Author Archives: Kyle Kimberlin

It’s a Tribal Thing

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I’d like to take just a few lines to acknowledge the Jerry Sandusky – Penn State child molestation scandal. If you’ve had enough of the topic, skip on.

I have seen some remarks to the effect that Joe Paterno and the University President shouldn’t have been fired because they reported their suspicious to others, thus meeting their legally mandated duties. And remarks to the same effect that the assistant coach now on leave reported what he witnessed to his boss.

I’m going to have to call bullshit here.

This isn’t about law, it’s about a moral imperative. More obviously, it’s about biology. Watch any herd of elephants or pack of wolves and you’ll see the adults protect the young until they grow enough to fend for themselves. That happens when a predator of another species attacks or one of their own kind goes rogue.

This group of men in Pennsylvania knew that one of their own was preying on children and they failed to stop him. There’s no exculpation, no excuse. That they and all similarly situated should be punished for their failure to protect the young is more than a matter of justice; it’s imperative that we all learn from it.

Put another way, any grown man – or woman – who won’t do everything needful to save kids from being hurt is worthless to the tribe.

Posted in law

Time Reworked

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I have reworked the poem I posted last night. I think it’s better than it was. Let me know if you agree.

Waiting
When I’m alone, I listen to water.
My brother sleeps and my dog
sleeps but I am awake.
The moon is full, and the sky
is crossed by sleeping jets.
I remember I am loved.
Time is running out so
I sit on the bed, waiting.
Time will come for me.
It will not forget me, leave me.
It waits behind the door until
I arrive. It sleeps in the sink.
Tick-tock, it drips all night.
Time hides in shadows
through the dappled afternoon,
sleeps and stretches like a cat.
I smell it in exhaust,
in fruit cut yesterday,
in my shampoo.
I wait by myself for time to emerge
from my dusty luggage, to appear
in folded sheets, to speak among
long blades of exhausted grass.

Creative Commons License
Waiting by J. Kyle Kimberlin is licensed
under a Creative Commons Attribution-
NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Fall Back

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Don’t forget to set your clocks, gentle readers. Here’s a poem I posted once before, but it’s been quite a while and it seems right for tonight.

Time
When I’m alone, I listen to water.
My brother sleeps.
My dog sleeps.  I amalone.
The moon is full, and the sky
is full of sleeping jets. I’m here
by myself, beloved, alone.
Time is running out. I sit
on the bed, alone, waiting.
It will come for me. Time will
not forget me, leave me.
It waits behind the door
until I’m alone.  Itsleeps
in the sink. Tick-tock,
it drips all night. Time hides
in shadows through the dappled
afternoon, sleeps and stretches
like a cat. I smell it in exhaust,
in fruit cut yesterday,
in my shampoo.  I wait
by myself for time to emerge
from my dusty luggage, from
folded sheets, from long blades
of exhausted grass. 

Creative Commons License
Time by J. Kyle Kimberlin is licensed 
under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Goodbye, Andy Rooney

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Maybe his timing was intentional, to slip away quickly just a month after leaving the career he said he loved. To leave it all on the field, as they say.

I hope so. I always liked Andy Rooney. I’d like to think he’s pleased that he’s left the audience just a little bit surprised.

Happy Halloween

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A vigorous Boo to all of my loyal readers. I appreciate you all more than I can say, as far as you know. If you were here, I would give you a piece of candy and tell you to get the hell off my porch. 


I kid. Be safe. And – especially if you’re back east in the deep snow – be warm. 

Now if you want a little something scary – monstrous – for your All Hallows Eve, here’s a bit of poetry:

  In the desert
  I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
  Who, squatting upon the ground,
  Held his heart in his hands,
  And ate of it.
  I said: “Is it good, friend?”
  “It is bitter-bitter,” he answered;
  “But I like it
  Because it is bitter,
  And because it is my heart.
– Stephen Crane