A book of poetry for those who want to find their own voice, sing their own songs, and live with authenticity, even if it means Backing Down The Ladder.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
Former Yale basketball captain, Harvard MBA, and ex-corporate climber at three Fortune 500 companies, author and poet Andrew Fleming today happily teaches and consults at the Center for Ethics at Atlanta's prestigious Emory University.
Now 40, and a live-in House Director at Emory's Alpha Tau Omega Fraternity House, Fleming writes of work, love, and community-- and offers a revealing look at the choices and challenges of a mid-life transformation.
Andy also leads workshops in corporate, academic, and church settings on life path discernment and leadership.
His next book Getting Ahead Without Losing Heart, will be available from Frederic C. Beil, Publisher-- June 1999.
You can send Andy e-mail at: aflemin@emory.edu
Roots and Branches
Now that I look at it
with new eyes
one of the largest trees
in the forest
a fallen victim of what
I do not know
I stare for a long time
at its roots:
the overlapping, criss-crossing, chicken-fingered
chaos that blindly scratched through the earth
running into and over itself
against and around the rocks and stumps and
God knows what else, growing still,
contradictions,
tangles,
obstacles and all
taken into its own brown black
pulsing tapestry.
Then I look at the branches
and see no contradictions,
no tangles
and I think it hardly
seems fair
how easy their task is
and how much glory they receive
compared to their brother sister roots
but how dull really their life seems now,
only air and light to deal with as they rise
straight and stiff toward the sky.
The darkness, the obstacles,
the sheer creativity
required to grow in the earth
make the underground work
seem more interesting
as I stand here this day
thinking of branches and roots
and how I shall live.
I once aspired to nothing but sunlight,
fresh air, and an upward path--
but instead of reaching heaven
grew hellishly stiff instead.
So now I want to lose myself
sucking on and thrusting through
all that is moist and rich in the dark,
in the earth, in me
and I do not care how many times
I contradict and cross over
my tangled self again.
In the House Inside My Soul
In the basement where I go
in the house inside my soul,
amidst machines of spinning steel
I forsake a shrinking self:
Why did you do what you just did?
Will you ever measure up?
Then I pole vault to the attic
passing by the living room
and dream flashing constellations
to forestall impending doom.
But my attic has no windows
and my visions soon exhale;
I am alone with my breathing
in the air so sweetly stale
of balloon animals dying
body first, then head and tail.
Do I dare walk downstairs
peel the plastic
sit in chairs--
in the room I long to go
in the house inside my soul.
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