Nowhere can the truth be found,
not in noble books leather-bound
for words are mere approximations
yet lay the groundwork for all nations.
I can hear the water,
a giggle almost,
in the small cold spring
by which I sat
that foggy morning,
sketchbook, pen, and watercolors in hand.
A weed with a single white flower
grew from the innards
of a half submerged,
humus-bound log
alive with neon-green moss.
A brilliant web
spun by a tiny jewel-orange spider
laced the flower to the log.
I dipped my brush in the spring water,
washed it around in the appropriate colors,
painted the scene as best I could,
never coming close to capturing
the brilliance of flower, moss and spider.
Only approximations of nature are possible.
BIBLE’S BABEL BABBLE
(or: Language’s Chapter 11)
The incident at Babel was a gift
and not the punishment
it seemed at first.
It gave the human spirit a great lift.
Despite our brief confusion,
we’re not cursed.
A plethora of languages
expands our concept of the world
in which we live
and spurs our desire
to understand new paradigms.
To receive and to give translations
from other times and nations
means that we must reach approximations,
make allowance for interpretations,
even extrapolate new creations.
Though humbling,
it is good to know
that we cannot express,
in one tongue,
all we see.
I protest
This place that shrines
As a capital
For lost children,
Kidnapped
Violated
Murdered
Is dead on the list
Of probabilities for hell.
She was only child
Someone said
And I disagreed
Vehemently
Resisting suffocation
Strangulation
With all the approximations
Of the living to the dead
A seed
That will not suck the breast
Of earth again
A tree unfruited
With bunch of promise and pain
A dream
That changes to vampires
Howling
The flitting images of bats
Impaled on memory
A vision like kite
Tangled on power lines
Longing for wings
Featherless
A mother
With an empty womb
Missing
A place at the table
Like a vacant parking lot
No, not just a child
A whole interruption of life
A community gone
Blood smeared across
The sky of dawn
Too many now the little victims
Children plundered
Tell the sundering tales of strife
This too
Must end!
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