by Bill Dahl – 2011 – ALL Rights Reserved

Sacred capacity to question,
Mysteries dance beyond my reach.
I stretch and strain to grasp you.
Through curiosity you teach.

Socialization soaked in tradition,
Rains down upon every generation.
You squeeze me like a sponge,
Reviving the thirst of my imagination.

We believe too much
Of what we’ve heard so many repeat.
Suffering silently in acceptance,
Our ignorance complete.

Experts, teachers, and authorities -
We follow obediently as they guide.
Curiosity wonders as it trudges:
“Is it possible they’re wrong or lied?

Questions ooze from us from birth.
In pursuit of certainty we race.
Perhaps it’s the beauty of life’s mysteries,
We must learn to cherish and embrace?

Unknown, Unfounded, Undiscovered.
We call out to you by name.
Lives anesthetized by routines,
Involuntary servitude to the same.

Reluctance transformed into courage!
We surrender to inspiration.
Birthed for creativity -
We embrace the gift of our imagination.

Walls, ceilings, floors and traffic lights.
Structural attempts to insure uniformity and order.
Surrounded everyday – on all sides -
Unaware of the seriousness of our disorder.

Customs, attitudes and media
Lenses defining what we think we know.
Worn out couches left behind by heart disease,
Evidence of postmodernism’s new death row.

Freedom to challenge the status quo -
What the world now accepts and tolerates.
Indifference spawned by hopeless helplessness,
We’ve now moved beyond your gates.

Wishful thinking and kind expressions,
Lip service has worn out its stay.
I rise to become what I can be -
I declare myself a Questian today!

This yearning that I’m birthed with –
It’s no unique genetic indiscretion.
We’re all created with this capacity –
Empowered to nurture its expression.

New discoveries yearn for our inquiry.
Innovation demands indiscretion.
May you be empowered by these sentiments –
And declare yourself a Questian!

Please share this ditty with a friend -
Step out and be courageous.
Your Questian confession -
Share freely – It’s contagious!

You can put the Questian logo on your website –
Or link to this poem on your Facebook page.
There are no limits to the quest we’re on –
Being Questians is the celebration that we wage.

If you’re a Friend of Questians,
Make your public declaration known.
Share your Questian Confession!
Believe us – You’re not alone.

You can enjoy Bill’s writing on his website(s) at http://billdahl.net/ and http://www.theporpoisedivinglife.com/. For reprint or distribution permission, Contact Bill at wsdahl (at) bendbroadband (dot )com.

The Questians is the title of Bill Dahl’s forthcoming book. Copyright © 2011.

Photography by Bill Dahl

by Bill Dahl – 2011 – ALL Rights Reserved

Hey there Ms. Metaphor!
What do you mean?
With vestments of language
You reveal the unseen.

I ponder your musings-
What appears as a token.
A hidden new meaning -
Invaluable – unspoken.

I turn from your image-
A moment to reflect.
Disparate concepts
You serve to connect.

Scattering seeds
On the soil of my mind.
Implanting curiosity
So tender and kind.

As you gracefully sway,
Waltzing with Know.
I cut in on the dance -
Yearning to grow.

Lost in the melody,
Enchanted by your eyes.
I’m famished for more.
So gentle  – so wise.

My fingers touch the page,
Adoring the language configuration.
Deeply grateful for the reality -
This is not my imagination.

Your pulse inhabits
The paragraph on this page.
Thank you Ms. Metaphor.
For being our sage.

Photo by Bill Dahl

Doctrine, dogma – drones of required beliefs -

Expectations smashed – splashed on man-made reefs.

Literal interpretation – millions remain perplexed.

Left our lives – out of their sacred text.

Ancient narratives risen from the dead.

Hear their voices as we begin to break bread.

One word written, with his finger.

Ponder it now – Let the Spirit linger.

Understanding and images

Designed for continual change.

Worldviews born,

Created to be rearranged.

Certainty’s beginning

Accompanied by the end.

Doctrine and dogma,

Unwilling to even bend.

Glimpse the veiled profile

Of self-righteous pride.

The smirking mug snickers

Behold – the ugly side.

Everywhere around us,

Truth’s on a mission.

Crammed down our throats

Without a whisper of permission.

Seemingly safe –

A fine disguise.

Infiltrating our hearts

Infectious lies.

Who’s the heretic?

It makes one wonder.

Innocence patiently awaits

Certainty’s plunder.

The faithful stand –

With anxious apprehension.

Smiles smugly masking

Their obvious dissension.

A voice from the crowd

Let’s out a shout:

“Is there such a thing –

Living without a doubt?”

Prisoners of certainty -

Together in one cell.

The promise of freedom

Wafting aloft their hell.

Mystery of mysteries –

Escapes man’s attempts at conclusion.

The plunder of certainty –

Most certainly no illusion.

Photo by Bill Dahl

Life’s Gift To Grow

I wonder why I’m built this way?
To ponder what the certain say.
To contemplate another way -
Where undiscovered explanations lay.

Understood emerges
After understand.
We abandon what we thought we knew
Like footprints in the sand.

As I consider mankind’s history
One central truth jumps out at me:

What we thought we might know
Gold nuggets mined from below
On the shore of the rivers flow
Claims recorded. Hearts aglow.

Seasons change.
Time ticks ahead.
Claims abandoned.
Fertility’s dead.

We move on-
Plow a new field.
We apply the lessons
From last harvest’s yield.

Where we’ve stood
On understand -
Encouragement to
Extend a hand.

In this extension
As we reach -
Possibilities appear
Horizons teach.

From where I stand
Recalling where I’ve stood-
The question arises
If I would;

Change the way
We come to know,
Like deer tracks covered
By new fallen snow.

Tides of life seem to
Rearrange our beaches.
“I wouldn’t change it.”
Wonder teaches.

So much to learn
Beyond what I might now know.
I understand just one thing;
Life’s gift to grow.

Photo by Bill Dahl

Just a month away
The grand gala in D.C.
Ushering in a new era
To become what we must be.

As I ponder this moment,
I have more questions than answers.
I’m tired of the spin:
Twirling semantics dancers.

My country is troubled,
Like no period in our past.
Citizens yearn for solutions:
The kind made to last.

Where do you start?
When faced with such a mess.
Tumultuous times.
Tremendous stress.

The skies clouded above us,
Threatening ominous weather.
Perhaps we might consider,
Truly coming together.

One would be naïve to think,
“To have what we had would be nice.”
To reclaim our futures footing,
Will require change and sacrifice.

Improvements in healthcare
Jobs, energy and education.
The challenge is formidable,
For any administration.

I’ve learned that our leaders
A heavy burden they must bear.
May our nation come together,
Covering all with prayer.

Imagine the possibilities,
Citizens down on their knees,
Praising the Almighty -
One beseeching breeze.

It’s absurd to assume,
The challenges can be met by one man.
Yet, with America in prayer.
“Oh yes We can!”

T’was the month before the inauguration
And all round this nation -
Citizens are overwhelmed
With the economic situation.

Congress has recessed. The President a lame duck.
Who can we count on to get us unstuck?
The bailouts are hung by the Treasury chimney with care.
In hopes that Hank Paulson soon will be there.

Auto workers wrestle, tucked in their beds
While visions of unemployment dance in their heads.
Obama in his kerchief and Emanuel in his cap.
“Who could have predicted we’d be faced with this crap?

When down below on the street, there arose such a clatter.
They sprang from their chairs to see what was the matter.
Toward the window, The Secret Service flew like a flash-
Peeking through the shutters, they heard another crash.

The streetlights shone bright, on the new fallen snow.
Everything seemed normal in ol’ Chicago.
When what to their wondering eyes should appear -
But GM’s Rick Wagoner and a team of Reindeer.

Wagoner looked up toward their high rise, he didn’t miss a lick.
“I’ve got to see you Barak – our industry’s sick!
I’ve got a sleigh full of concessions.
But we’ve got to move quick!”

A few minutes later, Wagoner entered their suite.
Leaving wet footprints, from the boots on his feet.
Dressed in a Santa suit, from head to toe.
Barak cracked a smile and said “Somebody get Joe.”

Biden walked in sporting pajamas and only one slipper -
“What’s this all about? Where did he come from Skipper?”
Wagoner dropped the bundle he had flung on his back,
The Secret Service moved closer, as he opened his pack.

Wagoner was nervous,

His face twitched with a tick.

“Yes, Mr. President,

It’s the Motor City’s St. Rick.”

Obama motioned to Emanuel,

Who flicked a switch by the phone.

GW’s image appeared on a screen,

Looking forlorn and alone.

Bush drawled on the phone,

“Is that you, Barak honey?

“I suppose it’s Detroit

Demanding a truck load of money.”

Bush whistled and shouted and called them by name,

“Now Paulsen, now Bernanke, now Geithner and Summers

It’s my responsibility to handle these economic bummers.”

“On Pelosi, on Reid, On Frank and on Dodd!

This bailout stuff seems unnatural and terribly odd.”

“By executive order,

I duly decree

GM and Chrysler

Get fourteen billion from me!”

“Thank you Mr. President!”

Wagoner exhaled, with lightened load.

Obama hung up and sighed -

“He’s just kicked the can down the road!”

On the outskirts of certainty,
Bordering the shadow of a doubt.
The obscured pathway is hidden,
Leading beyond and out.

“Don’t you dare go out there!”
“Don’t even think about going near.”
The voice of certainty speaks,
Defending the status quo with fear.

“Stick with us and you’ll be fine.”
“We’ve got everything you need.”
Suspicion abruptly arises within me,
Bullet proof conviction contains a tone of greed.

Answers, responses and retorts.
Are these folks capable of reflection?
No wonder people just like me
Are considering defection.

Zip-Locked Gospel.
Regurgitation of firmly held belief.
Behavior trips on lip-service,
Detainees seek relief.

Doctrine on lockdown.
Inmates hold the key.
Eyes blind to confinement.
Captives on bended knee.

Litmus of liturgy.
Morning rays penetrate the cell.
A sound whispers within the intrusion-
The echo of a distant bell.

Mustering the courage,
I peek with one eye on a whim.
I catch a fleeting glimpse,
The shadow of a hymn.

Bible black as coal.
Breath of Life measured in pounds.
Too feeble to embrace you.
Reluctance that confounds.

Unrelenting restlessness,
Convicted that there is more.
I released the chains I held.
Staggering out Wittenberg’s door.

Strength returned to my wings.
I leapt from my perch.
I soared above their heads,
Out the window of the church.

Toward the bell in the distance…
An unmistakable tone.
Joined along the way by others,
Deeply grateful I’m not alone.

Closer now…
the bell’s coming into sight.
A chorus of voices come from nowhere.
We soar in ceremonial delight.

The warmth of the updraft,
Lifted higher by the breezes.
He comes into view…
The Music Maker Himself – It’s really Jesus.

As you ponder your posture on your perch,
Wondering whether to come out.
Contemplate the outskirts of certainty,
On the border of a shadow of a doubt

Little One

Mommy and Daddy had a fight today.
It was really loud – in a most unusual way.
I heard them very clearly,
Every word they had to say.

My little brother came running in,
Tears of fear ran down his left cheek.
He jumped up on my lap,
Startled, afraid, innocent and meek.

“We can’t make ends meet!”
We heard daddy yell.
“I can’t live like this!” he shouted.
“This economy’s gone to hell!”

We could hear mommy,
Sobbing in depression,
“What are we going to do?
To survive this recession.”

We peeked out my bedroom door,
Daddy hugged Mommy tight.
He ran his hand through her hair,
Comforting her plight.

Dad just got laid off,
Mom works just part time.
The best parents in the world.
This recession – it’s a crime.

“Our savings are all gone,
I wish we could borrow.
All our credit lines are maxed.”
He shared with mom in sorrow.

“The equity in the house;
It’s gone or going south.
“We’re going to lose our home,”
He raised his hand, covering his mouth.”

“Bailing out Wall Street!
Billions for the largest banks.
Rescuing sub-prime borrowers.
Where’s the help for families in our ranks?”

My mom and dad used to be happy,
The joy was delirious.
We had so much fun together,
Now it’s way too serious.

When your house is worth -
less than what you owe.
Why should mom & dad keep paying?
Why don’t we just pack up and go?

Dad:”We can’t even sell,
With all the homes on the market.”
Families in mainstream America,
We’re the bulls eye in the target.”

Mom: “Should we sell the house,
We’ll get a 1099.
We’ll owe the IRS —
This law’s outlived it’s time.”

Dad: “Friends and relatives are hurting.
What’s a family to do?
Does Congress understand our predicament?
Will they come to our rescue?”

Mom: “With our health insurance gone,
We cannot get sick.
Don’t spend any money whatsoever,
Until this economy begins to click.”

Mom burst out in tears,
My little brother began to cry.
As I reached out to comfort him,
I caught my daddy’s eye.

Mom and dad surrounded us,
We hugged on my bedroom floor.
“Please help our family —
We can’t take this anymore!”