Passions
Long in years,
when passions pout -
Old's seen change,
heard hymn and shout -
Wondering still,
what life's about -
Fire in the belly,
long turned to gout -
Thin's in,
so we shun the stout -
The long haired poet,
termed a lout -
His poetic wish,
to shout it out -
Wisdom through thought,
to live without -
We are the lesser,
left yet in doubt -
Deep in years,
time when passions pout-
Ronald C.Downie.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Changing Drivers
Changing Drivers
Into the emancipation of thought,
Innocently born, clambering escape
From the drudgeries of ordinary
People, an exceptional person
Emerges through ingenuity and
Spunk to become a public leader.
But the crucible holding their future
Spills, from time to time its holdings
Onto written pages, seers construct.
Fiction or oracle must pass inspection
Of those of inquisitive minds and such
Feelings that poetry or prose reveals.
The drumming which holds the beat,
The strings that arc to heaven's door,
The woodwinds which carries the tune,
The voices that peel away at sadness
Are pent up in a discordant population
Struggling for their chance at survival.
To them, nothing rises to challenge
A way of life long lived, well satisfied,
Tempered by experience, uncontested.
Miracle of the mind forgotten, ordinary
Life forces decisions to be crudely made,
Unexamined, rather than knowledge based.
Leaders must weave their way through clutter
Left behind in the wake of earlier disciples.
Is pandering to get reelected a baton passed on,
Or, for the better good of all, a banner's made ?
Needed, exceptional people, those who will grasp
The reins, control the team, then change drivers.
Ronald C. Downie
Into the emancipation of thought,
Innocently born, clambering escape
From the drudgeries of ordinary
People, an exceptional person
Emerges through ingenuity and
Spunk to become a public leader.
But the crucible holding their future
Spills, from time to time its holdings
Onto written pages, seers construct.
Fiction or oracle must pass inspection
Of those of inquisitive minds and such
Feelings that poetry or prose reveals.
The drumming which holds the beat,
The strings that arc to heaven's door,
The woodwinds which carries the tune,
The voices that peel away at sadness
Are pent up in a discordant population
Struggling for their chance at survival.
To them, nothing rises to challenge
A way of life long lived, well satisfied,
Tempered by experience, uncontested.
Miracle of the mind forgotten, ordinary
Life forces decisions to be crudely made,
Unexamined, rather than knowledge based.
Leaders must weave their way through clutter
Left behind in the wake of earlier disciples.
Is pandering to get reelected a baton passed on,
Or, for the better good of all, a banner's made ?
Needed, exceptional people, those who will grasp
The reins, control the team, then change drivers.
Ronald C. Downie
Saturday, December 29, 2012
The Light Warden
The Light Warden
Born of The Great Depression, I entered
A World of constant turmoil, endless strife.
Lazy year, 1935, of dull, drab malaise,
Heralded me on this Earth a poor boy.
The only constant of first memory
Was of moving, seems we moved yearly.
Older brother, Andy, changed schools so
Often every elementary school saw him.
A knock on the door caused an instant fear,
But it was usually the defense light warden
Telling Mom and Dad to close our black blinds,
Light slivers could bring German planes overhead.
We lived in rural northern Chester County
Just north of Harmonyville on Houck Road
Next to Camp Rock Run, a teenaged girls camp.
Sadly, I was far too young for girls back then.
With War's end we moved to Lower POttsgrove
Township on North Keim Street, at Ringing Hill.
Completed schooling at Lower POttsgrove
Elementary then Pottstown's Junior&Senior High.
Since 1950 I've continually anguished over
Sixty two long years of man made carnage :
Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Sudan, Afghanistan,
Yugoslavia, Egypt, Africa's potential explosion.
Will I reach my natural end before
Man causes an unnatural World's end ?
The twenty-one trillion hoarded dollars
Off-shore World wide can't buy eternity.
The fear of light peeking out when a boy
Has been replaced by all the lights going
Out when the electric power grid goes
Down imploding under its own vast weight.
An ineffective person that I've become,
A farmer by nature drawn toward words,
Feels lost looking at the peril facing man.
Are my words adequate for this vast task ?
Hell yes ! Each must speak up and shout it out -
" We are sick and tired being lied to over and over."
The cesspool we politely call, political rhetoric,
Is as pungent, as down wind sewage spills, are.
Ronald C. Downie
Born of The Great Depression, I entered
A World of constant turmoil, endless strife.
Lazy year, 1935, of dull, drab malaise,
Heralded me on this Earth a poor boy.
The only constant of first memory
Was of moving, seems we moved yearly.
Older brother, Andy, changed schools so
Often every elementary school saw him.
A knock on the door caused an instant fear,
But it was usually the defense light warden
Telling Mom and Dad to close our black blinds,
Light slivers could bring German planes overhead.
We lived in rural northern Chester County
Just north of Harmonyville on Houck Road
Next to Camp Rock Run, a teenaged girls camp.
Sadly, I was far too young for girls back then.
With War's end we moved to Lower POttsgrove
Township on North Keim Street, at Ringing Hill.
Completed schooling at Lower POttsgrove
Elementary then Pottstown's Junior&Senior High.
Since 1950 I've continually anguished over
Sixty two long years of man made carnage :
Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Sudan, Afghanistan,
Yugoslavia, Egypt, Africa's potential explosion.
Will I reach my natural end before
Man causes an unnatural World's end ?
The twenty-one trillion hoarded dollars
Off-shore World wide can't buy eternity.
The fear of light peeking out when a boy
Has been replaced by all the lights going
Out when the electric power grid goes
Down imploding under its own vast weight.
An ineffective person that I've become,
A farmer by nature drawn toward words,
Feels lost looking at the peril facing man.
Are my words adequate for this vast task ?
Hell yes ! Each must speak up and shout it out -
" We are sick and tired being lied to over and over."
The cesspool we politely call, political rhetoric,
Is as pungent, as down wind sewage spills, are.
Ronald C. Downie
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Silhouettes
Silhouettes
I've been far too lax lately to really appreciate the trees for the woods, or rather, the trees for the hubbub of modern living, viewing but not seeing anything that has a meaningful degree of depth. Maybe, it's because trees have just shed their leaves so now their silhouettes just pop out which composes the skyline.
When you have some time to spare drive along Hanover Street in Pottstown and take a look for yourself beginning down at the Hanover Street Bridge at the Schuylkill River. Just a short way west on College Drive at the pedestrian crossover look right to the north and see a silhouette of a huge American Elm tree growing on the bank of the spillway which used to carry water to the old Roller Mill building when it was still grinding grain into flower. This Elm, when you calculate its age by the diameter of the girth of its trunk is quite old, which is remarkable since most Elms died off years ago due to the Dutch Elm Disease. You could say, "this old giant is some tough bird".
Drive further north up Hanover and you'll cross High, King, and Chestnut Streets to, on the right hand side, in the raised lawn area between Zion's Church and Emanuel Lutheran Church two fairly large shade trees are growing. The more memorable one, an Oak, has a well formed canopy that compliments with its spread the area it shades. This area for years has been the focal point for lawn parties especially for musical programs these churches put on. A shaded lawn area becomes outdoor living space at its very best in an earthly attempt to bring civility back into civilization.
Travel again north on Hanover for about two and a half more blocks to where Hanover goes down a grade after Beech Street and begins a gentle curve to the east at East Third Street. There, smack in front of you, on the left hand side of Hanover, are two large trees : one's, another Elm ; the other's, an Oak, both living together in this small front yard for a long, long time. These two notable trees were probably planted at same time very long ago, most likely, no one remembers the event. Growing together, as they have in girth and canopy all this time, they seem from afar to be one huge silhouette. Kudos to those who plant trees for posterity.
Just further on, no more than a block and a half on the right hand side, the east side, up in the Pottstown Cemetery stands a magnificent Oak tree spreading full 360 degrees around with well placed branches that allows a free flow of air through its canopy which insures a more healthy, long life. This Oak, I would think, is a Red Oak. At least in my mind, around here, the Red Oak is the premier tree to plant for character and for shade if a sufficient amount of land around it is dedicated for its size at maturity. This Oak is truly a splendid specimen living well and, I certainly hope, will live on to shade generations yet to be born.
An appreciation for life must not stop with the human species but should extend to all species living in our Planet's environs. That which gives meaning to your personal desires should incite within you an awe of reverence for life. A saying goes something like this : To plant a tree under which you know that you'll not be able to feel comfort of its shade is the highest form of empathy. These five trees are but a few growing in Pottstown which attached my eye over the years. The compulsion to write about them now is my attempt to turn a personal awareness into a public one.
Ronald C. Downie
I've been far too lax lately to really appreciate the trees for the woods, or rather, the trees for the hubbub of modern living, viewing but not seeing anything that has a meaningful degree of depth. Maybe, it's because trees have just shed their leaves so now their silhouettes just pop out which composes the skyline.
When you have some time to spare drive along Hanover Street in Pottstown and take a look for yourself beginning down at the Hanover Street Bridge at the Schuylkill River. Just a short way west on College Drive at the pedestrian crossover look right to the north and see a silhouette of a huge American Elm tree growing on the bank of the spillway which used to carry water to the old Roller Mill building when it was still grinding grain into flower. This Elm, when you calculate its age by the diameter of the girth of its trunk is quite old, which is remarkable since most Elms died off years ago due to the Dutch Elm Disease. You could say, "this old giant is some tough bird".
Drive further north up Hanover and you'll cross High, King, and Chestnut Streets to, on the right hand side, in the raised lawn area between Zion's Church and Emanuel Lutheran Church two fairly large shade trees are growing. The more memorable one, an Oak, has a well formed canopy that compliments with its spread the area it shades. This area for years has been the focal point for lawn parties especially for musical programs these churches put on. A shaded lawn area becomes outdoor living space at its very best in an earthly attempt to bring civility back into civilization.
Travel again north on Hanover for about two and a half more blocks to where Hanover goes down a grade after Beech Street and begins a gentle curve to the east at East Third Street. There, smack in front of you, on the left hand side of Hanover, are two large trees : one's, another Elm ; the other's, an Oak, both living together in this small front yard for a long, long time. These two notable trees were probably planted at same time very long ago, most likely, no one remembers the event. Growing together, as they have in girth and canopy all this time, they seem from afar to be one huge silhouette. Kudos to those who plant trees for posterity.
Just further on, no more than a block and a half on the right hand side, the east side, up in the Pottstown Cemetery stands a magnificent Oak tree spreading full 360 degrees around with well placed branches that allows a free flow of air through its canopy which insures a more healthy, long life. This Oak, I would think, is a Red Oak. At least in my mind, around here, the Red Oak is the premier tree to plant for character and for shade if a sufficient amount of land around it is dedicated for its size at maturity. This Oak is truly a splendid specimen living well and, I certainly hope, will live on to shade generations yet to be born.
An appreciation for life must not stop with the human species but should extend to all species living in our Planet's environs. That which gives meaning to your personal desires should incite within you an awe of reverence for life. A saying goes something like this : To plant a tree under which you know that you'll not be able to feel comfort of its shade is the highest form of empathy. These five trees are but a few growing in Pottstown which attached my eye over the years. The compulsion to write about them now is my attempt to turn a personal awareness into a public one.
Ronald C. Downie
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
The Three Legged Stool
The Three Legged Stool
The young of our generation need, desperately need, all three legs of life's proverbial stool. They have their physical presence embodied in youthful statures that forms one leg of the stool. That's the easy one, stemming from the union of a male and a female that has happened for millions of years, the striking of the flints of flesh creating the spark to fire a breath of life.
One third of the legs of the three legged stool is set,
it's the other two legs that I'd like to think about, I'd like to write about, I'd like you to read about.
I suggest the other two legs are life factors of each individual's personality that makes them particular to themselves as they maneuver through life. They are aptitude and attitude.
Aptitude is the inherent ability of an individual to perform at a level commensurate with their physical makeup. Their ability, their capability, their instinct, their power has an individual's imprint on society that I call another one of the legs of the stool.
Attitude, though, is a mental state. It is the third leg completing the integrity of our stool involving beliefs and feelings and values and dispositions to act in certain ways. It, too, defines an individual by that person's brain waves. Attitude seems to be, not only the crucial third leg, but also the glue that holds a stool together.
I contend most of our youth have the physique complete with a goodly amount of aptitude which bolsters them as individuals as they grow into adulthood. They grow along with their ability and power to physically improve at all visuals of their lives.
This is certainly meaningful but woefully inadequate to enter into a competitive society with all its varied
innuendoes.
Attitude becomes paramount to our youth's survival. It is the the educated youngster with an expanding mind who can weigh alternatives to the rigid norms which stagnates our adult society. We find in our youths, as in all advanced generations, the hope inherent in a future worthy to pass on to our descendants.
These descendants will honor this generation for constructing stools that, not only withstand the riggers of time, but become the standards for future societies.
Body, mind, and spirit is the bulwark of some institutes. I am encouraging stature, aptitude, and attitude to be our pillars, or if you will, our legs of the proverbial stool. Upright and solid, the tripods are to hold up a universe.
Ronald C. Downie
The young of our generation need, desperately need, all three legs of life's proverbial stool. They have their physical presence embodied in youthful statures that forms one leg of the stool. That's the easy one, stemming from the union of a male and a female that has happened for millions of years, the striking of the flints of flesh creating the spark to fire a breath of life.
One third of the legs of the three legged stool is set,
it's the other two legs that I'd like to think about, I'd like to write about, I'd like you to read about.
I suggest the other two legs are life factors of each individual's personality that makes them particular to themselves as they maneuver through life. They are aptitude and attitude.
Aptitude is the inherent ability of an individual to perform at a level commensurate with their physical makeup. Their ability, their capability, their instinct, their power has an individual's imprint on society that I call another one of the legs of the stool.
Attitude, though, is a mental state. It is the third leg completing the integrity of our stool involving beliefs and feelings and values and dispositions to act in certain ways. It, too, defines an individual by that person's brain waves. Attitude seems to be, not only the crucial third leg, but also the glue that holds a stool together.
I contend most of our youth have the physique complete with a goodly amount of aptitude which bolsters them as individuals as they grow into adulthood. They grow along with their ability and power to physically improve at all visuals of their lives.
This is certainly meaningful but woefully inadequate to enter into a competitive society with all its varied
innuendoes.
Attitude becomes paramount to our youth's survival. It is the the educated youngster with an expanding mind who can weigh alternatives to the rigid norms which stagnates our adult society. We find in our youths, as in all advanced generations, the hope inherent in a future worthy to pass on to our descendants.
These descendants will honor this generation for constructing stools that, not only withstand the riggers of time, but become the standards for future societies.
Body, mind, and spirit is the bulwark of some institutes. I am encouraging stature, aptitude, and attitude to be our pillars, or if you will, our legs of the proverbial stool. Upright and solid, the tripods are to hold up a universe.
Ronald C. Downie
Sunday, December 23, 2012
A Birthday Wish
A Birthday Wish
Little else do I have aptitude to do but to shuffle words together and come up with their meaning really representing my heartfelt thoughts. Birthday verse fits this definition.
This birthday poem is something special. Written for Connie my wife of nearly 49 years at her new age of 73 years while living in our home on Evans Street for nearly 39 years. Time does march on into the ages.
To Connie My Wife
The clock, on the mantel is ready
To receive all three hands pointing
Up, converging on the hour of twelve.
The sun, at its low point in the sky,
Is poised to begin its accent again,
Longing for spring, seeking summer.
The clock, makes its cycle twice each day;
The sun, does its thing needing only once.
But, you and I, ours is made in a life time.
Both of us, we are of a similar earthy substance,
The combination of both time and sun energy,
Joined these many years, like a clock at noon.
The sun, has an additional duty to perform
While sweeping throughout the vast universe,
It draws the Earth to orbit it in one single year.
We mark the passage of a year by birthdays,
As your's today, the twenty third of December.
You have made another orbit, the clock tics on.
Ticking, as it does, recording the inevitable passing
Of all cycles, not cognizant of spring nor summer,
But, in spite of time, we deal in a love for each other.
Love may not surface in traditional ways enough
To stop clocks or alter our own universe's actions.
Instead, being unsaid, does not mean it is dead.
I love you more each day knowing there is a limit
To our time together. Hopefully the seasons are
Limitless, clocks march on, and our love is eternal.
With All My Love,
Your Husband, Ron
Little else do I have aptitude to do but to shuffle words together and come up with their meaning really representing my heartfelt thoughts. Birthday verse fits this definition.
This birthday poem is something special. Written for Connie my wife of nearly 49 years at her new age of 73 years while living in our home on Evans Street for nearly 39 years. Time does march on into the ages.
To Connie My Wife
The clock, on the mantel is ready
To receive all three hands pointing
Up, converging on the hour of twelve.
The sun, at its low point in the sky,
Is poised to begin its accent again,
Longing for spring, seeking summer.
The clock, makes its cycle twice each day;
The sun, does its thing needing only once.
But, you and I, ours is made in a life time.
Both of us, we are of a similar earthy substance,
The combination of both time and sun energy,
Joined these many years, like a clock at noon.
The sun, has an additional duty to perform
While sweeping throughout the vast universe,
It draws the Earth to orbit it in one single year.
We mark the passage of a year by birthdays,
As your's today, the twenty third of December.
You have made another orbit, the clock tics on.
Ticking, as it does, recording the inevitable passing
Of all cycles, not cognizant of spring nor summer,
But, in spite of time, we deal in a love for each other.
Love may not surface in traditional ways enough
To stop clocks or alter our own universe's actions.
Instead, being unsaid, does not mean it is dead.
I love you more each day knowing there is a limit
To our time together. Hopefully the seasons are
Limitless, clocks march on, and our love is eternal.
With All My Love,
Your Husband, Ron
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Too Early,Old - Too Late,Smart
"Too Early, Old - Too Late, Smart"
Go anywhere out in the farm country,
Talk to any native sod busters, you'd
Hear them, back in the era of my youth,
Speaking Pennsylvania Dutch like this.
Language of simple souls was so darn
Descriptive, modern speaking, so drab.
So drab, we have reverted to texting
Rather than talking on the telephone.
As a society, we've already lost
The art of letter writing to the phone.
Now, a hand held device can do both,
Along with taking photos and paging.
No going back cause the genie's out !
Having popped right out of the bottle,
His etherial vapors in gypsy spirits
Join those of all our past ancestors.
To have known another time, to assure
Myself there is more than only today ;
On the shoulders of our predecessors
We stand peering beyond comfortable.
We must harvest the eatables that grow
In gardens we plant, cultivate, and weed.
Like the Dutch speak : quant, impressive,
Colloquial - yes, we will harvest this - also.
Ronald C. Downie
Go anywhere out in the farm country,
Talk to any native sod busters, you'd
Hear them, back in the era of my youth,
Speaking Pennsylvania Dutch like this.
Language of simple souls was so darn
Descriptive, modern speaking, so drab.
So drab, we have reverted to texting
Rather than talking on the telephone.
As a society, we've already lost
The art of letter writing to the phone.
Now, a hand held device can do both,
Along with taking photos and paging.
No going back cause the genie's out !
Having popped right out of the bottle,
His etherial vapors in gypsy spirits
Join those of all our past ancestors.
To have known another time, to assure
Myself there is more than only today ;
On the shoulders of our predecessors
We stand peering beyond comfortable.
We must harvest the eatables that grow
In gardens we plant, cultivate, and weed.
Like the Dutch speak : quant, impressive,
Colloquial - yes, we will harvest this - also.
Ronald C. Downie
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Crime Of Property Taxation
The Crime of Property Taxation
A leader, from its inception as an original member of The Thirteen Colonies, Pennsylvania, with its abundance of swift moving streams, coal, iron ore, timber, and industrious immigrants, led the early Colonies in industry and manufacturing. The value of her real estate rose proportionate to her industrious muscle and raw material opportunities.
In the mid Twentieth Century, post WW2, Pottstown reached its pinnacle in industrial production and commercial activity. Along with numerous heavy and light industries we were the regional hub for professional businesses, banking, and service related companies. Both laborers and their managers lived within the Boro limits as our population topped thirty thousand citizens. Property values reflected the upward vitality of the Town's strength.
Then came the crash when three quarters of Pottstown's industry began their exodus along with their payrolls, not only of the workers but also the wages of the managers, and, adding insult to injury, houses came on sale at a lower than ever value in a race to the bottom price we find now. Professionals also moved out of town as everyone became more mobile in the age of the automobile. During this fifty year decline the population dropped by ten thousand and even as the cost of living rose each year property values declined or remained flat.
The only constant during this time was the cost of education which went up each year and property taxes to fund the increases went up also. No matter how much you squeeze an orange you get only so much juice from it. As a stabilizing force in most small towns, seniors, many of them on fixed incomes, must reduce their daily living costs in order to pay the rising costs of property taxes if they decide to stay in their homes. When forced from their homes the character of that neighborhood changes many times to the negative eroding the tax base further.
It seems a consensus in public thinking that an educated citizenry is an imperative to having a strong healthy country. An after thought in an agricultural society, education became more and more important as we moved into and out of the industrial revolution and we are now in the information age where education is a must.
Today, just as important : as highways, as bridges, as water ways and ports, as trains and air lines, is education which needs to be funded accordingly. To function in the 21st Century and beyond we can't rely on outmoded methods to raise money for schools. Anchored to the land, anchored to a community both life styles of agriculture and industry adapted to property taxes supplying funds to educate her young. Now in the information age where everyone is mobile and everyone needs more education the means to pay for it is vastly inadequate.
Education is the bridge to the future and as all bridges serve all travelers an educated American serves all countrymen. Bridges are high cost structures, education costs a lot too and as bridges need to be paid for out of a general fund so must we pay for education in the same way.
Taxing property, once acceptable when agriculture and industry ruled the economy, no longer serves a proper role in the 21st Century. Building the universal bridge through education needs us to develop a non property universal method to pay for it.
Ronald C. Downie
A leader, from its inception as an original member of The Thirteen Colonies, Pennsylvania, with its abundance of swift moving streams, coal, iron ore, timber, and industrious immigrants, led the early Colonies in industry and manufacturing. The value of her real estate rose proportionate to her industrious muscle and raw material opportunities.
In the mid Twentieth Century, post WW2, Pottstown reached its pinnacle in industrial production and commercial activity. Along with numerous heavy and light industries we were the regional hub for professional businesses, banking, and service related companies. Both laborers and their managers lived within the Boro limits as our population topped thirty thousand citizens. Property values reflected the upward vitality of the Town's strength.
Then came the crash when three quarters of Pottstown's industry began their exodus along with their payrolls, not only of the workers but also the wages of the managers, and, adding insult to injury, houses came on sale at a lower than ever value in a race to the bottom price we find now. Professionals also moved out of town as everyone became more mobile in the age of the automobile. During this fifty year decline the population dropped by ten thousand and even as the cost of living rose each year property values declined or remained flat.
The only constant during this time was the cost of education which went up each year and property taxes to fund the increases went up also. No matter how much you squeeze an orange you get only so much juice from it. As a stabilizing force in most small towns, seniors, many of them on fixed incomes, must reduce their daily living costs in order to pay the rising costs of property taxes if they decide to stay in their homes. When forced from their homes the character of that neighborhood changes many times to the negative eroding the tax base further.
It seems a consensus in public thinking that an educated citizenry is an imperative to having a strong healthy country. An after thought in an agricultural society, education became more and more important as we moved into and out of the industrial revolution and we are now in the information age where education is a must.
Today, just as important : as highways, as bridges, as water ways and ports, as trains and air lines, is education which needs to be funded accordingly. To function in the 21st Century and beyond we can't rely on outmoded methods to raise money for schools. Anchored to the land, anchored to a community both life styles of agriculture and industry adapted to property taxes supplying funds to educate her young. Now in the information age where everyone is mobile and everyone needs more education the means to pay for it is vastly inadequate.
Education is the bridge to the future and as all bridges serve all travelers an educated American serves all countrymen. Bridges are high cost structures, education costs a lot too and as bridges need to be paid for out of a general fund so must we pay for education in the same way.
Taxing property, once acceptable when agriculture and industry ruled the economy, no longer serves a proper role in the 21st Century. Building the universal bridge through education needs us to develop a non property universal method to pay for it.
Ronald C. Downie
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Why
Why
Caught again ! No ! Not with my pants down, but without a camera ( seems, if my wife and I own a camera, it's either lost or not working ). Today, you're just a minor league player without pictures to show what you've been doing, so I took to putting words together to create mental pictures which must substitute for camera shots since no click, no picture.
Take, for instance, veal. Back fifty/ sixty years ago after see a documentary about the wholesale slaughter of very young calves for their succulent meat, I swore off eating anything veal. No more veal. The images of those wobbly legged young calves herded through a narrow, tight chute only to be hit between their ears with a heavy hammer killing them could not escape my mind.
Then, the horror which scunners me even to this day, as the image appears in my mind's eyes just as I begin to close them, of men battering to death helpless young seals on windswept Arctic beaches. Killed and skinned for their soft, supple, fur hide so some affluent young matron could promenade in the latest style.
A chill runs up my spine each time I catch a view of industrial style feed lots for Christmas turkeys or wire pens for chickens. Packed tightly, hardly able to turn around, force fed both feed and fluid their only possible salvation are the sharpened knives which ultimately kills them. It's a huge quota needing to be filled and an unsuspecting public or an unconcerned public makes these enormous demands without the big picture in mind.
I am a hypocrite, also, along with most people in this over analyzed World. I am aware of things I've vowed I would not do, but with the passage of time and a weak internal fortitude, I've broken my vows. Yes, I've eaten veal since my awakening. I am not proud. And yes, I've had both turkey and chicken from the supermarket over the years, again, I'm not proud.
Today, I'm trying to put closure to the tragedy which occurred Friday in Newtown, Conn.. How can I erase the image of twenty vibrant, young, elementary children and six professional adults being slaughtered by a deranged twenty year old discharging an untold amount of bullets into their midst. I have a few years left to live, I think, but what time I have left will be spent trying to answer maybe the unanswerable question. WHY ?
Ronald C. Downie
Caught again ! No ! Not with my pants down, but without a camera ( seems, if my wife and I own a camera, it's either lost or not working ). Today, you're just a minor league player without pictures to show what you've been doing, so I took to putting words together to create mental pictures which must substitute for camera shots since no click, no picture.
Take, for instance, veal. Back fifty/ sixty years ago after see a documentary about the wholesale slaughter of very young calves for their succulent meat, I swore off eating anything veal. No more veal. The images of those wobbly legged young calves herded through a narrow, tight chute only to be hit between their ears with a heavy hammer killing them could not escape my mind.
Then, the horror which scunners me even to this day, as the image appears in my mind's eyes just as I begin to close them, of men battering to death helpless young seals on windswept Arctic beaches. Killed and skinned for their soft, supple, fur hide so some affluent young matron could promenade in the latest style.
A chill runs up my spine each time I catch a view of industrial style feed lots for Christmas turkeys or wire pens for chickens. Packed tightly, hardly able to turn around, force fed both feed and fluid their only possible salvation are the sharpened knives which ultimately kills them. It's a huge quota needing to be filled and an unsuspecting public or an unconcerned public makes these enormous demands without the big picture in mind.
I am a hypocrite, also, along with most people in this over analyzed World. I am aware of things I've vowed I would not do, but with the passage of time and a weak internal fortitude, I've broken my vows. Yes, I've eaten veal since my awakening. I am not proud. And yes, I've had both turkey and chicken from the supermarket over the years, again, I'm not proud.
Today, I'm trying to put closure to the tragedy which occurred Friday in Newtown, Conn.. How can I erase the image of twenty vibrant, young, elementary children and six professional adults being slaughtered by a deranged twenty year old discharging an untold amount of bullets into their midst. I have a few years left to live, I think, but what time I have left will be spent trying to answer maybe the unanswerable question. WHY ?
Ronald C. Downie
Monday, December 17, 2012
Gold Verses Guns
Gold Verses Guns
If our Country, by the half way mark of the 20th Century, would give up owning and trading in gold after lovingly fondling it's sheen since the beginning of recorded time; isn't it conceivable, that Americans could do something similar at this time and give up owning assault weapons ?
In the 1930's, during my adolescence, Gran'Pa Downie my father's father often argued with Dad about the advocacy of owning gold coins. Both Dad and Gran'Pa immigrated to America from Scotland during the first quarter of the 20th Century. They gathered all the funds they had in the World to exit Scotland and come to "the land of milk and honey" to find fortune through challenging work and frugal living. Depression was already at work in the British Isles long before it began debilitating the wheels of industry here. They mentally and especially physically chose The United States Of America to immigrate to, to give their allegiance to, to pledge this nation as their own. Surely they dreamed of the highlands of ancestry, of the ballads of Robert Burns and others, of tartans and stories of the clans. They both never were able to get over rolling their RR's and took with them to their grave this vestige of the Old Country.
Even though Dad and Gran'Pa both were true blooded Scotsmen, one would think in a true Scottish way, they would have squirreled gold coins into hiding, but not to be. The Great Depression was a universal equalizer, everyone was broke, just securing the very basic needs for the the family was a gigantic task. Dad brought his young family to Pottstown in 1935 where he gained work at Bethlehem Steel as a draftsman. Years later he brought his mother and father to Pottstown and helped them along with their neighbors to completely hand build a house they occupied until their deaths.
Some of the most stimulating discussions occurred when Dad and his father talked (or maybe I should call it argued) over the present day's goings on. The issue of gold which was federally settled years earlier was one item cursory discussed still. Guns, during this time, were a non issue since the Second World War had just come to an end and the returning soldiers were sick and tired of guns, ammunition, and militarism. I'm sure, if the present state of gun mayhem had occurred during my elder's time, no stone would be left unturned during their discussions about gun use carnage. All practical, as well as, philosophical avenues of debate would flow from these two men who thoroughly analyzed and emphatically
pressed their points of emphasis.
This present gun debacle would have gained their unified displeasure. They each knew right from wrong though came at their conclusions from different generations, sort of like me and my grandchildren. Sadly they lost their way from underage and lack of life experience. These same deficiencies seem to happen in every generation, even yours.
Ronald C. Downie
If our Country, by the half way mark of the 20th Century, would give up owning and trading in gold after lovingly fondling it's sheen since the beginning of recorded time; isn't it conceivable, that Americans could do something similar at this time and give up owning assault weapons ?
In the 1930's, during my adolescence, Gran'Pa Downie my father's father often argued with Dad about the advocacy of owning gold coins. Both Dad and Gran'Pa immigrated to America from Scotland during the first quarter of the 20th Century. They gathered all the funds they had in the World to exit Scotland and come to "the land of milk and honey" to find fortune through challenging work and frugal living. Depression was already at work in the British Isles long before it began debilitating the wheels of industry here. They mentally and especially physically chose The United States Of America to immigrate to, to give their allegiance to, to pledge this nation as their own. Surely they dreamed of the highlands of ancestry, of the ballads of Robert Burns and others, of tartans and stories of the clans. They both never were able to get over rolling their RR's and took with them to their grave this vestige of the Old Country.
Even though Dad and Gran'Pa both were true blooded Scotsmen, one would think in a true Scottish way, they would have squirreled gold coins into hiding, but not to be. The Great Depression was a universal equalizer, everyone was broke, just securing the very basic needs for the the family was a gigantic task. Dad brought his young family to Pottstown in 1935 where he gained work at Bethlehem Steel as a draftsman. Years later he brought his mother and father to Pottstown and helped them along with their neighbors to completely hand build a house they occupied until their deaths.
Some of the most stimulating discussions occurred when Dad and his father talked (or maybe I should call it argued) over the present day's goings on. The issue of gold which was federally settled years earlier was one item cursory discussed still. Guns, during this time, were a non issue since the Second World War had just come to an end and the returning soldiers were sick and tired of guns, ammunition, and militarism. I'm sure, if the present state of gun mayhem had occurred during my elder's time, no stone would be left unturned during their discussions about gun use carnage. All practical, as well as, philosophical avenues of debate would flow from these two men who thoroughly analyzed and emphatically
pressed their points of emphasis.
This present gun debacle would have gained their unified displeasure. They each knew right from wrong though came at their conclusions from different generations, sort of like me and my grandchildren. Sadly they lost their way from underage and lack of life experience. These same deficiencies seem to happen in every generation, even yours.
Ronald C. Downie
Sunday, December 16, 2012
A John Berger Sentence
A John Berger Sentence
John Berger, the noted English artist and art critic, who turned to published writing and later became a prominent philosophical writer, surveyed the world around him and wrote this rather long frightening sentence :
"Everywhere these days more and more people knock their heads against the fact that the future of our planet and what it will offer or deny to it's inhabitants, is being decided by boards of men who control more money then all the governments in the world, who never stand for election, and sole criterion for every decision they take is whether or not it increases or is prone to increase PROFIT." (John Berger)
In Berger's mind, I believe he thinks, profit must be an endpoint these men on boards base their personal
understanding of the most important element in their lives. Not children, or wife, or immediate / extended family, or music, or profession; but, the almighty lust after profit, gaining more and more for the sake of more and more. Profit, in their minds, must be like the Holy Grail of their living, gotten in spite of all odds, not even death would get in the way since off shore accounts last forever, the names listed are secret.
This is a world wide phenomena far beyond our shores where money, profits, have become the God head for those who have plenty but seek more. Their's is one a demential living devoid of rounded depth which limits interaction with people other than those of similar intentions. The disease of lust for profits is insidious while acting in concert with selfish characters
whose personalities parallel their own. They beget one another. They are, in the end, devoid of character.
The fear they illicit is that they have little or no real empathy for the ordinary citizen going about their daily business believing in a dignity of the human condition. They substitute their personal lust for more riches, therefore power, rather than having a universal love for all of mankind.
Ronald C. Downie
John Berger, the noted English artist and art critic, who turned to published writing and later became a prominent philosophical writer, surveyed the world around him and wrote this rather long frightening sentence :
"Everywhere these days more and more people knock their heads against the fact that the future of our planet and what it will offer or deny to it's inhabitants, is being decided by boards of men who control more money then all the governments in the world, who never stand for election, and sole criterion for every decision they take is whether or not it increases or is prone to increase PROFIT." (John Berger)
In Berger's mind, I believe he thinks, profit must be an endpoint these men on boards base their personal
understanding of the most important element in their lives. Not children, or wife, or immediate / extended family, or music, or profession; but, the almighty lust after profit, gaining more and more for the sake of more and more. Profit, in their minds, must be like the Holy Grail of their living, gotten in spite of all odds, not even death would get in the way since off shore accounts last forever, the names listed are secret.
This is a world wide phenomena far beyond our shores where money, profits, have become the God head for those who have plenty but seek more. Their's is one a demential living devoid of rounded depth which limits interaction with people other than those of similar intentions. The disease of lust for profits is insidious while acting in concert with selfish characters
whose personalities parallel their own. They beget one another. They are, in the end, devoid of character.
The fear they illicit is that they have little or no real empathy for the ordinary citizen going about their daily business believing in a dignity of the human condition. They substitute their personal lust for more riches, therefore power, rather than having a universal love for all of mankind.
Ronald C. Downie
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Guns Without Bullets
Guns Without Bullets
About ten years ago while working at the River along the Riverfront Park Trail we saw a nocturnal animal, raccoon, out in the daylight acting strangely.
Immediately we surmised rabies. Since more people were using the trail, many with dogs, this rabid animal had to be remedied.
We called the police dispatcher who told us an officer would be notified to respond. Two came and accessing the problem one officer cleared the area of walkers while the other drew his weapon and fired two shots killing the diseased animal.
While the first officer collected the carcass into a plastic bag the other asked our help to recover the spent shell casings which had ejected his gun upon firing. I thought this odd since I had hunted when young and had never retrieved spent casings after firing my rifle.
I questioned the need to recover the casings. The officer replied that a policeman must account for every bullet he or she is issued. Enlightening as this was it did not register with me until last Saturday. The shooting in Arizona of twenty, killing six, should wake up each of us to think about the ease of purchasing a gun and magna clips of thirty bullets.
This begs the question : If a police officer sworn to uphold the law, by definition a pillar of the community, needs to account for ammunition why in heaven sake don't we require citizens to be held to the same standard ?
Guns don't kill, bullets kill. The NRA has a strong strangle hold on guns and gun sales. Therefore, control must be gained from a new angle, namely, through sale and registering of ammunition. It should start with control of mega clips and proceed from there in a logical sequence.
Realize that I am regulated as to how many prescription pills I can have in my possession at a given time. I can't shout "Fire" in a crowded hall. I must obey the laws governing behavior between me and my fellow human beings or else mayhem occurs.
The Cowboy society romanticized in our history is long gone and shouldn't be resurrected in this the 21st Century. Zealots, though, will cry foul and quote the holy writ of our Constitution as the framers wrote it. Let them have their guns, yes, those flint locks of the 18th Century to lock and load to their heart's content.
Ronald C. Downie
About ten years ago while working at the River along the Riverfront Park Trail we saw a nocturnal animal, raccoon, out in the daylight acting strangely.
Immediately we surmised rabies. Since more people were using the trail, many with dogs, this rabid animal had to be remedied.
We called the police dispatcher who told us an officer would be notified to respond. Two came and accessing the problem one officer cleared the area of walkers while the other drew his weapon and fired two shots killing the diseased animal.
While the first officer collected the carcass into a plastic bag the other asked our help to recover the spent shell casings which had ejected his gun upon firing. I thought this odd since I had hunted when young and had never retrieved spent casings after firing my rifle.
I questioned the need to recover the casings. The officer replied that a policeman must account for every bullet he or she is issued. Enlightening as this was it did not register with me until last Saturday. The shooting in Arizona of twenty, killing six, should wake up each of us to think about the ease of purchasing a gun and magna clips of thirty bullets.
This begs the question : If a police officer sworn to uphold the law, by definition a pillar of the community, needs to account for ammunition why in heaven sake don't we require citizens to be held to the same standard ?
Guns don't kill, bullets kill. The NRA has a strong strangle hold on guns and gun sales. Therefore, control must be gained from a new angle, namely, through sale and registering of ammunition. It should start with control of mega clips and proceed from there in a logical sequence.
Realize that I am regulated as to how many prescription pills I can have in my possession at a given time. I can't shout "Fire" in a crowded hall. I must obey the laws governing behavior between me and my fellow human beings or else mayhem occurs.
The Cowboy society romanticized in our history is long gone and shouldn't be resurrected in this the 21st Century. Zealots, though, will cry foul and quote the holy writ of our Constitution as the framers wrote it. Let them have their guns, yes, those flint locks of the 18th Century to lock and load to their heart's content.
Ronald C. Downie
Friday, December 14, 2012
Westward Ho !
Westward Ho !
Way, way back then, in the earliest days,
The dream of a river walk's out of the haze.
A full fashion boardroom caught onto the craze,
Surveyed the Schuylkill, watched its flooding ways.
Seventy-two, " Water, water everywhere
And not a drop to drink", pure and clear.
Blue Marsh is built to tame flood's rage
The Schuylkill is calmed, she's come of age.
Berks County men and their women too
Began planning to build their dream come true
But the river is longer then a Penn Street view
Up and down stream needed work from a crew.
The Silver Fox and her Nordic Man,
From western plains in hand a plan,
Strode arm in arm into Pretzel Town,
Saw the Schuylkill flowing easterly down.
No matter there's no Apostle Keith
Nor a Dixie Angel to ward off grief,
They set their compass, surveyed the land,
Wrote the guidelines, finished their plan.
Now, into the sunset with our wishes of love
West goes the Silver Fox and her Turtle Dove,
A debt of gratitude and much more we owe you,
We will honor your work, your foundations are true.
Ronald C. Downie
The Swenson's : Dixie, Executive Director ; Keith, Planning Director assumed leadership of The Schuylkill River Greenway Association ( SRGA) from Victor Yarnell and moved the office from Berks County to Montgomery County at Pottstown .When they left to return out west, Kurt Zwikl replaced Dixie as Executive Director.
Way, way back then, in the earliest days,
The dream of a river walk's out of the haze.
A full fashion boardroom caught onto the craze,
Surveyed the Schuylkill, watched its flooding ways.
Seventy-two, " Water, water everywhere
And not a drop to drink", pure and clear.
Blue Marsh is built to tame flood's rage
The Schuylkill is calmed, she's come of age.
Berks County men and their women too
Began planning to build their dream come true
But the river is longer then a Penn Street view
Up and down stream needed work from a crew.
The Silver Fox and her Nordic Man,
From western plains in hand a plan,
Strode arm in arm into Pretzel Town,
Saw the Schuylkill flowing easterly down.
No matter there's no Apostle Keith
Nor a Dixie Angel to ward off grief,
They set their compass, surveyed the land,
Wrote the guidelines, finished their plan.
Now, into the sunset with our wishes of love
West goes the Silver Fox and her Turtle Dove,
A debt of gratitude and much more we owe you,
We will honor your work, your foundations are true.
Ronald C. Downie
The Swenson's : Dixie, Executive Director ; Keith, Planning Director assumed leadership of The Schuylkill River Greenway Association ( SRGA) from Victor Yarnell and moved the office from Berks County to Montgomery County at Pottstown .When they left to return out west, Kurt Zwikl replaced Dixie as Executive Director.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Our Schuylkill Mother
Our Schuylkill Mother
Awake ! Wake up you Norfolk Southern Man
You slept too long on an old Pennsy plan
To keep public from our Schuylkill Mother's
North shore. A rusted railroad track covers
Her bosom, which nurtured first settlers here,
Who reached her banks by sweet waters clear.
Shout ! Shout out ! Release my river to me !
Our Schuylkill Mother's in jail. Set her free !
Long gone's that era of iron and coal -
Of black lunged miners who gave their soul
To fire hot furnaces that belched out bars
Which produced steel tracks and railroad cars.
No longer tire nor steel pulse Pottstown's veins.
The Twenty-First Century asks our brains
Fashion life new from the strengths of the past.
Schuylkill of birth, unlike us, you will last
So unborn heirs may enjoy your green banks,
Your freedom's required to merit their thanks.
Renaissance marries the mind to the heart.
Our responsibility - provide it - a fertile start.
Ronald C. Downie
Awake ! Wake up you Norfolk Southern Man
You slept too long on an old Pennsy plan
To keep public from our Schuylkill Mother's
North shore. A rusted railroad track covers
Her bosom, which nurtured first settlers here,
Who reached her banks by sweet waters clear.
Shout ! Shout out ! Release my river to me !
Our Schuylkill Mother's in jail. Set her free !
Long gone's that era of iron and coal -
Of black lunged miners who gave their soul
To fire hot furnaces that belched out bars
Which produced steel tracks and railroad cars.
No longer tire nor steel pulse Pottstown's veins.
The Twenty-First Century asks our brains
Fashion life new from the strengths of the past.
Schuylkill of birth, unlike us, you will last
So unborn heirs may enjoy your green banks,
Your freedom's required to merit their thanks.
Renaissance marries the mind to the heart.
Our responsibility - provide it - a fertile start.
Ronald C. Downie
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Young Man's Journey
Young Man's Journey
Hand cupped, placed on the brow,
Interrupting the sun's glare blurring
The horizon a long way off. There,
At the curvature of the good Earth,
Beyond eye sight, no Man's Land,
Not unlike the barren pastures we all
Experience quite early on in our lives.
A land of the unknown without books,
Books that capture the world of thoughts
Neatly in words, growing ripe for picking.
Surveying the fact of living at land's end
Is the beginning of wonderment, of being
Inquisitive, finding strings that play the heart.
Within their covers, books have moved Man
Past ignorance through the pangs of tolerance.
From there : word upon word, book by book,
Writer after writer, studier supplanting studier
The World of Knowledge marches in step.
You've entered this universe at an early age
Committed to horizons as they stand in review.
Happy Birthday, Evan
Love Nanny & Pop Pop
12/11/2011
Hand cupped, placed on the brow,
Interrupting the sun's glare blurring
The horizon a long way off. There,
At the curvature of the good Earth,
Beyond eye sight, no Man's Land,
Not unlike the barren pastures we all
Experience quite early on in our lives.
A land of the unknown without books,
Books that capture the world of thoughts
Neatly in words, growing ripe for picking.
Surveying the fact of living at land's end
Is the beginning of wonderment, of being
Inquisitive, finding strings that play the heart.
Within their covers, books have moved Man
Past ignorance through the pangs of tolerance.
From there : word upon word, book by book,
Writer after writer, studier supplanting studier
The World of Knowledge marches in step.
You've entered this universe at an early age
Committed to horizons as they stand in review.
Happy Birthday, Evan
Love Nanny & Pop Pop
12/11/2011
Monday, December 10, 2012
CANCER
CANCER
( Talking about its scourge )
(1)
Up from all fours, erect, mobile,
Scared by cold ice and scorching heat,
Thunder and lightning, rain and snow,
Struggling for power, attacking for
Dominance, man verses beast and man.
Gathered tribal, he rapes and plunders,
To feed their wants, demand their needs.
Profits from World riches plundered
For personal gain by a scoundrel few
Who elevate themselves disguised
As corporations claimed immune from
Universal Law meant to protects life.
(2)
Unquenched greed drives obscene profits
Wrung from degradation of Earth's environment
Despoiling life giving, life sustaining elements :
Waters become polluted, friable soils spent,
Our air choked with unspeakable contaminants,
Great forests withdraw under constant assault,
Ice caps melt away, vast seas and oceans rise,
Shore lines sound retreat, islands washed over are lost.
Man verses diseases as cancers populate vast clusters
Fanned by chemical pollution obscuring Universal Law.
(3)
Brash ignorance prevails but harsh power assails
To pervade the Holiness of our good common sense.
The overabundant Earth is a living, breathing sphere.
It is our bodies that are grim, beaker less, test tubes,
Over analyzed, shocked at the findings, disease rampant.
For hope The College Of Doctors seek garish chemicals,
Their practice is to probe and probe with answers few.
More chemicals, for profit not cure, masking men's deeds.
The Human Dilemma: Not if, but when? Not how, but why?
We cry, eyes red and teared, for answers, and hear,"I don't know."
(4)
From nonbeing, into being, finally back to nonbeing.
Since our genes have passed through living as stardust
Many times before, they will recycle again and again
Before the Earth crisps into dust and rejoins as elements.
Matter is never lost just changed in its composition.
Energy as a force just shifts from one to another form.
We live within our consciousness, in Universe Time, a moment.
(5)
The shock of inhumanity where wild greed prostitutes Man's ego,
Exposes a weakness in him, that acting for self, choses either flight or fight.
Wealth, worshiped as God, finds money is only the Devil's elixir.
Power is the true Deity, power to lord over a crumbling planet,
Power to pollute water ways, power to deforest, power to expand deserts,
Power to despoil land, sea, and air; and power to deny the public true health care.
(6)
What is the true cost of health, cost of life?
Through introspection we will act with intelligence
To find sound reason for answers acceptable,
But with emotion, we act in knee-jerk ways.
Always challenge wants and needs,
The Big Picture is always necessary.
Strong of will are challenged to lead,
Leading requires a great strength of
Character found only in a very few,
You, my daughter, Sherri, are one of those few.
Ronald C. Downie, (Dad)
Upon Steve Kurtz's Death, 12/8/2009
(At A Pivotal Time for his wife Sherri and family)
( Talking about its scourge )
(1)
Up from all fours, erect, mobile,
Scared by cold ice and scorching heat,
Thunder and lightning, rain and snow,
Struggling for power, attacking for
Dominance, man verses beast and man.
Gathered tribal, he rapes and plunders,
To feed their wants, demand their needs.
Profits from World riches plundered
For personal gain by a scoundrel few
Who elevate themselves disguised
As corporations claimed immune from
Universal Law meant to protects life.
(2)
Unquenched greed drives obscene profits
Wrung from degradation of Earth's environment
Despoiling life giving, life sustaining elements :
Waters become polluted, friable soils spent,
Our air choked with unspeakable contaminants,
Great forests withdraw under constant assault,
Ice caps melt away, vast seas and oceans rise,
Shore lines sound retreat, islands washed over are lost.
Man verses diseases as cancers populate vast clusters
Fanned by chemical pollution obscuring Universal Law.
(3)
Brash ignorance prevails but harsh power assails
To pervade the Holiness of our good common sense.
The overabundant Earth is a living, breathing sphere.
It is our bodies that are grim, beaker less, test tubes,
Over analyzed, shocked at the findings, disease rampant.
For hope The College Of Doctors seek garish chemicals,
Their practice is to probe and probe with answers few.
More chemicals, for profit not cure, masking men's deeds.
The Human Dilemma: Not if, but when? Not how, but why?
We cry, eyes red and teared, for answers, and hear,"I don't know."
(4)
From nonbeing, into being, finally back to nonbeing.
Since our genes have passed through living as stardust
Many times before, they will recycle again and again
Before the Earth crisps into dust and rejoins as elements.
Matter is never lost just changed in its composition.
Energy as a force just shifts from one to another form.
We live within our consciousness, in Universe Time, a moment.
(5)
The shock of inhumanity where wild greed prostitutes Man's ego,
Exposes a weakness in him, that acting for self, choses either flight or fight.
Wealth, worshiped as God, finds money is only the Devil's elixir.
Power is the true Deity, power to lord over a crumbling planet,
Power to pollute water ways, power to deforest, power to expand deserts,
Power to despoil land, sea, and air; and power to deny the public true health care.
(6)
What is the true cost of health, cost of life?
Through introspection we will act with intelligence
To find sound reason for answers acceptable,
But with emotion, we act in knee-jerk ways.
Always challenge wants and needs,
The Big Picture is always necessary.
Strong of will are challenged to lead,
Leading requires a great strength of
Character found only in a very few,
You, my daughter, Sherri, are one of those few.
Ronald C. Downie, (Dad)
Upon Steve Kurtz's Death, 12/8/2009
(At A Pivotal Time for his wife Sherri and family)
Sunday, December 9, 2012
CANCER
Random Thoughts Upon Steve Kurtz's Death
(At A Pivotal Time for wife Sherri and family)
Talking about the scourge of Cancer
(1)
Up from all fours, erect, mobile,
Scared by cold ice and scorching heat,
Thunder and lightning, rain and snow,
Struggling for power, attacking for
Dominance, man verses beast and man.
Gathered tribal, rapes and plunders,
To feed their wants, demand their needs.
Profits from World riches plundered
For personal gain by a scoundrel few
Who elevate themselves disguised
As corporations claimed immune from
Universal Law meant to protects life.
(2)
Unquenched greed drives obscene profits
Wrung from degradation of Earth's environment
Despoiling life giving, life sustaining elements :
Waters become polluted, friable soils spent,
Our air choked with unspeakable contaminants,
Great forests withdraw under constant assault,
Ice caps melt away, vast seas and oceans rise,
Shore lines sound retreat, islands washed over are lost.
Man verses diseases as cancers populate vast clusters
Fanned by chemical pollution obscuring Universal Law.
(3)
Brash ignorance prevails but harsh power assails
To pervade the Holiness of our good common sense.
The overabundant Earth is a living, breathing sphere.
It is our bodies that are grim, beaker less test tubes,
Over analyzed, shocked at the findings, disease rampant.
For hope The College Of Doctors seek garish chemicals,
Their practice is to probe and probe with answers few.
More chemicals, for profit not cure, masking men's deeds.
The Human Dilemma: Not if, but when? Not how, but why?
We cry, eyes red and teared, for answers, hear,"I don't know."
(4)
From nonbeing, into being, finally back to nonbeing.
Since our genes have passed through living as stardust
Many times before, they will recycle again and again
Before the Earth crisps into dust and rejoins as elements.
Matter is never lost just changed in its composition.
Energy as a force just shifts from one to another form.
We live within our consciousness, in Universe Time, a moment.
(5)
The shock of inhumanity where wild greed prostitutes Man's ego
Exposing a weakness in him that acting for self chose flight or fight.
Wealth worshiped as God though money only is the Devil's elixir,
Power is the true Deity, power to lord over a crumbling planet,
Power to pollute water ways, power to deforest, expand deserts,
Power to despoil land, sea, and air; to deny the public true health.
(6)
What is the true cost of health, of life?
Through introspection we will act
With sound reason, with intelligence
To arrive at answers we find acceptable,
With emotion we act in knee-jerk ways.
Always challenge wants and needs,
The Big Picture is always necessary.
Strong of will are challenged to lead,
Leading requires a great strength of
Character found only in a very few,
You, Sherri, are one of those few.
Ronald C. Downie, (Dad)
12-4-2009
(At A Pivotal Time for wife Sherri and family)
Talking about the scourge of Cancer
(1)
Up from all fours, erect, mobile,
Scared by cold ice and scorching heat,
Thunder and lightning, rain and snow,
Struggling for power, attacking for
Dominance, man verses beast and man.
Gathered tribal, rapes and plunders,
To feed their wants, demand their needs.
Profits from World riches plundered
For personal gain by a scoundrel few
Who elevate themselves disguised
As corporations claimed immune from
Universal Law meant to protects life.
(2)
Unquenched greed drives obscene profits
Wrung from degradation of Earth's environment
Despoiling life giving, life sustaining elements :
Waters become polluted, friable soils spent,
Our air choked with unspeakable contaminants,
Great forests withdraw under constant assault,
Ice caps melt away, vast seas and oceans rise,
Shore lines sound retreat, islands washed over are lost.
Man verses diseases as cancers populate vast clusters
Fanned by chemical pollution obscuring Universal Law.
(3)
Brash ignorance prevails but harsh power assails
To pervade the Holiness of our good common sense.
The overabundant Earth is a living, breathing sphere.
It is our bodies that are grim, beaker less test tubes,
Over analyzed, shocked at the findings, disease rampant.
For hope The College Of Doctors seek garish chemicals,
Their practice is to probe and probe with answers few.
More chemicals, for profit not cure, masking men's deeds.
The Human Dilemma: Not if, but when? Not how, but why?
We cry, eyes red and teared, for answers, hear,"I don't know."
(4)
From nonbeing, into being, finally back to nonbeing.
Since our genes have passed through living as stardust
Many times before, they will recycle again and again
Before the Earth crisps into dust and rejoins as elements.
Matter is never lost just changed in its composition.
Energy as a force just shifts from one to another form.
We live within our consciousness, in Universe Time, a moment.
(5)
The shock of inhumanity where wild greed prostitutes Man's ego
Exposing a weakness in him that acting for self chose flight or fight.
Wealth worshiped as God though money only is the Devil's elixir,
Power is the true Deity, power to lord over a crumbling planet,
Power to pollute water ways, power to deforest, expand deserts,
Power to despoil land, sea, and air; to deny the public true health.
(6)
What is the true cost of health, of life?
Through introspection we will act
With sound reason, with intelligence
To arrive at answers we find acceptable,
With emotion we act in knee-jerk ways.
Always challenge wants and needs,
The Big Picture is always necessary.
Strong of will are challenged to lead,
Leading requires a great strength of
Character found only in a very few,
You, Sherri, are one of those few.
Ronald C. Downie, (Dad)
12-4-2009
Saturday, December 8, 2012
In Memory Of Steve Kurtz
(A repost of an essay from two years ago but still as relevant today.)
In Memory Of Steve Kurtz
Yesterday, on the anniversary of the horror remembered as Pearl Harbor sixty-nine years prior, Elizabeth Edwards died from the scourge of breast cancer. Cancer has taken the lives of more people than all the wars combined but this crucible of death kills its victims one at a time. Each of us have experienced the death of a loved one or an acquaintance from cancer one death at a time.
Steve Kurtz, my son-in-law and soul mate of my daughter, Sherri, for forty years was the father of two : daughter, Alix, and son, Stephen. He died one year ago today, December 8th, from a losing battle with cancer. To all who knew Steve his death was a close personal loss. To number crunchers his death added one to the total number someone tallies for a report.
This is also "Jimmy V Week" known to basketball enthusiasts when country wide donation appeals are everywhere on television to support cancer research. A much heralded basketball coach, Jim Valvano, died from cancer during his prime years, much like my son-in-law, and, to their credit, the basketball community unselfishly took up the challenge to fund cancer research and labeled it "Jimmy V Week".
Off budget our country has fought two very expensive wars while also off budget our country has decided to add nearly one more trillion dollars to the debt. As a culture America has long passed over the idea of paying for things as they occur; such as for wars or tax relief for the super rich. What would happen if a couple of trillion dollars were spent on eradicating cancer instead of buying bullets or drones or nukes?
Parceled out, one at a time, the enormity of the total deaths from cancer looses urgency in a society's psyche. The public embraces the aftermath of hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tornadoes, just about any earthly malfunction since they visually abrupt the norm of the day. Cancer is stealth like, progressively declining its victim's vigor, silently encroaching on a life style, and then cancer begins its demand for its pound of flesh. Only the end remains !
The Relay For Life has taken up the challenge locally with an appreciated success for its record fund raising performances over the years. When will the spirit of The Relay For Life enter every legislator's soul to draw their thinking to make war on cancer rather than war on countries and cultures?
I think of Steve, my parents, my business partners, my classmates, my co-workers, my relatives, my close friends, my ... the list goes on and on in an endless addition. To me the enormity of just my total of cancer victims mirrors an earthly catastrophe. Legislators-where are you hiding when the sky is falling down all around us ?
Ronald C. Downie
In Memory Of Steve Kurtz
Yesterday, on the anniversary of the horror remembered as Pearl Harbor sixty-nine years prior, Elizabeth Edwards died from the scourge of breast cancer. Cancer has taken the lives of more people than all the wars combined but this crucible of death kills its victims one at a time. Each of us have experienced the death of a loved one or an acquaintance from cancer one death at a time.
Steve Kurtz, my son-in-law and soul mate of my daughter, Sherri, for forty years was the father of two : daughter, Alix, and son, Stephen. He died one year ago today, December 8th, from a losing battle with cancer. To all who knew Steve his death was a close personal loss. To number crunchers his death added one to the total number someone tallies for a report.
This is also "Jimmy V Week" known to basketball enthusiasts when country wide donation appeals are everywhere on television to support cancer research. A much heralded basketball coach, Jim Valvano, died from cancer during his prime years, much like my son-in-law, and, to their credit, the basketball community unselfishly took up the challenge to fund cancer research and labeled it "Jimmy V Week".
Off budget our country has fought two very expensive wars while also off budget our country has decided to add nearly one more trillion dollars to the debt. As a culture America has long passed over the idea of paying for things as they occur; such as for wars or tax relief for the super rich. What would happen if a couple of trillion dollars were spent on eradicating cancer instead of buying bullets or drones or nukes?
Parceled out, one at a time, the enormity of the total deaths from cancer looses urgency in a society's psyche. The public embraces the aftermath of hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tornadoes, just about any earthly malfunction since they visually abrupt the norm of the day. Cancer is stealth like, progressively declining its victim's vigor, silently encroaching on a life style, and then cancer begins its demand for its pound of flesh. Only the end remains !
The Relay For Life has taken up the challenge locally with an appreciated success for its record fund raising performances over the years. When will the spirit of The Relay For Life enter every legislator's soul to draw their thinking to make war on cancer rather than war on countries and cultures?
I think of Steve, my parents, my business partners, my classmates, my co-workers, my relatives, my close friends, my ... the list goes on and on in an endless addition. To me the enormity of just my total of cancer victims mirrors an earthly catastrophe. Legislators-where are you hiding when the sky is falling down all around us ?
Ronald C. Downie
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