Dodgeball "But we have the mind of Christ." 1 Corinthians 2.16 Sometimes my thought-life is a dodgeball game— except that I’m the only one on my side of the line—and when at length I try to launch my views, distracting thoughts take aim at my attention; a barrage of lame and frivolous ideas rains down from I don’t know where, interrupting, zipping by my head, and dazing me. I try to tame and organize my thoughts, but to my shame and consternation, they elude me, fly off somewhere else, or otherwise defy me as I try to set them in their frame. __But when distracting thoughts my thoughts assail, __the mind of Christ allows me to prevail. No Stories Here a villanelle I am not much for story, I admit. Though story is on every writer urged, it has but little place in my remit. To gain more readership, one has to fit his thoughts in plot, with characters converged. But I'm not much for story, I admit. I lack the cleverness, panache, or wit to see my work with story fully merged; thus, story isn't part of my remit. Some might say, I suppose, that I should quit the craft, and my credentials should be purged, since I'm not much for story. I admit there's room for much improvement in that bit of lit for which my plodding pen has splurged— but such is my vocation, my remit. So I’ll continue, thoroughly submerged in plotless words, digested and disgorged. For I’m not much for story. I admit it, and embrace my plotless, plain remit. Desuetude on deferring to my editor I wonder why good words, precise words, fall into disuse. Too difficult to say? Or to remember how to spell? Are they the victims of our laziness? Our small minds? Or do we who want to use them lack the fortitude to risk the smirk, the “What?”, or the red pen insisting they be cut, and substituted for? But if they pack the meaning we intend, then should we not defend our choice of words, insist on their propriety and excellence, and dare the readers to discover a new thought? __But then, the writer’s task—it may sound crude— __is to avoid the fate of desuetude. T.M. Moore’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals, and he has published five volumes of verse through his ministry’s imprint, Waxed Tablet Publications. He is Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, he and his wife, Susie, reside in Essex Junction, VT.