Let there be hope
for all to be seen.
Let there be empathy
and compassion for eternity.
Let there be kindness
nestled in between.
When ducks waddle
on the banks of the pond,
water beads off their backs,
they effortlessly walk on.
Man walks the trodden path,
puddles abound,
boots now wet and muddy,
his mood, dark all around.
Rise above, good man,
be free from this anger.
Your boots will always dry
and can be cleaned later.
Learn from the ducks, my friend,
let bitterness not seep in,
allowing empathy, kindness and compassion
to come from within.
The wonder of nature
is here for all to see.
Open your soul,
it will set you free.
large plastic pop beads
popular in the sixties
worn by us kids
Colored beads on a necklace,
if we change the order of the beads
the necklace might look like a snake
or a skein of yarn
maybe a bell pull or rosary.
We might see the bell
swinging, hear the slow
donging of its hollow heart,
or we might
toss the beads at a rock
watch the beads break apart
forming their own random images.
The arrangements are endless,
but the beads are just beads
the poem is what you say it is.
spider web artwork
a dewy autumn morning
bead embroidery
adds shine to everyday life
utility is z e r o
Isn't it funny how people see money
pieces of metal so very small
there's not a lot you can do
with a penny or two
money itself has really no uses at all
it used to be beads and once it was shells
at least you could wear them and buy or sell
how many have a dim view of money
pieces of paper so wafer-thin
there's not much you can fill with a note or a bill
money itself has very few ways it can thrill
its value is based on the bars of gold
buried in the basement of a bank
and whomever says whatever they're worth
is who we have thank
the root of all evil isn't money it's man
he'll wheel deal and steal to grab all he can
the more money he has the more money he needs
the root of all evil is mankind and his greed
souk cloaked in perfume—
s m o k e sways through the hanging
b r
e u
a a y g
d r e s,
s clink in p r
AGATE BEADS OF HAPPINESS
The tears have dried up
The lines have lost their rhyme
The taste of life is slipping away
But I'm still looking for you
I wake up at night
I call you without words
I beg you, just a little,
Be brave, don't be afraid to try
You'll feel my piercing rays
I'm running through new and unbroken lines,
of my relentless writing,
And day by day I string them together like threads,
I string together the words that call to you, the enchanting cascade of words.
Agate beads of happiness.
But you're still not there.
Wake up at last and take pity,
I've come to sleepless nights because of you.
Instead of my beloved, hugging my pillow,
I'm not tired of going a little crazy,
Maybe it's because I'm tired of life,
Or maybe it's because
I'm in a cloud of barren feelings
If you don't love, don't love
Don't want it, don't want it
But give me a smile to say goodbye,
And let me wish for one thing
That you'll be lucky enough to find
Your love, your sorrow...
What is so special about these hanging beads…dance partners with the trees…
dangling from our porch..swaying in the breeze?
Is it the way they frame the view…how they’re pleasing to the eye
how they illuminate the clouds or how they add beauty to the sky.
Is it how when the sun’s hits them just right in the twilight or early morn
we bear witness every day to rainbows being born.
Is it how sitting in the evening no matter how far away they are
the beads, when viewed at an angle, add color to the stars…
I imagine all these are important…all help to give our spirits a lift
but what makes these beads so special is…they were given as a gift.
Someone thought about it…then she went to all this fuss
to string these beads together and give them this gift to us.
I wonder since these hanging beads help us see the world
through colors like we’ve never seen before
does she know when she gave us these hanging beads…
she gave us so much more
For now when we sit and watch our beads…and they cause our heart to stir
we not only think of how beautiful they are…we also think of her.
He had a sneaky tongue,
it bent around his molars
like a serpentine noodle.
His Adams apple
was an ever-shifting abacus
that calculated words
as if they were untethered beads.
Mathematics were his
clinical persuasion,
a laudable science
he hammered
into a sterile
impregnable language
for bespectacled cyborgs,
for he (the Bradly),
daily taught snotty tykes
who ponged of sticky,
childish proclivities.
Some teach, some
kill the ozone of eager minds.
We kids and Mr. Bradly
were never meant
for each other,
but he did instruct us
in the oily arts of
disinterest,
indifference,
and inattention.
iridescent beads of dew
loving the way of you today
magnified by my appreciative mind
I imagine being inside one of your glorious drops
urging the grass to shoot up
Bits of what we had
Became unstrung, life then spun
Out of my control.
Then saw goodness of your soul...
Sadly cannot find them all.
A little optimism
A little altruism
A little care for plants,
Birds, animals and frail ants
A little friendliness with the neighbor
Who, like us, for existence labor
A little smile at the cosmos and universe
Within which each being does immerse
These, indeed, are beads that mold each creature
And unite them, eternally, with the Mother Nature…
16 October 2022
The clouds forming
Beautiful shapes of love
In the blooming farms
Diamonds of rain drops
The better half of bright skies.
Phoenix of the dry marines.
The heaven crying ecstatically
Through the curtains of cloud
The shiny sober droplets of tears
Hushing the chaotic rays of sunshine
Embodying a loud rainbow of resurgence.
The sky is trickling
Crystal clear balls of adam's ale
Wetting the glossy tresses of trees
Pecking all the fur
Waking up the fragrance of the smooth mud.
The harmony of the rain drops
Sung by the enchanting sky props
The airy wind adding to the symphony
Swans proposing marry to me
Always a happy end in a happening rain.
Blessing Beads
Once more around the park please
Once more, just so i can see
The Indian child has finally found her way
By showing the world of her Indian days
The times when her life was carefree and fun
And those that were chasing she could always out run
And theirs the stolen little wayward child
whose cuss words , still can make me smile
Bicycle rides around the school
Being fastest made you cool
Once more around the park please
Once more, just so I can see
I like to know where my money spent
How much is owed and how much is lent
Its the game of life I have always played
I have gotten here, cause I don’t behave
Once more around the park please
Once more, just so I can see
So much I missed on the last journey around
Within this park that Incorporates a town
The swings the paths, the ducks and geese
Have been left here for me to see
Once more around the park please
Once more before I have to leave.
Lorraine Peterson
There's a wicker bin in a blue flame corner.
Overflowing onto the rooftops of broken homes.
Empty hospital beds - the echoes from bomb craters.
Into war zones and shrunken veins of hopelessness...
A billion words in the bin-wrapped in burlap ribbons.
Sewn into the satin fabric of faith.
Pulsing with heartfelt wishes.
Rosary beads ground into fingerprint whispers.
Filling with tears and desperation.
There's a bin in a forgotten corner.
Overflowing with the bones of unanswered prayers.
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