"Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere."
--G.K. Chesterton
"The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred.../Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you."
--Walt Whitman
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According to the Buddha, right speech is a statement that is timely, true, kind, helpful (connected to liberation), and spoken with a mind of good-will. Let us all try to observe this precept.
Good news: My poem "World's Fattest Cat Has World's Fattest Kittens" has just won Second Prize, plus an award for Best Rhyming Poem, in the 2007 Utmost Christian Writers poetry contest.
This Canadian website, which aims at improving the literary quality of work produced by Christians, offers thousands of dollars in prizes (over US$4,100 this year). The deadline is usually February 28. First Prize this year went to Jan Wood for "just as you are in me and i am in you". Read all the winners here.
World's Fattest Cat Has World's Fattest Kittens --tabloid headline
A man walks into a bar and that's how I meet my father. Thirty years' prelude to a first date, in the amber mood of brass and cognac, philosophic chat spins the barstool back and I could be my mother making us something intimate and undefined, making someone you would leave behind. My job-interview smile like butter over the Riviera snaps of your daughters, an alternate normalcy unreeled by their tan arms, nothing concealed behind your soft, proud chest but beach and blue waters. But my awkward sister, dark-eyed – can't you find her moon-round face in yours, and yours in mine?
Tapas and wine, and God to take his turn building the polite fortress of conversation; two ex-Jews still wedded to disputation and self-pity. The theatre crowd, as unconcerned as you with tabloid reunions, disperses into Manhattan's blue lure. I say Jesus ended life for our trespasses, but you're offended at this old, barbarous economy of verses. You glow with gurus, out-of-body flight and sinless man – convenient to believe the soul can shed the seeds the body leaves. And I, lacking the charity not to hate your smooth life apart from us – who am I to spite the last lawyer who has faith in human nature?
Dumb girl, ludicrous heredity making me hang on your kisses like a teen, then ask, like the boy-father to the child unseen, who is this one, this virtual life, to me? True father, tell me now, don't we both nurse our entitlements like a spitting-image son, me judging life's gift by how it was begun, you grasping after apples with no curse? Atonement's just about dousing a blaze someone else started. Till then, the wheel and snare of karmic alleles conspires down the years to put our eyes in an accusing face. Tabloids and Genesis agree on that: fat kittens must have come from fatter cats.