canyon, hiking, intervention of grace, karma, law of restoration, Recreation, relationships, RunKeeper, serendipity, still small voice, synchronicity, timing
Have you ever longed to go back in time and change just one choice so a life event would turn out differently, or a relationship could be preserved or never started? I have certainly had wistful thoughts along those lines. No, I lie. I do still have wistful thoughts like that from time to time. I went hiking a couple of weeks ago with some of my family. My sister had spent three summers working at a camp in the area, and took the lead. We headed toward that camp, then down a dirt road toward the trail head. We passed a small stream flowing down the mountain and she remarked that the old trail went up the stream, but people kept littering in the (watershed) stream, so the trail was moved, and the old trail blocked off. A little further down the road, and she indicated for us to turn off the road and head up the hill. In the winter, this hill is part of a ski trail; in summer, it is covered with wildflowers. My sister pointed them out, acting the part of trail guide. Up the hill we continued, until we reached a spot where there was a spur of trail running to the stream. My sister was wishing we could go up the old trail, so I told the others I was going to explore the branch, no one had to follow, and I would come back and let them know what I found. My sister said to make sure it went up and not over, because over would lead into the camp.
The branch lead me across the stream. A short distance further I found another spur that lead up the hill. I took it a short distance to see where it led, then returned and informed the others of what I had found. We headed that way. The spur going up took me back across the stream not far from where I initially crossed. I waited there to help my nieces and nephews find the best path across if needed. While we were crossing, my sister had gone a bit further from the spur and found yet another path that led up. She instructed that we needed to go up that way, so we all headed over. Continue reading
I hesitated posting this today, because I already posted just two days ago, but I felt the timing was significant. 😉
Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore
Others have said it, and they’ve said it well
But an accusation that mine ain’t swell
(What is wrong with his timing? Everything.)
In jest, perhaps, is the reason I fling
Words out in iambic pentameter
As I ponder timing’s role, dear reader.
When the timing’s right, it is the reason
Your motorized vehicle runs at all,
Why your chainsaw prepares for cold seasons;
We call some graceful dancers at a ball.
When it’s off, some jokes fall without a laugh,
Some musicians will have to hide their gaffe;
But set it right and accidents avoid,
Catch your tongue before slips described by Freud
Escape your lips to cause social mishaps,
Stop a spill before it lands in your lap.
By your good timing, crimes in progress stop
Whether by interference or a cop.
Good timing is required for conception,
Fast friends form from well-timed introductions.
Apply right timing and head over heels
Can calm until you hear wedding bells peal,
But if you delay or the timing’s wrong
It may be that all you’ll hear is “So long”.
So it would appear my words at me yell
To fix my timing, if what’s wrong he’d tell.
 | Esther Longmore on Not In |
| The Impact of Therap… on Out to Lunch | |
| Summer’s Tail… on Teepee Valves | |
| Ow. | Henry Hurdles… on Teepee Valves | |
| Vacant Echoes | Musi… on Trashed |
Musings of a Kunderian Monster 