Author Archives: Jonathon Hiller

Pil – As a Child

As I stand on the cusp of the forever

I look into the past and ask myself why.

Why trouble with the endless nights and the sleepless journeys.

Why see this through to the end when today is so simple

To the end of it all is where my path leads me.

So into the dark I travel

where the end is something of a mystery

and the beginning the final end of it all.

Into the dark I ride my faithful steed

Along roads well traveled

and those unknown

Into the dark

and bursting into the light

the light finds me slowly staggering into the unknown

along the path laid before me my feet do take me

up highways

down freeways

Into the light I do travel.

The end begins with those first steps

those innocent simple little movements

moving you into the future.

At that moment,

in the dark light of the now,

I am a child.

As a child, I take my first steps

towards those waiting arms of my Father.

 

Pil – Week 7 log

February 18

4 hours working on homework

2.5 hours crafting poetry and writing in journal

February 19

4 hours working on homework

1 hour talking to father via phone

1 hour working on poetry

February 20

3 hours working on homework

5 hours listening to The Things They Carried and crafting poetry

February 21

7 hours listening to The Things They Carried and crafting poetry

February 22

4 hours reading An American Gospel

3 hours listening to Into The Wild 

3 hours working on poetry

Weekly Hours: 37.5

Pil – Week 7 Bachelard

“What a tension of childhoods there must be, held in reserve at the bottom of our being, for a poet’s image to make us suddenly relive our memories, reimagining our images by starting from well assembled words. ” Bachelard 115

 

Darkness clouds through the grey starlight

Twinkles in the wide open sky

Worlds across the ether open to the night

As dawn rises the fog shrouds the earth’s mask

Slowly covering all in the shroud of morning dew

Waking to the dim light covered in warmth

slow to rise for the dreamscape lingers

Dreams of the sunlight

Dreams of the dark

As eyes open the sunlight beckons

the warmth of the every shining star

burns the sheet of grey and the world awakens

soft chirps sound in the distance

Soft rousing

Awake…

It is morning

and the dark is but a memory

 

Pil – Stand with me

Stand with me,

Soldier of war.

Side by side, shoulder to shoulder,

fight beside me, bleed with me,

Stand with me

As our brothers fall

as you leave this place of terror

as you huddle with the sane.

Stand with me,

upon my return to the loving embrace.

Stand with me

as we never leave that place of fear

as horrors bask in our waking nightmares

as we never forget.

Stand with me,

As we tear up and say farwell to those we once knew

To those we once were

Stand with me in a grey silence

for we, are survivors.

Pil – Week 6 Log

Monday February 11 

4 hours Seminar Homework

1.5 hours journaling

3 hours meeting with my Father

Tuesday February 12

4 hours seminar homework

2.5 hours reading An American Gospel

2 hours crafting journal and poetry

4 hours talking with my Father

Wednesday February 13

4 hours reading Bachelard and completing homework

6 hours listening to The Things They Carried

Thursday February 14

6 hours listening to The Things They Carried

2.5 hours journaling and crafting poetry

Friday February 15

4 hours working on Mid-Quarter Evaluation and meeting prep

1.5 hours working on journal entries

Weekly Hours: 45 hours

 

 

 

Pil – Week 6 Bachelard

“These images melt together in an intimate warmth, in the constant softness where the nucleus of the feminine bathes in every soul” (Bachelard 64)

The woman to my left

Your softness caresses my dreams

Where you stand tall and proud in my arms

Cradled in white,

The white of the pure

the white of the just.

You embody all that I am not

and all I can never be

Yet here you stand softly in my arms

shoulder to shoulder

hip to hip

in a loving embrace.

You are all that is female,

You bare your soul for the world to see

You show your heart so that all my see

And here you stand

covered in white, the white of our first night

For you are my love

you are my joy

you are my wife.

Pil – Week 5 Log

Saturday February 2nd

12 hours journeying from Washington into California

3 hours reuniting with a soldier from my past.

Monday February 4 

4 hours Seminar Homework

2 hours touring the town of Placerville, California with my host.

1.5 hours journaling

3 hours meeting with the Hayman family.

Tuesday February 5

15 hours traveling from Placerville, CA into Peoria, Az

5 hours listening to Into the Wild

3 hours reuniting with my father

Wednesday February 6

4 hours reading Bachelard and completing homework

2.5 hours traveling to the north to see my In-Laws

2.5 hours listening to Into the Wild

5 hours visiting and reuniting with my In-laws

Thursday February 7

4 hours reading The Secret Teachings of Plants

2.5 hours journaling and crafting poetry

Friday February 8

10 hours talking, visiting, and being with my Father

2.5 hours visiting my Sister and her family

Weekly Hours: 54 hours

 

 

 

Pil – Week 5 Bachelard

“Sometimes the words are unfaithful to the things. They try to establish oneiric synonymies between things. The phantomalization of objects is always expressed in the language of visual hallucinations.” (Bachelard 49)

Chaos (f) How can this be defined now that it is changed into something different? Would we say that chaos is now something not to fear or at least shun?

Love (m) How can we say that this form of love is not the same. Can we?

I say these are but one in the same. The (f) Chaos is quite the same as (m) Love. The idea that you could be thinking the same as I is unheard of, however, the meaning still lies just beneath the surface of the words and their designations. Do you think I am talking about masculine and feminine?

Pil – To My Father

Smell assaults my whole,

Flung back into the past to a time long ago,

When I would sit at my father’s feet atthree am.

You see my father was an early riser

And always you could catch him

With coffee in the morning.

So I would wake in the morning as the kitchen stirred

With the noise of the morning to come.

I would stalk the house so as not to wake those that still slumbered.

In the kitchen I would see my father sitting, head hung low from the tiredness

But as I walked in he would lift that head and smile.

He would have his heavy hand wrapped around his cup and every so often he

Would take a small sip.

I would come to him then and sit at his feet.

I would dream the dreams of children.

He would smile down at me and place his warm hand upon my head

And whisper, I love you son.

I would look up into the face of my hero and whisper back,

I love you too Father.

My mother would wake shortly after.

She would pour her own cup of coffee and sit with us for a moment.

My sister sleeps still and we are quiet so as not to wake her.

My mother and father would make lunches for the day

And afterwards we would all get ready,

My father for work and I for the day of children’s dreams.

The time would come when my father would leave.

I would cry and cry at the thought of losing him for the day.

He would kneel down and rub his callused hands through my hair.

He pulled me close and hugged me then while softly saying,

I’ll be home soon. You’re the man of the house now. I love you.

I would fight away and scream then through teary eyes.

I screeched in a terse whisper, Don’t go! I ‘m not strong enough to be the man of the house!

He would just look me in the eye and say, you are strong enough because you are my son.

I would wipe my eyes and look deeply into his, I am strong enough because I love you.