Author Archives: jackpelham

What is this brain, this living machine,Ever striving to make sense of things,Even when working unsupervised? And who is this idiot that has charge of it—Morally stupid beyond what he is Willing to admit, and clueless as toThe great value … Continue reading →

She’s all but lost—This idea that won’t die,But won’t live, either— This Great ExperimentOn whether the peopleCould rule themselvesComing down to the questionOf whether they would rule themselves—That is, whether they were willing.

NOTE: Here are the words to a section of a choral suite I’ve been working on. It’s about an episode from my distant family history—a tortured soul who tortured others. She died circa 1915, and from her came some who … Continue reading →

When you give the man a Bible to take home and read,And he comes back, having found no particular hopeIn the message of repentance and obedience,But only in the glorious message of eternal life,He has shown you that he does … Continue reading →

It’s been about two thousand years Since the inspired pen was stilled.And while it may be both intriguing And fashionable to sit and wonderAt what might happen just any minute now,Would not a wise people, puzzling overHow long it’s been, … Continue reading →

It’s as if he were speaking a different language—The man who fully believes in the authority of GodTo judge the creature man at the end of his life,Declaring his eternal fate. He builds the fact of his subjection to GodInto … Continue reading →

The older I get, the less impressed I am with talking, and especially with debate, for I observe that it is filled with error—with slips of the tongue and with faulty memory—with biases and with the hard-to-resist influence of common … Continue reading →

I suppose an entire book could be written about this, but I’ll be brief about my objections to it.

She has decided it’s too much for her—That it’s more than she can grasp. So she quits trying to understand,And dismisses it as a lost cause—Walking away with no clueAs to the tragedy of her surrender.

You know they read poorly, comprehending little in their passive laziness. So you write for the lazy—accommodating them as they are. Pragmatically smart and efficient of you, you think.