A new poem - "The New Christian"

The New Christian

Make way, make way, I now believe the truth!
I’m here to show you all a better way.
Pay no heed to my ignorance or youth,
But let my zeal and earnestness hold sway!

I’ve got a few choice verses memorized,
To cause all unbelievers to convert.
My former friends will all be quite surprised,
To see me as a Gospel extrovert.

The hour is near when Christ returns to reign,
So time is short, and humor is a waste,
And making future plans is all in vain.
In these Last Days, the watchword must be “haste!”

I must prepare my soul for His return;
I’ll make sure it’s all sparkly and clean.
I’ll get so holy, people’s eyes will burn.
Like Moses, I will need to wear a screen.

But I’ll not only sanctify my soul –
I’ll earnestly convict all those around.
Extinguishing their sins shall be my goal,
Each one in Piety’s chill waters drowned.

So, no, my friends, no time to share your feast,
No time to plow or sow, no time to marry.
But maybe just a brief head nod, at least,
If for one moment more the Lord should tarry.

© 2018, Paul W. Erlandson

Incident at CVS (in which it is discovered that, yes, perhaps I am a Racist after all) ...

This happened yesterday at the CVS at Newburgh & 5 Mile. I went there to get some zinc lozenges to ward off the cough from the guy at work who refuses to stay home even though he is hacking up pieces of his broken lung (so to speak). In the back, near the cold remedies, I saw a young black mom with her 3 or 4 year old son. The kid was all bundled up against the Winter chill, like Ralphie in Jean Shepherd's "A Christmas Story." The woman was slim, and wore stylish plum trousers and Spanish-heeled ankle boots. The boy was asking for a toy, and though I couldn't hear her reply, it sounded as if she was going to refuse him. And that's when I had a thought I later regretted: I thought, if she can't afford to buy the kid a toy, maybe I'll offer to get it for him. But then my mind became engaged in finding the right kind of CVS generic ZiCam knock-off, which can be tricky. By the time I found the right stuff, the mom and son had walked off to the checkout. But, as fate would have it, I walked up to the checkout line right behind them. The kid was clutching a toy, so Mom had indeed agreed to buy him what he wanted. But now, he was holding a small bag of chocolate candy in his other (left) hand. And that's when I began to see what a great mother this woman was. The boy held up the candy and looked at his mother beseechingly. "What about this?" he asked, with his sad brown puppy dog eyes. "What about it?" asked the mom. The kid seemed stymied. Surely his mom must know what he meant. He wanted the candy in addition to the toy. Finally, he managed to softly say something to her, indicating that he would like the candy as well as the toy. "Maybe next time we come to CVS," Mom answered. "OK," the boy said, and put the candy back on the hanger he'd taken it from. His face was angelic. Compliant. He clearly adored and respected his mother. And then, it hit me about how evil my thought was of intruding on this amazing lady's mothering. She CLEARLY had everything well in hand. But even if she had not, my idea would have been a usurpation of her parental office of the rankest variety. In fact, it represented a treacherous attempt to sabotage the good work she had already done in raising her son. But not only that. Would I have had the same thought if this had been a young white mother? Possibly not. And then it hit me: The Bigotry of Low Expectations! How many times had I complained about Leftists when they exhibited this pernicious trait? A lot. And now I had been guilty of it. By now, the mom and son were gone, and I was paying for my items. But I caught up to them again in the parking lot. Their vehicle was parked next to my salt-white, once-orange Fiesta. I had caught them because it had taken Mom a while to fasten Junior into his car seat. I gave a smile and a grimace at the same time, as she zoomed off in her nice, clean, late-model Mercedes.

Poem for Our 32nd Anniversary

Power of Two

(for Cindy on our 2⁵ Wedding Anniversary)

Two-to-the-fifth years of both weal and woe.

All of those wedding guests, where did they go?

Thirty-two years ago: ring, kiss, and vow.

Where is the face of that company now?

Two for a honeymoon, four till we moved;

Eight for adoption to double our love.

Sixteen for schooling the children God gave.

Thirty-two closer to rest in the grave.

Doubling and doubling again down the years.

Two, four, eight, sixteen, each new power premiers

Doublings of joy, love, and high adoration;

Growing by binary multiplication.

Thus do our marital blessings accrue,

Exponents, both, for the power of two.

--Paul Erlandson, 2017

2nd Annual Shinoda (Slot Car) Reunion!

It's almost time for the 2nd Annual "Shinoda Reunion", to be held at Downriver Speedway in Lincoln Park, Michigan.  Saturday, December 16.  Doors open and Noon.  Racing begins at 5pm.

Here is one of the entries that has been sent in to be raced by proxy.  This is a scratch-built, period-correct "Detroit Slider" style Thingie slot car.  The body is a Shinoda "Bullet" created by Gene Adams.  I've seen this in person, and it is exquisite!  It belongs in an art museum.

Lindsay Shepherd - Canadian University Goons Deny Her Free Speech

This is long, but SUPER important!

Poem - Beatrice Does My Laundry

Beatrice Does My Laundry

More than other men, grief-torn or merry,

That history has thought worthy of note,

I honor and adore great Alighieri,

And not alone for all the poems he wrote,

But for his tears of ecstasy and grief,

Which Dante wept and distilled into verse.

Of sufferers-from-love he was the chief,

His depth of feeling both blessing and curse.

I used to call on Dante, in the past,

For intercession in some special case.

For years, he made no answer, but at last

He spoke as clear as one speaks face to face:

“Look here, my son, what does this madness mean,

That you, the rich, play supplicant to me?

To watch my love, I had to find a ‘screen’,

But you can watch your love completely free!

For you have wife and muse in self-same soul,

And every poem you write her, you can sign.

Your love can both fulfil the Beatrice role,

And kiss you as the clock is striking nine.”

I took his sense, and troubled him no more:

The wealthy must not beg alms of the poor.

© 2017, Paul Erlandson

Eliot Erlandson Interviewed about Thingies and the 2017 Shinoda Reunion!

My son Eliot is becoming a big wig in the sub-sub-subculture of vintage Thingie slot car racing!  Check out this interview with him: