hello again…

Friends have left notes here over the past weeks and I have either been too busy – or too idle – to respond. I’m reluctant to return to this blog. Keeping it up requires mental and emotional space I don’t have to spare now. I sometimes think of starting a new one – anonymous this time, a place where I could post without self-consciousness.

Deb Szczech Zabel – such a great name – left a note here the other day which led me back to another post and the thread of our conversation, which was about missing friends and losing loved ones. I am re-posting the poem I found there, one I haven’t thought of in a while. Goodnight Marcia Ryder, and now so many others, wherever you are.

The Awakening


Poem for the Family

What so deeply underlies our baseline conceptions that fathom weights turn in circles and loop like one seeking hope in the ocean, swimming in waters far beyond waters we know?

What over-arches our thinking from such a far distance we can only guess… Maybe…. as above, so below?

What holds us here like the unknown unseeable holds the mosaic total?

Father swings through the trees, he wrestles crocodiles, white men, personal demons. I see a small jewel – green hills and blue ocean – rotating inside the compass of heaven. Fine silver threads in circles and spirals, fractured pinpoints of gold, ruby and emerald hang in a canopy of velvet. The absence of light does not equal darkness; sight shatters on far-away anvils and leaves hammer shards, finally silent.

Through transparent eyelids I watch a sandstorm cover the sun. Twilight rides not on light but whips around from darkness, a rude wind marshaling vast killing wings. Between sight and knowing are clear jelly curtains and outside, the mean blur of teeth. The wind is an iron-framed plow; a rusty, steaming, oil -flecked  stallion with shoes of blue steel, throwing up sand, clacking, spitting and clattering.

It is a torn accordion, wheezing and whistling, entropy compressed and then tortured through ripped leather fittings. The wind hits the dunes with cutting fists of diamond. It is here that my mother nurses her husband. She waits down the wind, the triumph of darkness, the blowing sand peeling skin, carving bones. As the rocks are ground down Mother swings Father onto the wind and leaps on behind him.

She seizes a good night not to go gentle in and leans to the stallion’s ear hissing: Is this the worst you can do, evil thing? A maniac riding a maniac wind, heels hard in its ribcage, fists in its mane, holding a man who is dying. She drives her heels in, she spurs the wind on, into the well of souls that they came from. The wind sends it’s unrest, it’s hornets and locusts but nothing remains here to kill or consume except death, and death is dying.

Time has unrolled to its end over nothing and no new myth comes. No milk streams through space from her breasts, no planets or galaxies spring from her forehead, or anus and he’s just crazy, with crazy thoughts, like: The child beside the elephant is so small, yet the elephant obeys him.

Higher now than she has ever been, she holds her husband through the driest time. The black wings of another wind sweep down. The ground turns upside down and vanishes. Stars take the place of the sand. Silence and stillness replace sound and movement and now the unteaching, in earnest, begins.

walking on water

This entry was posted in my mythology, poetry, sun and moon, Uncategorized, walking on water. Bookmark the permalink.

18 Responses to hello again…

  1. Oh so nice to read your words and sense your presence in this world. POEM FOR THE FAMILY is great to revisit, one of your better prose poems by the way. I think I posted it over on FFTR over a year ago. Still it is terrific to revisit it.
    For a time back there you poured many hours a week into your blog, keeping several dozen of us entertained, informed, and stimulated. We marveled at your stamina and creativity. The last few months have been quiet over here, and we Mobbs fans have only been worried that your life was calling, and the issues of that were talking all your juice and time. I am sad to hear that your identity relative to this blog, pulls down some on your emotions. I have learned to care about you and yours, and do miss the updates, challenges, artwork, and philosophy. But it is what it is, and we will check in regularly to pick up whatever you lay down, sir. My arm is around your shoulder. My gaze is locked on your gaze. You have friends, of a sort, out here in the cyber ozone.



  2. rick mobbs says:

    Thanks Glen. You have been a friend through all of this. I’ll get back to it. I think the movie work wore me down. I’ll write you privately.


  3. Shiny Things says:

    Wow. Just wow.
    Well said, Mr.Glenn Buttkus, well said. The sentiments I felt all rolled up into such a thoughtful and succinct bundle of words!
    You are an anonymous, intimate soul, Rick – a friend by most definitions – and it saddens me to hear you say that self-consciousness keeps you from freely flowing here on this site. Its a familiar self-consciousness for most bloggers, I suspect, myself included. I empathize with your struggle. I’ve walzed with the shadow of that particular doubt often.

    The words and pictures you post inspire me. I hope that you continue to freely produce them somewhere in the blogoshpere – hopefully somewhere that they can continue to inspire and motivate others in a positive direction, as they have me. 🙂 And that you periodically share them here with those of us who have become familiar with you through this creative outlet.



  4. rick mobbs says:

    I think of you as friends. I am working my way back. Peace, and love, and blessings on your houses.


  5. Monster says:

    Thinking of Fawaz. thank you for sharing this poem.


  6. rick mobbs says:

    Thinking of Fawaz, too. He walked with us a only a short time but long enough to make life seem a little brighter. He’s gone now but his brightness remains. I imagine I will remember his smile for a long time. We are going to miss him.

    “There is no god but He, the Living, the Everlasting. Slumber seizes Him not, neither sleep; to Him belongs all that is in the heavens and the earth. Who is there that shall intercede with Him save by His leave? He knows what lies before them and what is after them, and they comprehend not anything of His knowledge save such as He wills. His throne comprises the heavens and earth; the preserving of them oppresses Him not; He is the All-High, the All-Glorious.” (2:255)


  7. Ditto Mr Buttkus and Shiny Things, every word. You make my life a brighter, better place.


  8. Deanna says:

    Hi Rick,

    How are you? Where are you?

    I gather you are not in NC and you and Naomi have a new preciousness — Ada?? Sweet.

    Sending love and tenderness on this rainy afternoon.



  9. marlowe44 says:

    We still wait patiently for the Mobbsian embrace, the thrust
    of Ricki tickki humor, the artwork, the family news. Whatever you are encountering, may it pass bloodlessly, and may you emerge fully intact. Thanksgiving has come and fled into the mists of 2009 past. You can check the numbers, sir, but I think you still have dozens of us checking on this site several times a week, hoping, praying,
    that Mister Rick is OK, or will be.



  10. rick mobbs says:

    Glenn, you are kind. I think I’m back. The next few days will tell. We have a lot to be grateful for. I’ll be writing.

    Peaceofpie, Deanna, Joyce, Monsterchild, I’ve been hiding out. Thanks for checking in here. I’m moving my studio, stretching, cracking my knuckles, shaking the kinks out, passing out of my 3/4 Life Crisis. So good to be here.


  11. amuirin says:


    Happy Christmas, Mr. Mobbs

    to you and yours.


  12. marlowe44 says:

    Well Ricki Ticki, you may be back, but your profile is still way under the radar. We, the cyber friends out here, can only check in daily, and hope to pick up some of the Mobbsian wit and wisdom and compassion and art. We send white llight, salutations, love, hope, and extended hands and long range hugs to you and your lovely family.


  13. rick mobbs says:

    Thanks for all of that, Glenn. Having kids seemed like a good idea. Forgot about the work, confusion and all. Ada is 19 months old now and thinks she runs the place. I think maybe she does. Broadus and Naomi are great, as always. However, Naomi has taken to cannibalizing parts from my laptop to keep hers going. Battery, keyboard, memory, fan. But first she conveniently placed mine on a stack of papers on the slanted top of a standing desk. It landed screen first on the wooden head of Ada’s rocking caterpillar. Quite pretty, the light through the broken screen, but I have to run the signal through an external monitor to make sense of anything. But one of these days I will get back to writing here. In the meantime, why don’t you come see us?


  14. jason says:

    It’s been too long, Mr. Mobbs. How long are you in Wilmington? My kids miss their pappy.


  15. rick mobbs says:

    will call. xox r


  16. marlowe44 says:

    Gosh, oh goshens, where have these 8 months gone?
    Thanks for showing up now and then on my site with your comments. I still come here every time I crank on a computer, hoping for a brief message. Jason has surfaced, and that’s a good thing. My grandsons call me Pop. Interesting to refer to the 3/4 life crisis. I retire in 5 weeks, at the end of June, and my days are soon to be filled with those tasks that bring me joy; movies, writing, and photography, plus road trips, poetry slams, directing the local film club, and keeping my wife reasonably happy.
    I suspect that the Mobbsian mob still lurks out here, just waiting for the Rickster to stir, to rise out of the emotional ashes, and spread his artistic wings.


  17. rick mobbs says:

    Well, well. Good to be back, even if it took a fluke accident and minor injury at work to make me sit still for a few days. I switched wordpress themes and now I’m trying to track down a few things that disappeared. They are here somewhere. Like you are. Like I am. I hope to be visiting and touching base with all of you again now.


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