Saturday, October 4, 2025

Averages

That men are taller than women is true — on average. But there are short men and tall women. Height is not an intrinsic characteristic of being male; one does not need to be tall to be a man.

So it is with all the other criteria we have come up with to define gender. The differences are all averages. ‘Masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ are societal constructs built around those averages. None of them are intrinsic to whom or what we are.

Not a one of them makes us more or less of a man or a woman.

Wednesday, September 24, 2025

Kid Stuff

I took a chance with writing* my first book, the Young Adult title, ‘The Middle of Nowhere,’ from the viewpoint of a fifteen year old. That is difficult (if not impossible) to pull off without embarrassing oneself at least a little. Or, as the currently popular term goes, of creating ‘cringe.’

I’m okay with the story. Sure, I can see all sorts of small changes I could make but it works overall. It took me longer to write than any that followed, as I was still feeling my way. So it was useful at least as a learning experience.

For a time, I thought I might write a sequel. That is not going to happen. However, some of the characters have shown up in other novels and stories, including my Cully Beach series.

Of course, it is true that one of my latest works was from the viewpoint of a twelve year old (and a girl, to boot). That would be ‘The City and the Sword.’ And it just might have a sequel.

*Not that one isn’t always taking a chance when sitting down to write!

Friday, September 5, 2025

Connections

As Taosim is a philosophy rather than a religion, I have no problem calling myself a Taoist Christian. I could apply the same label to Francis of Assisi.

The Taoist influences on his ideas — and those of late medieval Christianity in general — had filtered into Europe via Islamic thinkers and poets, particularly the Sufis. These, in turn, had been influenced by the the Taoist teachings and poetry of T’ang China.

Of course, ideas had always flowed both directions. The premodern world was much more connected than historians used to believe. No culture is unique; all have been touched by outside influences to some degree.

Medieval scholars might not have known the name Li Po nor any of the other T’ang poets, yet they were on the end of a chain of influences that led back to them. They are a part of our culture, just as were the Classical poets of the West.

And, in turn, Hellenistic Neo-Platonism and other philosophies of the West found their way eastward, to India, to China. Ideas are rather portable, you know?

Tuesday, September 2, 2025

Sold, a poem

Sold

We have sold our children
so we may eat today.
It is for your good,
we tell them and our selves.

Obey your masters; learn
to love them, love your slavery.
Who else will care for you
once you have been sold?

Stephen Brooke ©2025

Friday, August 29, 2025

ICE, a poem

ICE

Come join us in ICE
You needn’t play nice!
Take out your frustrations
On folks from other nations!
Forget past rebuffs
We’ll give you handcuffs!
Don’t even think twice
Come join us in ICE!

Come join us in ICE
Make them pay the price!
We know that you’re bitter
You said so on twitter
Before it went X — 
You might finally have sex!
Is that enough to entice?
Come join us in ICE!

Stephen Brooke ©2025

were I more ambitious I could expand this into a song though I don't normally do topical 

Saturday, August 23, 2025

Moon and Sun, a poem

Moon and Sun

Born of Sun, Born of Moon,
prophesied by ancient rune;
gold and silver, day and night,
journey now into the light —
Moon and Sun and day begun.

Child of Sun, Child of Moon,
grown tall in the light of noon,
will you choose to name your name,
rising up to make your claim?
Moon and Sun and races won.

Blood of Sun, Blood of Moon,
each tomorrow fades too soon;
promise made and promise broken,
shadowed truths remain unspoken —
Moon and Sun and life be done.

Stephen Brooke ©2025

Written with an eye to plugging it into a fantasy novel, though it needn't be.

Tuesday, August 19, 2025

Surf, a poem

Surf

The solid world fades before the fluid
reality each wave holds in its heart;
Escape with us, they whisper. Leave your truths
upon the sand, to wash away as all
such castles will. Yet I shall build anew.
  Build until I once again grow weary.

Stephen Brooke ©2025

this is what surfing means to me and why I have no interest in contests and wave pools and such