“Coming Clean” by Seth Haines

I have a friend who is one the sweetest, gentlest men I’ve ever met. He loves his family; he loves his friends; he loves God.

He’s consumed by anger. Certain things – a reference on a blog post, a news story, an off-hand remark or comment – and he blazes into an instant conflagration, and takes no prisoners. He’s irrational at these times and cannot be reasoned with. I’ve seen the anger and, yes, the hatred, pour forth online like a torrent of venom.

It’s as if he is one person with two distinct personalities. I know where the anger comes from; it’s where all irrational and self-destructive anger comes from. It is comes from pain, a pain buried so deep that it may never be excavated without serious and lengthy counseling.

Ask Seth Haines.

Seth’s problem wasn’t anger. Seth’s problem was alcohol, a pain-driven addiction to alcohol. Alcohol numbed the pain, made it manageable and bearable. The immediate cause was the failure of his youngest son Titus to thrive, a child who physically looked as if he was not long for this world. Doctors in Arkansas couldn’t make a diagnosis. Some things worked, for a time. And then they didn’t.

Seth stopped praying. A leader in his local church, and he stopped praying. He turned to alcohol.

The pain was about the alcohol. And it was really about his son’s health problems. The pain was deeper than that. Alcohol was a preventive measure to keep from touching that pain. Start of 4 in the afternoon with a quick drink in the office. Fix a drink as soon as he arrived home so his wife Amber wouldn’t smell the liquor on his breath. Sneak more liquor when she was out of the room.

She knew, of course. What wife wouldn’t know? She was simultaneously dealing with a physically sick child and an emotionally and spiritually sick husband. Amber Haines must be one tough woman. Or perhaps simply blessed by God’s grace.

Seth’s wake-up call came at a Christian conference in Austin. And it came through a fellow alcoholic. He stepped away from alcohol, and it wasn’t easy. It’s probably still not easy. But it’s better.

Seth Haines

He began counseling. And he kept a journal. That journal has become Seth’s story, Coming Clean: A Story of Faith. It’s not a nice narrative written in chronological order. It’s a story that happens in fits and starts, going backward and forward and sometimes sideways. At times it reads like poetry, beautiful almost stream-of-consciousness poetry. It’s filled with the exploration of pain and some theology and some faith. And a lot of grace, possibly more grace than Seth himself realizes. But I think he knows.

Coming Clean is painful to read. But you should read it. My friend who’s so consumed with anger should read it, because it is really not a story about alcoholism.

Don’t avoid the pain. The pain is going to be where you, like Seth, can find God.

Top photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Saturday Good Reads

It was a good week for poetry (lots of poetry) and fun (The Piano Guys have a great version of “I Want You Bach!”). But nothing moved me quite as much as an audio recording by Seth Haines, who begins by talking about sitting in a church in Austin early one Sunday morning – hung over. Seth speaks to the brokenness in all of us.

Faith

The Church of Ted – Megan Hustad in The New York Times (Hat tip: Jim Schmotzer).

The Two Fasts – Seth Haines (Audio).

My Only Begotten Sin -- A.G. Harmon at Image Journal.

Poetry

Be mine – Nancy Davis at Cornfields and Lightning Bugs.

The Last Café – Brendan MacOdrum at Oran’s Well.

“Lord, make me a bird…” – Jerry Barrett at Gerald the Writer.

For Troy (Childlike) – Seth Haines.

The Island – Chris Yokel.

In the City This Spring – Maureen Doallas at Writing Without Paper.

Those of the Broken Cross – John Blase at The Beautiful Due.

Scars & Empty Vases - by Kevin Heaton at Curator Magazine

Photography and Art

Coping with the Winds – Diane Walker at Contemplative Photography.

Details of Three Ferns – Timothy Good at Photography by Tiwago.

Rembrandt is in the Wind – Russ Ramsey at The Rabbit Room.

Fiction

Kites – via Ed Pilolla.

How “Christian” is Amish Fiction? – Mike Duran at deCompose.

Culture

Why Are the Humanities Deteriorating? – Mark Bauerlein at First Things.

Writing

Social Media Commitment Issues for Writers – Edie Melson at Novel Rocket.

Author Editor Insight – Travis Thrasher at The Journey is Everything.

Fun

The 1770s collide with the 1970s: I Want You Bach! - The Piano Guys:

Top photograph by Lubos Houska via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

On the Poetry of the Workplace

Every so often, attorney / writer/ poet Seth Haines has a guest post on “Why Poetry?” Today, I’m the guest writer, on the Poetry of the Workplace.

“I was educated in public schools, and it was in public schools that I was first introduced to poetry. Elementary education was a basic overview of all subjects, with a focus on whatever subject or theme our teachers were interested in at the moment. Middle school and high school had a focus on fiction; since this was the South, the Really Deep South, William Faulkner reigned supreme even years after his death. So we studied fiction, with an occasional cursory nod in the direction of poetry and essays…”

To continue reading, please visit my friend Seth Haines.

Photograph by Bartosz Kossakowski via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The Swallow

Sit quietly, and wait.

Watch for the movement.

Sit quietly enough

to feel the movement,

a flutter, downward,

a sensation of motion

accompanied (or not)

by a forced push,

lubricated to enhance

the possibility of success,

movement from one place

to another, what physicians

call the swallow.

Over at Tweetspeak Poetry, Seth Haines has a poetry prompt – a poem about a swallow. Or a swan, or a phoenix. Oh, wait. He meant the bird.   

Can a poem rise

from the ashes

of a misunderstood

poetry prompt?

Detective Swan

investigates, only

to determine willful

misunderstanding

and sends the perp

back to Phoenix.

This is getting worse. Never mind.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Saturday Good Reads: Two on Faith, One on Writing

Three blog posts stuck in my head this week. Three different subjects, three very different writers, and yet they do share at least one thing in common. They look deeply into what they write about.

Chaplain Mike at Internet Monk posted on Evangelicalism as a Way Station, making the statement that evangelicalism works best as a mission, not a church tradition. It threw me, because so much of my faith has been shaped by evangelicalism, although I’m in a more denominational church now and have been for the last eight or nine years.

On the same day that I posted about an experience in Erfurt, Germany, Emily Wierenga at Imperfect Prose posted about what happened in her own house: “The Day I Met Jesus in My Bedroom.” I read it, and I didn’t doubt it for a minute. I recognized what she was describing.

And then Seth Haines at On Writing, one of my favorite writers (even if he is a lawyer in his day job). It’s a short post, but packed with meaning and asking the question, “Why do you write?” And the post begins with a poem by Billy Collins, which immediately hooked me.

All good stuff. Great stuff.

Painting: Writing to Father by Eastman Johnson (1863), Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Once, only in summer

Once, only in summer:

they came, brown-bagged

from the A&P, opened

to reveal spheres

of black-red purple ripeness,

placed in a glass bowl

on the kitchen counter,

counterparts to spheres

of reddish-peach ripeness,

in unison, issuing the sirens’

call to the boy,

grabbing black-red purple

in one hand

and reddish-peach

in the other

and stealing to the backyard

to savor double sweetness.

This poem is a response to the “purple poetry” prompt issued by Seth Haines at Tweetspeak Poetry.

It’s also submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph by Brunhilde Reinig via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The colors we know

Spectacle corporate

spectacle personal

spectacle by kings and queens

there is no spectacle

like a Fat Tuesday spectacle

a spectacle in New Orleans

the colors we are raised with

the colors we absorb

our history, our science, our math

no purple without gold

no gold without green

three colors marking our path.

Over at Tweetspeak Poetry, Seth Hanies has an “associative poetry prompt” to blend some colors. And today being Mardi Gras in my hometown of New Orleans, I could think of no better colors than purple, gold and green. Unless it’s the other 364 days of the year, when green is dropped and purple and gold remain (the official colors of LSU). 

Coffee or cola, in half-light

She sits in the half-light, facing

the bed with its tubes, wires,

humming scanners, glucose

bags extended above, all

working or trying to work

in the general vicinity

of life, sustenance at least,

holding the cup offered

by the nurse, coffee or cola

murmured as a question

so softly, politely, and she

could only stare at the nurse

and then the bed, wondering

if he could survive the weight

and noise surrounding him,

unconscious but breathing,

and it seemed coffee or cola

had assumed an equivalence

to life or death and she couldn’t

choose, didn’t know how,

prayed that no choice was needed,

 so the nurse handed her

coffee, black, which sits

in her hands, turning cold

in the half-light.

At TweetSpeak Poetry, Seth Haines has a “Battle of the Beverages” poetry prompt this week, although I think he’s looking for something a bit more humorous than what I came up with. You can check TweetSpeak to see other poems submitted.

This poem is also submitted to dVerse Poets for Open Mike Night. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

All I Want for Christmas is a Real Haiku

Cousins running wild;

aunts and uncles smile and sip

Mogen David wine.

Father bastes at stove:

turkey with oyster dressing;

Mother makes mince pie.

Aluminum tree;

color light reflector turns,

casting blue green red.

Air rifles in hand,

two boys stalk the woods seeking

unsuspecting bird.

Christmas hopes destroyed:

teacher says Santa is not.

Puppy restores faith.

Over at TweetSpeak Poetry, Seth Haines has a holiday poetry prompt – write a haiku (or two or three) about holiday memories from this time of the year (which I will call the Christmas season to my dying day, never mind all these other names we invent). I’m of two minds as to whether I write real haiku poems or not; they have the right number of syllables in each line, but I’m still not sure. They don’t seem quite haiku-ish (in fact, they read more like tabloid newspaper headlines).

Nevertheless, they represent real memories. And yes, I did get a an air rifle (we called them BB guns) one Christmas, but it wasn’t a Red Ryder. And I didn’t shoot my eye out.

These poems are also submitted for Open Mike Night at dVerse Poets. The links for all the poems submitted will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

My portrait painted, she said

I sat sedately while

the master painted me

in brush strokes sure and swift,

confidence unbounded.

I wore my new green dress

(which I simply adored)

matching my new green hat.

Do you find the likeness

fine and true, idealized?

Over at TweetSpeak Poetry, Seth Haines has a Surrealist poetry prompt – write a poem based on a painting by Salvador Dali or Pablo Picasso. I didn’t want to dally with Dali, so I went with a Picasso. You can see other submitted poems by checking Seth’s post.

This poem is also submitted to Open Link Night at dVersePoets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today. 

The Red Rhone

It occupied its shelf, resting,

this green bottle holding

memory and promise, waiting

for its moment of glory.

The young proprietor, speaking

only a fraction of English, smiling,

had offered it, assuring

in his English-less French, nodding

his recommendation.

He would not see the two, leaving

France the next day, Americans

again, but the green glass containing

his suggestion would be a gift,

a red from the Rhone Valley, reminding

them of the young proprietor managing

his shop on the Rue des Martyrs.

In 1999, my wife and I were in Paris, and some two blocks from our hotel discovered the Rue des Martyrs, with its flower stalls, food shops, candy shops, bakeries and a wine shop with a young proprietor. The bottle, when we opened it later back home, lived up to the English-less recommendation.

This poem is submitted for the TweetSpeak Poetry prompt offered Monday by Seth Haines – Gluhwein Memories.

It’s also submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live today at 2 p.m. Central time.

Art Form, with Beer

Done nobody put on a tailgate party

like us LSU fans do a taligate party

and the beer do flow, ma cher, and

the shrimps do boil wit da crawfish

and we tro da potatoes in the pot

wit da crawfish and spill a little beer

for da seasoning but not too much

cuz da beer is brewed to be drunk,

with da ice in galvanized tubs and

if it spills just drink from the tub,

we got da straws, ma cher,

and it don’t matter what kind

of beer cuz it all ends up in da same place

washing down da muffalettas and  

da shrimps and da crawfish (you gotta

suck them crawfish heads, ma cher)

and we boogie to da music and

sometimes forget da football game

and usually don’t even have a ticket

but da real party’s out here, ma cher,

and we Cajuns have done created

ourselfs a tailgate party art form

wit da eternal question: how many

beers does it take to kiss

a baby alligator?

Over at TweetSpeak Poetry, Seth Haines has a poetry prompt – pairing beer or wine with an event. I couldn’t resist.

This poem is also submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.

Saturday Good Reads – TweetSpeak Poetry

Little did I know that when I improvised a short poem (contained within one tweet on Twitter) back in 2009 that it would me to a regular Twitter poetry jam; editing the tweets from the jams into poems; a blog created to contain the poems; other stuff (reviews and features) being added to the blog; and then a business enterprise that goes by the name of TweetSpeak Poetry.

Currently, I’m a weekly columnist for TweetSpeak (Tuesdays) and one of the things – just one – we’re up to is beginning to get our heads around the idea of poetry and business. I do reviews of poetry books, reflections, recollections, whatever sounds interesting.

I love being a columnist.

I work with a terrific team, led by chief instigator, central plotter, primary conspirator, writer, editor, publisher, poet, mother, wife, blogger, tea expert, lighthouse climber and who-knows-what-else Laura Barkat. Laura, or L.L., is the Grand Poobah of TweetSpeak (that sounds like a title from a Gilbert & Sullivan musical opera). She has three blogs: Seedlings in Stone, Love Notes to Yahweh, and Green Inventions Central.

She’s also written a memoir, Stone Crossings; a book of spiritual exercises, God in the Yard; a book of poems, Inside/Out; and a novella, The Novelist.

The editor for TweetSpeak is Lyla Lindquist, who is not only editor but also chief publicist, social media captain, writer, promoter, columnist, book club discussion leader and skunk works leader. Lyla is here, there and everywhere, and all at once. What she’s capable of doing leaves me in awe. She blogs at A Different Story, and also has a collection of reports and meditations about weekly visits to a Benedictine monastery for six months, called Making Headroom.

Then there’s Claire Burge. Claire is young (at my age, virtually everyone I know is young) but knows everything and how to do everything. She knew about Pinterest before Pinterest knew about Pinterest. She takes beautiful photographs (I used one for the cover of my novel Dancing Priest, and will be using another for an upcoming novella), travels to exotic places, knows everything about social media, and lets nothing intimidate her. She blogs at Claire Burge.

Monica Sharman has an official title of Editorial Intern, but she’s all over poetry, all over the business of poetry, all over our poetry jams on Twitter. Monica blogs at Know-Love-Obey God about faith, family, poetry and writing. She’s also a contributing writer to online publications like Bibledude.

Tania Runyan is a columnist for TweetSpeak, and is also a published poet, with three books of poetry: A Thousand Vessels, Simple Weight, and Delicious Air. Her poems have been published in numerous literary journals and anthologies, and she received an NEA Literature Fellowship in 2011. Tania is a tutor, writer, gardener and fiddle and mando player. Her web site: Tania Runyan.

Charity Singleton, another contributing writer, is a poet, writer, blogger, and works in online media for her Midwestern employer. She blogs at Wide Open Spaces, and I have to say it’s one of my favorite blogs to read.

And then there’s my friend Seth Haines. Seth is an attorney (but a nice guy in spite of that); he and his wife Amber are raising four boys in Arkansas. Seth is a writer, poet, and sometime theologian. He writes TweetSpeak’s weekly poetry prompt on Mondays. Seth blogs at Seth Haines.

TweetSpeak Poetry is a fine group of people – and a fine group of writers. Despite its origins as a place to deposit poems from poetry jams, it has become a presence in the field of poetry, and has plans to become even more.

Fire on the Lake

Rose petals fall among

tumbleweeds of dust blowing

into crevices, splitting

my imagination.

I saw fire on the lake flaring,

flat stones skimming

the reflections of flame dissolving

then refocusing.

I want to rhyme, she said.

I want to rhyme with dust,

not roses.

I reach for a bottle

of something but it’s empty,

consumed the night I saw

fire on the lake.

Seth Haines has a writing prompt Thursday – two different videos of the same song. Technically, we’re supposed to write something and submit it to Seth, but I decided to go ahead and post the poem I wrote here.