A Work of Ark

A Poetic Tribute

2013-06-13T00:15:00.000-06:00

This is dedicated to a fellow freedom fighter who has helped me realize my virtual pen can be mightier than the sword. We're both committed to getting our freedom back!

For Amanda BillyRock like many, it started with Ron Paul

What followed was a healthy dose of good old shock and awe

Our country is not what we thought, we feel a little betrayed

Or perhaps a little sheepish because for years we’ve all been played

Austrian economics is clearly the way to go, people get what they deserve

If she had her one great fondest wish, we’d end the Federal Reserve

As for ending government agencies, she says “Don’t throw a fit”

“If you want to see the end of them, just unleash the free market.”

She travels through airports like a thief in the night, avoiding airport scanners

And videotapes TSA employees to ensure they mind their manners

If she had a favorite candy it would probably be a Reese’s

But nothing satisfies her cravings like studying Ludwig von Mises

She dyed her hair blonde and she took a lot of slack

It appears her fans agree with this, they prefer the color black

She’s heading a knowledge revolution, one that all are welcome to join

Any membership fee would be minimal, payable via Bitcoin

Her message is of liberty, freedom, and heck - to carry your own gun

And this is her motto: “Getting free was never so much fun!”

Can Somebody Cry For Me?

2013-06-07T10:25:00.005-06:00

I've had this image in my mind for days. I keep seeing this sweet little Iraqi girl sailing into heaven after being killed. This is what she is saying to me, and I don't know how to answer her.

I sail away into the sky

As I stare down below

My home destroyed and family dead

Now to heaven I go

But none will talk of how I died

No cameras are at the scene

No weeping eyes or mourning hearts

Why don’t they cry for me?

Because I'm in a far away land?

My skin is different, I guess

Is that why no one thinks of me
Does this make me any less?

Today I died – a stray bullet they said

My body resting by a tree

I’m just as precious, just as sweet

Why does no one cry for me?

-with liberty and justice for all?

God Bless the Selfless Soldier

2013-06-07T10:24:00.000-06:00

As you read this post, please follow the links to learn more.

God Bless the selfless soldiers who offer their life for me

But cursed be our country’s leaders who “spread democracy”

Please comfort families back at home that worry every night

And judgment be upon evil men who pretend we need to fight

Keep safe our sons and daughters who patrol fields of poppy, oil, and grain

Believed to be protecting our freedom, they're guarding evil men’s gains

Support our troops and bring them home to their loved ones they adore

Stop saying we are bringing peace through useless, dirty wars

Restore the love of family, let the soldiers remove bloody stains

If citizens knew what true motives were, our leaders would cower in shame

The “land of the free, and the home of the brave”, phrases once held in esteem

America needs to awake to the fact we are now a new regime

If we truly loved our freedom we would defend it here at home

Not impose our will on others through killing at night with drones

God, restore to us your favor, remove our desires for power and gold

Turn the hearts of this nation to the principles the Constitution holds

Bring our soldiers back from war; let them feel our loving embrace

Or this fake “War on Terror” will never end, and we’ll never be truly safe

The Wounded Soldier

2012-11-11T15:50:00.001-07:00

This post is dedicated to those men and women who, though declared warriors and soldiers, have the goal of returning to their wives and children safe and sound. I've had the opportunity to hear many weep for their actions and suffer unbearable pain for that which they've been sent to do. May the day come when they can share their greatness daily with their families and not be in far off lands. This poem is dedicated to them.

The world honors me as a soldier today
But that's not what I want to be
I've never wanted blood and war
I've only dreamed of peace

You call it a great sacrifice
My leaving kids and wife
But have you once considered
The agony of taking human life?

We say we're bringing freedom
To countries around the globe
But think of women and children
Who cry while bombs explode

Where is the peace for these ones?
The innocent of God's seed
What of the love that they deserve?
Must they die and bleed?

Don't honor me as a soldier
I'm not a man of war
I lay awake and weep at night
"What are we fighting for?"

We are not any safer
We are not making free
With tanks and bombs and gun and fire
Am I the only one who can see?

If you value all my efforts
If you honor my sacrifice
Don't support the reign of war
But stand up for saving life

I'm Not a "TV Dad"

2012-10-31T12:14:00.000-06:00

I'm pulling this one out from the archives, because of multiple comments I've read lately about the state of fatherhood and how television portrays fathers. I realized it was on my other blog, and not on my Work or Ark one, so I wanted to add it here. It was originally written June 18, 2011.

I cried for thirty minutes last night. I hadn't done that, ever. The reason might seem really strange to some – my wife cut my boy's binkie. For the last few days we’ve put him to bed without the binkie, but Friday night he was really begging for it and we decided it was time for him to have the cut binkie in his hand so he could realize that those days are over.

Our daughter went through the same process. When we cut her binkie she looked at us and said “Why cut it guys?” She tried to pop it in her mouth but it wouldn’t stay, and the confused look on her face broke my heart. I knew going through the same thing with Miles would be very hard for me to do so I had Gina do it. As I heard her and the kids in the kitchen chattering about how confused Miles was, I started to cry. The cut binkie is a symbol of him moving on to a new phase, of him growing up, of me no longer rocking him to sleep as he has his binkie in his mouth.

The next night the same thoughts came flooding into my mind and I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to dry the dishes with Gina but she saw me crying. I went to my bed and just sobbed. I felt so much sadness because Miles is growing up. I also felt slightly ashamed and embarrassed that my wife was holding and comforting me because I was crying. It seemed opposite of what is should be. I felt like I wasn't being a man about it, and I thought “A dad shouldn't be doing this.” But then, the following came into my mind, “I’m not a T.V. Dad”. I include an excerpt of an article on the portrayal of fathers on television, then this is followed with a poem I wrote.

"Often, sitcom dads such as Homer Simpson and Raymond Barone are portrayed as selfish and mindless. Although we believe that they love their children, storylines often portray their offspring as intrusions to other, more important pursuits such as drinking beer, watching TV or playing golf. These dads invest considerable time in thinking up schemes to avoid their family, and they appear overwhelmingly uninterested in everyone else’s lives".

http://www.media-awareness.ca/english/resources/educational/handouts/stereotyping/tv_dads.cfm

I’m not a “TV Dad”

The message that is spoken, the one we’re all spoon-fed

Is of the clumsy fathers, disinterested, over-fed

They’ve never changed a diaper; they’ve never said a prayer

As for listening or homework, they wouldn’t even dare

It’s time someone took courage, and faced this mockery

For if there are TV fathers, one of them’s not me.

I love my wife and cherish her role, all her gifts and abilities

I like to mop and I do dishes, even fold laundry occasionally.

I try to earn a decent living, but don’t do it to “get mine”

When I come through the front door, I leave my work behind

I’ll always make some time for catch or a pretend cup of tea

There’s nothing I would rather do than be with my family

I don’t drink beer or play much golf, I’ll live if I miss the big game

The joy I feel with my kiddies around means more to me than fame

I love getting sloppy kisses and saying “I love you”

And snuggling with my little ones when the day is almost through

And I know I’m not the only one, I see many dads like me

Pushing a child on the swing or taking them for ice cream

I see other fathers fishing, their boys casting in the pond

Another father and daughter were jogging; the list could go on and on

To all the fathers around the world let’s make sure our children know

That while it may be funny, the TV dads we see

The real truth is, they’re a minority - and they’re not like you and me!

Ben Arkell – June 18 2011

Please share with everyone! If you think your dad is doing it right, share this poem with him and let him know. We never know how long our loved one's will be around. I can't share this with my dad because he is gone.

The Sting of Death

2012-10-24T14:47:00.000-06:00

When death comes swiftly in the night

So unexpected to our sight

When young ones die before they would

Our hearts break, and well they should

The pain is deep, the sting is real

It's all-consuming, it's all I feel

I want to move on, I want to mend

But why did this life have to end?

It's one thing if they're old and gray

They've lived their lives and had their play

But when they're fresh and young and new

With so much left in life to do

It's time likes these when all I hold

Is to my faith of what's been told

Of life forever with those we've lost

God recompensing every loss

But still the aching here remains

Though lessened by eternal gains

What can I feed my struggling heart?

What words of wisdom can you impart?

I need not words but hands and hearts

A warm embrace is a good start

I want to cling to those I love

For fear they also sail above

God - comfort me this lonely night

Help me win this horrible fight

Send some loving friends my way

So I can make it one more day

And bless the memory of the lost

I'll cling to the past - at all cost

But lead me by the hand tomorrow

I do not wish to live in sorrow

(If you like, please share! Thanks)

How I See

2010-06-10T12:00:00.012-06:00

This cruel world we live in, you need be wise
They speak of "beauty" but don't be surprised
To find it's all founded by the "father of lies"

They'll tell you that your skin is too white
So strap yourself down under some ultra violet light

Your hair is too oily, or snarly, or dry
So there's a dozen products you'll for sure have to buy

Your hips are too wide, you have "thunder thighs"
But with one small procedure it'll all be disguised

Your lips are too small and your chest is too flat
Yet Botox and implants will easily fix that

Now if you look too common and want to be "your own you"
Just add a few piercings and some gnarly tattoos

If after all these touch-ups you still look fat
Try a new diet, 90 days will solve that

NOW, PLEASE

Don't listen to this madness, disregard all the chatter
Take some time to think about what really matters

The solution to this vanity appears easy to me
Stop changing how you look, start changing how you see

Ben Arkell
June 2010

Through a Child's Eyes

2010-05-26T21:47:00.014-06:00

I'm learning how to see again
When I look through my child's eyes

I hold my child close to me
He is mesmerized by the world around him

Each sight is a wonder, each movement full of awe
He is my lens, as I now see what I thought I saw

I'm learning how to see again
The grass is greener than it's ever been

A fluttering bird, the dripping rain
Sunlight upon me, will never be the same

For all's full of wonder
There is no commonplace
Every scene is a marvel
As I consider my child's face

I can see a new world
Once simple, now great joy
All when I look
Through the eyes of my boy

I'm learning how to see again
I'm soaking it all in
Nothing is taken for granted now
I see the world through him

Ben Arkell
May 26, 2010

Father's Day

2009-06-21T18:58:00.008-06:00

To another I've entrusted the privilege of your care

Yet still I remain close beside, no matter when or where

To another world I've sent you as part of the gospel plan

But my work is to see you fill the measure of a man

I find it quite ironic you'd not think of me today

After all, don't we wish a "Happy Father's Day"

You think of your dads and buy them silly ties

But do you remember me, who watches from on high?

For I am your Creator, a King upon the throne

But always as your Father I wish to be known

To my precious children I make this desperate plea

Next time you think of Father's day please remember me

Receive, as if from mine own mouth

2008-10-16T10:02:00.009-06:00

I chose for them a watchman
A seer upon the tower
Then man became infected
And pride did make him sour

I built a brilliant lighthouse
A beacon in the dark
But this has been rejected
Just as Noah and his Ark

I sent the world a Savior
My hope, My Son, The Way
But man became offended
And took his life away

I called the holy prophets
To make my will be known
And man thinks this an insult
Then casts rebellious stones

Have all been so corrupted?
Do all reject my plan?
When I offer it extended
Will any take my hand?

I will thank thee Father
For that prophet and that seer
Whose words with the angelic tone
Do make the path as clear

I will praise thy name, Oh God
And with humble heart obey
All that thy chosen vessels
To thy children do convey

Do not think it blind obedience
Do not give it ignorance’s name
For in me the fire of the covenant
Burns with unquenchable flame

I will kneel before thy altar
I will ever Thy name confess
I will drink of living waters
I will call thy servants blessed

Ben Arkell

Oct 16, 2008

Sing Along

2008-10-10T14:05:00.002-06:00

The other day I got excited to call and talk to my Dad about the Red Sox. I then realized he wouldn’t be able to talk, even if I called--because he’s gone. He’s been gone for four years now. Every now and then I forget.

My Dad was a police officer for 32 years. His bulging forearms were the size of my thighs. His biceps were not very defined--they were just blocks of muscle. My sister and I would often try to pull him down as he would kneel on the floor but all our efforts were useless. He couldn’t be moved. He would just laugh until his face turned red. He had short, strong hands that could crack walnuts on Thanksgiving while watching football like no one else. Like most men, he didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. I only recall seeing him cry a few times—at his mother’s funeral, at his son’s funeral, and in church on occasion when we would sing “I Need Thee Every Hour”.

I paint this picture of my dad, with only a few strokes, because I want you to understand one characteristic of my dad. He was tough--his whole life. But the last time I saw him he looked weak. Leukemia had taken over. Hands once strong were now thin and fragile. Arms once powerful now consisted of sagging skin. This once intimidating officer of the law now could barely get out of his chair.

The last image I have of my father will forever be etched in the archives of my mind. He was sitting in his nice comfortable chair—eyes closed, arms resting on the arms of the chair, head back—and he was singing as his head rocked slowly from side to side. Not only did he sing, he felt something-- understood what the music meant--perhaps for the first time. He was humming along with Erroll Gardner, his favorite Jazz pianist. As I watched my father in confused awe, I saw tears stroll down his face. I think I realized then he was coming to terms with his imminent death. He looked pathetically scared.

I had never seen my Dad listen to music. I didn’t know he had interest in music. His life didn’t allow him the luxury of listening to music. He worked so hard, he never had the chance to sing along.

When life was fading away, he wanted to experience it. When his body was succumbing to illness, he wanted to feel. When his voice was about to become silent, he wanted to sing. There was something about that moment that was so innocent, so heartfelt. Seeing your hero become weak is a very humbling thing.

While the day is here and you have your voice—listen to your song and sing along.

Tribute to a Prophet

2008-02-06T11:48:00.000-07:00

I dedicate this poem to President Hinckley and to Gina, my inspiration, for it was through her beautiful brown eyes that the idea for this work was conceived.

The Empty Chair

My neighbors came and broke the news

Our prophet dear had died

I felt a peace and calm within

No tears flowed from my eyes

I stood in line and braved the cold

To see the prophet sleep

"Surely this was a prophet of God"

But I had no desire to weep

The tributes and the memories

The testimonies borne

Of this great prophet did not bring

A cause for me to mourn

And on the funeral morning

My sorrow with none did I share

Not until between two counselors

I saw -- that empty chair

For it was then I realized

My leader had been lost

And never would I again see

Him rise from that chair to talk

I’ll miss you President Hinckley

We’ve lost one of our own

To many saints around the world

You’re the only prophet they’ve known

But all is well, we shall go on

With your memory and a prayer

For God will give us the best He’s got

And place him in that chair

Ben Arkell
February 2008

Rejection #1

2008-01-08T23:18:00.000-07:00

Before success, most people have many, many failures. For that reason, I was actually kind of honored to receive this email in my inbox yesterday.

Dear Author:
Thank you very much for sending us your submission. It is a pleasure to see new material. Every piece received is individually reviewed by the editorial staff.
Unfortunately, we will not be able to publish your work. Because of limited magazine space and the increasing number of such submissions as the Church grows, the Church magazines are able to publish only a very small percentage of the many good items received. We regret that the time it takes to process hundreds of incoming submissions does not allow us to make comments about each one individually.
Please accept our thanks for the time and effort put into your work. We know that submissions like yours are goodwill offerings in support of the Church. We hope the work that has gone into this one will be a benefit to you and your family.
Sincerely,
Ensign, Editorial Staff

A six year old boy

2007-11-11T23:05:00.001-07:00

When I think of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s life, I am overcome. There are so many instances and events that were filled of so much emotion. One such event is in D & C 122:6, where we learn of Joseph’s 6 year old boy clinging to his father before he was taken to Carthage.

“and thine elder son, although but six years of age, shall cling to thy garments, and shall say, My father, my father, why can’t you stay with us? O, my father, what are the men going to do with you?”

I have thought a lot about the little 6 year old boy and what he was thinking and feeling. This poem is written from his perspective. Please try to feel the emotion of this poem.

I’m probably just too young
That’s why I can’t understand
Why some people say that
My daddy’s a bad man.

He hugs me and he holds me
He takes Mom by the hand
It hurts inside when people say
That he’s an evil man.

My daddy is kind and loving
He gives away clothes and food for free
He’s offered strangers his own bed
And gives up time he could spend with me.

He tells me bed time stories
When we’re sick, he has power to heal
My Mommy sure does love him
He cleans and even cooks meals.

Most folks call him Brother Joseph
A modern day prophet they say
He even knows the Bible real well
Grandpa read it to him every day.

My daddy had a vision
He saw God and Jesus Christ
I thought that was a nice thing
But he’s been hated all his life.

Some men came to my home
They took my daddy away
I hugged him really tight and asked
“Daddy, why can’t you stay?”

He looked me in the eyes saying
“Son, God has a plan”
He waved goodbye and then he said
“I’m going like a lamb”.

“Mommy, where will they take him?”
“To Carthage he will go”
I hope they bring my daddy back soon
I need him; I’m only six years old.

I’m trying not to be scared
Mommy says we must be strong
I just want to tell those men
That my daddy’s done nothing wrong.

We asked God for help
I know Daddy will be okay
When he comes home he’ll be so proud
When I tell him how much I prayed.

----------------------------

It’s a few days later
I’ve done nothing but cry
I’m not sure what this means
But my daddy died.

Some bad men rode through town today
Laughing, “The prophet Joseph is dead”
I don’t know if I’ll sleep tonight
Daddy always tucked me into bed.

I saw him, asleep in a wagon he laid
It was moving slowly through the streets
I asked my Mom when he would wake
She’d just shake her head and weep.

I guess I’m too young to understand
Why some people see what they see
But all that really matters is
That daddy was loved by me.

Ben Arkell
October 2007

Joseph Smith

2007-11-06T17:26:00.000-07:00

I have thought a lot about Joseph Smith and the impact that his entering the grove had on his life and the world. "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" could be applied here as well. I have this image in my mind of the boy Joseph waiting to enter the Sacred Grove, a little scared, a little timid, a little excited. He couldn't have imagined how magnificent the outcome would be as he took that first step into the grove. Hours later, as he left the grove, the course of history was changed. I hope this poem reflects to you these thoughts I have had.

"One Step in the Grove"
An innocent youth, an unlearned boy
Seeking wisdom from on high
A course of life forever changed
With one step in the Grove

A boy’s first prayer was uttered there
The seeds of faith were sown
God descended his mighty throne
With one step in the Grove

A calling issued, a mantle given
The gospel to restore
A loving Father revealed his hand
With one step in the Grove

A dispensation now rolled forth
Glorious truths to be revealed
Cumorah’s Hill would soon be known
With one step in the Grove

With wondering awe and gratitude
All thanks and praises be
To the man who communed with Jehovah
With one step in the Grove

His name be had for good and ill
Prophet Joseph the world would know
He sealed his fate to a martyr’s end
With one step in the Grove

Ben Arkell
October 2007

Poem on Christ

2007-10-31T23:41:00.000-06:00

I got frustrated a while back because of a situation where a person had taken offense (not from something I had done but dealing with another person) and stopped coming to church. It got me thinking about how great we are at living the gospel until a trial comes, or a temptation, or someone offends us, or things just don't go our way. We forget that principles like repentance, forgiveness, love, compassion, faith, endurance, and patience are to help us through these hard times. It made me think of Jesus Christ and how He endured. As we go through trials, and apply the principles of the gospel, we too can progress just as Christ did. This poem was inspired by the aforementioned situation.

"Jesus The Christ"

What made Jesus our "Shepherd"?
Was it leading the ninety and nine?
Or leaving these alone for the one to search and find.

And how was Jesus "Exemplar"?
By His smile when smiled at?
Or by patiently submitting when evil men upon Him spat.

What made Jesus "Savior"?
Was it happiness without loss?
Or was it being nailed upon the cold and wooden cross.

And how was Jesus "Anointed"?
By trumpet and song all day?
Or by three humble wise men as He sleep on manger hay.

How became Jesus "Messiah"?
Was it kindness he was shown?
Or was it bearing pain and grief from sins not of His own.

I call Jesus "Redeemer"
Why call him such a thing?
Because He earned the title by descending below all things.

The good of life, the ease and joy
Did not Him the label bring
Of Jesus the "Anointed One", "Messiah", "Savior","King"

But suffering the pain of men
Bearing persecution all His life
Spilling blood and sweat and many tears
This made Him "Jesus The Christ".

Ben Arkell
October 2007

Strength for Youth Song

2007-10-31T23:31:00.000-06:00

The following is an excerpt from a friend's blog:

CALLING ALL SONGWRITERS
Here's the dealio: I have to write a song based on a familiar and simple church song that Erik can play on the guitar (so not too many fast chord changes) about avoiding "bad movies." (When I say "bad movies" I mean adhering to the guidelines in the For the Strength of Youth booklet.) So far, the only valid suggestion I've received is to write it to the tune of "Pioneer Children" and say at the end something like, "And walk, and walk, and walk, and walk away." I have to write this by tomorrow morning! It can be painfully bad, as long as it is funny and gets the point across... any ideas?

I decided to help her out. Here is what I posted under the alias of "Sara":

Nephi's Courage #120

The Lord commands his children to remember who we are
Be above the filthy, and try to raise the bar
Movies and media can teach us how to sin
We must be courageous and not let Satan win.

Chorus:

To that show, I won't go
Even if friends want me to
I know the Spirit won't remain
If bad things I should view

I can be clean and pure
Bad movies I won't endure
I'll be who God wants me to be
and I'll always watch just "G"

Verse 2

The world has given us movies
to relax and entertain
If we are not careful then they can fry our brain
We start to think that what's bad is really good
And we fall in traps of not doing what we should

Chorus Repeated.

This was her response to my post:

While I got a lot of ideas... Sara's wins!! Who are you?? An angel? An answer to my prayers?!?!? Seriously, I don't care how much people make fun of blogging, in this situation, it has pulled through. Sara - GREAT JOB! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!! Erik and I practiced it a bunch last night, and with a few minor changes, it works perfectly!