The tangled words we weave

When I was in high school, I had no real appreciation for poetry. I would hear my mother recite a Robert Frost poem titled "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" or something like that. I remember wondering how someone could feel that passionate about a few rhyming words. One day Dr. Craig came to our AP English class to talk about poetry. We read and discussed a Robert Frost poem called "Out, Out" It was about how a young boy was helping his father cut wood for the winter and was distracted by his mother calling them in for dinner. The buzz saw thought that the dinner call was for it, and "ate" the boy's arm.

That discussion changed my view of much of poetry. The rhyme and pattern of the words give life, emotion and meaning to the words that would otherwise be ... just prose. I don't read a lot of poetry, but I do appreciate poems that express thoughts and emotions that I have felt. Frost wrote another poem (I think its) called "The Star Splitter" about a farmer who burned down his house for the insurance money so that he could buy a telescope to look at the stars. The first few lines are what I enjoy though.

"You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
I should have done by daylight, and indeed,
After the ground is frozen, I should have done
Before it froze, and a gust flings a handful
Of waste leaves at my smoky lantern chimney
To make fun of my way of doing things,
Or else fun of Orion's having caught me. "

Since then I have tried to use poetry effectively when I would give speeches for Pima College or other public functions. A few months ago my sister posted a poem on our family blog that I have pondered much on lately. In my calling as Bishop, I see all kinds of people, both young and old, who work hard at pretending to be sorry for something that they enjoy doing and will continue to enjoy because the consequences, as they perceive, are not really severe. They are practiced at saying to the Bishop, "Gee, I am really sorry and I won't do it again. Can I please have my temple recommend back?" The one that I see a lot of lately is "Are you a Bishop? I just moved into town - Can I have a food order (Or money for rent?)"

On Flunking A Nice Boy Out of School by John Ciardi
I wish I could teach you how ugly
decency and humility can be when they are not
the election of a contained mind but only
the defenses of an incompetent. Were you taught
meekness as a weapon? Or did you discover,
by chance maybe, that it worked on mother
and was a good thing–at least when all else failed–
to get you over the worst of what was coming.
Is that why you bring these sheepfaces on Tuesday?
They won’t do.
It’s three months work I want, and I’d sooner have it
from the brassiest lumpkin in pimpledom, but have it,
than all these martyred repentances from you.