{"id":1242,"date":"2013-12-09T13:39:02","date_gmt":"2013-12-09T18:39:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/toppun.com\/blog\/?p=1242"},"modified":"2013-12-09T13:47:31","modified_gmt":"2013-12-09T18:47:31","slug":"poem-cucumbers-fences","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/toppun.com\/blog\/2013\/12\/09\/poem-cucumbers-fences\/","title":{"rendered":"POEM: Of Cucumbers and Fences"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><span style=\"font-size: large;\">The punk was going to take<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">My cucumber<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">From my fence<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">So I clutched<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">My trusty shotgun<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">And I fired a shot<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Way over his head<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">He scattered like so much buckshot<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Having triggered his nerves<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Like a fresh kill<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Whose life would only ebb<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">A lessen all-too-familiar to mortals<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Missing his heart<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">By a million miles<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Would win me no award<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">As marksmen<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Or neighbor<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">But sure enough<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Would secure<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">My pride and property<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">For another day<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">My generosity unknown<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">For had he asked<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">A cucumber I&#8217;d have given<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">In unspeakable modesty<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">I am the grower of cucumbers<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">As well as<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">The builder of fences<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">And if I can&#8217;t have your respect<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">I&#8217;ll settle for your fear<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Only growing<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: large;\">Outside my fences<\/span><\/p>\n<p>This freshly grown poem sprung from a conversation I had yesterday with a new acquaintance in a coffee shop, perhaps appropriately with a poetry reading occurring across the room.\u00a0 This poem is based on a story told to me by a self-described spawn of an old hillbilly, now serving as a leader of Libertarians.\u00a0 Early in the conversation, I was threatened to be taken out back and beaten to a pulp, minus some snot.\u00a0 This is not the first time I have experienced such a first shot over the bow in a conversation with a new Libertarian acquaintance.\u00a0 As it was a public place and each of us apparently had some modest respect for the law, we could not compare manhoods directly.\u00a0 He did confess that his threatening manhood was in fact a joke.\u00a0 I suspect that there was a small truth to this.<\/p>\n<p>While this poem is written in the first person, much like Adam or Cain and Abel, the story is of his proud hillbilly father.\u00a0 Those who know me would expect that it wasn&#8217;t my own story, except inasmuch as it is all of our&#8217;s story.\u00a0 I find the juxtaposition of a prideful swagger all-too-familiar with violence and a genuine down-home generosity as intriguing as it is commonplace.\u00a0 The true conflict is between pride and generosity &#8212; one of which can be defended with violence.\u00a0 Both the pride of the gardener, with his fence and shotgun, and the punk who dares steal from another&#8217;s labor, begs for something more, a deeper generosity.\u00a0 Sometimes a punk&#8217;s taking is innocent, as from a garden meant for all, that garden of eatin&#8217; of which we have all experienced.\u00a0 Many times a punk&#8217;s taking is a lazy pride asserting that all is theirs for the taking, without regard to their neighbors.\u00a0 Of course, the gardener&#8217;s pride can lead him to mistake himself for the Gardener, the giver of all, who possesses a generosity overwhelming any value-added we may contribute by our labor.\u00a0 The fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, curses us with a fruit of awareness that competes with an all-encompassing awareness of the Gardener.\u00a0 That competing awareness is the builder of fences, which both cuts ourselves off from the one garden and cuts others off with our fences.\u00a0 The birth of private property possesses us.\u00a0 Scarcity becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, yet our profits remain strangely unfulfilling.\u00a0 We look to grow fears outside our fences faster than thay grow within.\u00a0 We learn to plunder with ease, not work, generous abundance.\u00a0 And plucked from the vine such fruit dies.\u00a0 Many a firstborn son has been planted at the hands of fearful gardeners a tempting to secure puny labors.\u00a0 Such Abel-bodied young men stand as a testament, a very old testament, to the Cain-do attitude of private profits.\u00a0 The first fruit is offering your best to God and neighbor.\u00a0 The only sin: hoarding your first for yourself, and offering only your excess to God and neighbor.\u00a0 What is it that would steal our hearts?\u00a0 All fruits, and gardeners for that matter, die; only first fruits are born again and again, turning death into life &#8212; an offering Abel to banish fear, and transcend scarcity.\u00a0 The fence between life and death is only the fence we truly know and fear.\u00a0 And everyone knows: it takes a thief to know a good fence.\u00a0 If you should cross a thief, or perhaps two, generously invite them in, or scarce join them.\u00a0 May there be one fate shared: good for all.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The punk was going to take My cucumber From my fence So I clutched My trusty shotgun And I fired a shot Way over his head He scattered like so much buckshot Having triggered his nerves Like a fresh kill &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/toppun.com\/blog\/2013\/12\/09\/poem-cucumbers-fences\/\">Continue reading <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9,15],"tags":[503,353,483,720,385,428,462,415,65,431,500,220,157,505,118,359,658,94,501,502,375,504,529,464,421,163,380],"class_list":["post-1242","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poems","category-political-and-philosophical-musings","tag-abundance","tag-attitude","tag-awareness","tag-conflict","tag-death","tag-experience","tag-fear","tag-generosity","tag-god","tag-heart","tag-joke","tag-labor","tag-law","tag-lazy","tag-libertarian","tag-life","tag-poems","tag-poetry","tag-pride","tag-respect","tag-scarcity","tag-self-fulfilling-prophecy","tag-time","tag-trust","tag-truth","tag-violence","tag-work"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.8 - 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