love, devotion, surrender, and forgiveness

Thank you to the many people who joined the "100 poems" project. I like it when journals that I already read join in with my journal.

As May ends, I'm facing a quite busy June and July. I'm eager to get things done, and take names, and organize, and solve.
But I stop this morning to reflect on things I could do better, and could have done better. Rather than putting together yet another gurdondark post about my manifold sins and wickedness, which I mostly humbly do confess (the memory of them being grievous unto me), I thought I'd play with the idea of sin and forgiveness in a rather lightweight poll. I am never certain if the words in this context really capture the idea:"sin", "mistake", "error", "right", "wrong", "forgiveness". The various overlays of differing religious/non-religious perspectives and the fact that no two people seem to use the words in the same way always throw me a bit. But I think that it's a good thing to focus on how to improve, and in particular, how to forgive. I don't have any words of wisdom on this, really, but I do have a poll. I'm not after any dire revelations, here, but I think sometimes it's good to think about what happened, and how to remedy what happened.

[Poll #139543]

Meanwhile, I've begun my 100 poems project, and share here my ( first poem )

president george bush freeway, 7:45 p.m.

Two hot-air balloons hover on the horizon, still in mid-air. Flying just north of the Renner Road exit, two radio controlled planes soar high into the air. The horizon serenely promises a gorgeous sunset, not a Hawaiian sunset where the sun just disappears, but a sunset which slowly, manuscript-like, illumines clouds and glows across prairie and changes lives. The juxtapositions contrast with doing 60 miles an hour in a well-used Crown Victoria, which lacks only a few thousand miles crossing 100,000, at which point it ceases to be an "immoral big gas-guzzling car" and turns into an "all-American classic", albeit a classic that local police everywhere are protesting for its gas tank's alleged propensity for being intolerant of high-speed collisions. I looked into that horizon, and felt a list of things to do, deadlines to meet, trips to take, and work to accomplish. The radio played an NPR special on Bob Hope, who wise-cracked and sang about the Road to Morocco. I sped on, into the sunset, another day ended.