Door to Door: A Story of the Truth © 5 April 1997 Marshall Gilula Hey, it ain't the Avon Lady the Fuller Brush Man, or a TV comedy. But a sincere soul trying to get brownie points for real. The Hispanic lady was nervous, uncomfortable and a little afraid of my dogs, She came in the house anyway with her husband and their little boy. Jesus said, "Send them two by two." Like in the time of Noah. No one believed him until the last seven days when the rains began everyone wanted into the ark and Noah said, "Sorry, Man, but you're too late." I laughed and told them I didn't want The Watchtower, even if was published in 125 languages and read in over 75,000 congregations. I gave the little boy some orange juice his father continued on and on. Too late for heeding the Word There will be gnashing of teeth and wailing and you will miss out on Life Everlasting until at least the year 2918 when the only begotten Son, after his thousand-year reign, will turn over the controls to his Father, Jehovah. Who, awakening from his seventh day of Rest will creatively love into existence unimagineable and unforeseen things in this Paradise unLost A perfect Earth for believers in the Truth and those who survive the Second Death populate the planet with generations and generations of their seed as was promised in Jehovah's covenant with Abraham. I laughed again, and thought of God's promise to Abraham and Sarah. After finishing his juice, their son stood up and politely thanked me, gently petted the dogs, and assisted with packing up the literature. Barely 10 years old, he nevertheless mouthed perfectly the Scriptural references, "Matthew 24:14 says 'This gospel of the Kingdom shall be preached unto all the world and to all the Nations for a Witness and then shall the end come.' " I couldn't resist the quip, "So please don't ever act in haste, Respect the Witness in your face." He said, "you got it." Outside Child (Dead Cat on a Line) © 4 April 1997 Marshall Gilula Your mama was on a pedestal unyielding mottled marble no feelings no affection no sensations no fulfillment of flesh and blood icy in dusty, tear-stained lace My mama was earthy and true warm, strong, and receptive passionate burning resentment seething satisfaction lost to shame in a moonlit Georgia canefield I came into the world with a curse the doc badmouthed Effie "Another outside child" he pulled me out with disdain and cut the cord left me squalling on a dirty couch You wore starched pinafores and ribbons tied in precision braids isolated pale skinned porcelain face forced social grace sheltered like Rapunzel in your tower of learning insulated and cold Hand-me-downs were all I got irritated love good-natured beatings with a peachtree switch because I'm a bastard lovechild dead cat on a line but alive and happy to cradle the honeysuckle between field-stained fingertips and God. Domestic violence is a destructive manifestation of the way violence in general has permeated most of our life. Domestic violence is that special kind of interpersonal destructiveness that can be not only between husband and wife, but between parent and child, or between parent and elderly grandparent. Besides using the special tools of our medical expertise for diagnosing domestic violence, we should be equally concerned with developing effective treatment or coping strategies for dealing with all types of domestic violence. It's not just stopping the violence, it's replacing it with something else.
© 5 April 1997 Marshall Gilula
Hey, it ain't the Avon Lady the Fuller Brush Man, or a TV comedy. But a sincere soul trying to get brownie points for real. The Hispanic lady was nervous, uncomfortable and a little afraid of my dogs, She came in the house anyway with her husband and their little boy. Jesus said, "Send them two by two." Like in the time of Noah. No one believed him until the last seven days when the rains began everyone wanted into the ark and Noah said, "Sorry, Man, but you're too late." I laughed and told them I didn't want The Watchtower, even if was published in 125 languages and read in over 75,000 congregations.
I gave the little boy some orange juice his father continued on and on. Too late for heeding the Word There will be gnashing of teeth and wailing and you will miss out on Life Everlasting until at least the year 2918 when the only begotten Son, after his thousand-year reign, will turn over the controls to his Father, Jehovah. Who, awakening from his seventh day of Rest will creatively love into existence unimagineable and unforeseen things in this Paradise unLost A perfect Earth for believers in the Truth and those who survive the Second Death populate the planet with generations and generations of their seed as was promised in Jehovah's covenant with Abraham. I laughed again, and thought of God's promise to Abraham and Sarah.
After finishing his juice, their son stood up and politely thanked me, gently petted the dogs, and assisted with packing up the literature. Barely 10 years old, he nevertheless mouthed perfectly the Scriptural references, "Matthew 24:14 says 'This gospel of the Kingdom shall be preached unto all the world and to all the Nations for a Witness and then shall the end come.' " I couldn't resist the quip, "So please don't ever act in haste, Respect the Witness in your face."
He said, "you got it."
Your mama was on a pedestal unyielding mottled marble no feelings no affection no sensations no fulfillment of flesh and blood icy in dusty, tear-stained lace
My mama was earthy and true warm, strong, and receptive passionate burning resentment seething satisfaction lost to shame in a moonlit Georgia canefield
I came into the world with a curse the doc badmouthed Effie "Another outside child" he pulled me out with disdain and cut the cord left me squalling on a dirty couch
You wore starched pinafores and ribbons tied in precision braids isolated pale skinned porcelain face forced social grace sheltered like Rapunzel in your tower of learning insulated and cold
Hand-me-downs were all I got irritated love good-natured beatings with a peachtree switch because I'm a bastard lovechild dead cat on a line but alive and happy to cradle the honeysuckle between field-stained fingertips and God.