Putting my best foot forward
shoulder to the wheel
nose to the grindstone
my Achilles heel
while sticking my neck out
I soon found
as
with my eye on the ball
ear to the ground
when I put my back into it
not with tongue in cheek
but to keep my chin up
heard joints creak
the onset of old age memory loss
an early taste
for in the end I forgot to bend
at the knees and not the waist
She rode a horse named Romance through the field that day
Squirrel asked chipmunk, “Are they yet far away?”
Chipmunk did not know, so he put his ear to the ground.
They’ll be here in a few hours, he said next to ant mound.
Romance was swift, joyful, a wonderful ride for Lulu.
She thought she might find a beau before day was through.
Potential suitor was intimidated by the well-toned steed.
“I guess she has everything she will ever need.”
So that day was not lucky, or the next few years either.
As for squirrel and chipmunk, they traveled to Peither.
Potential suitor married her cousin, a woman named Kay.
Who had no handsome steed, but a lovely kind way.
The little old man was so blooming fat
That he couldn’t even see where he sat
But once he sat down
His ear to the ground
He heard a growl ~ from a hungry bobcat
__________________________________
Dear Readers, if there are any: Don't you
dare laugh at this. I intended it to be very
sad. My 'categories,' you may have noticed,
are 'Animal, 'Cry,' 'Food,' and 'Sad.' So, let
us now grieve together for this poor fatso...
who, by the way, is me. LOL. Cheers, gw
the bliss beat is real
vivid and vivifying
and yet a gift
for us alone
we cannot transfer
this sublime elixir
but can affirm
God is truth
an ear to the ground
we too join groups
receptive to light
each has seen
gently holding hands
held firm with love
heart celebrates
every breath
as for the unconscious
who are yet asleep
we wait patiently
till they awake
love employs no force
whilst radiating light
this is God’s way
thus so be it
SCARED
… when I jumpstarted my thirst for sin
danced young
whistled with the wind
sold short my youth
burnt like the witches of salem
scared
… when I was the one with crooked smile
he chose to stomp through
as if I was a ghost town
with flowers and chains
with good will and free will
… when the wind sounded like winter
he exuded calm
my hands were callous
and he cut my breath
I still have cuts everywhere
scared
… when my psychotherapist
wants to change me because
I put my ear to the ground
to hear the earth’s heart beat
… when I am tired
of jeans that don’t fit well
of people shivering
of paid and unpaid bills
tired of being a survivor
… when the road lies in front of me
and I go on an adventure
by crossing it
I become commercial
with only one dimension
… when the trees become
prime material for caskets
I feel their hardness
on my back and sides
the dry wood cracks
waiting for my body’s moisture
… when I become a comic book
next to my wilted lips balloons
filled up with words
as if they are rivers or veins
and a bored reader
decides if my life is rust or blood
God speaks to me
I listen with my ear to the ground
It's my heart beat beating fast.
Compassionate Volunteers
Does not matter what day, month or even time of year
Volunteers are always well deserved and are always here
They help with the impoverished, food banks
Babies and even with the elderly and the sick
All volunteers really know they surely have been
enthusiastically picked!
For when seeing them they have real nice
Eyes friendly smile and welcoming voice
And importantly so they are best dressed in
Volunteer's accessories of happy choice,
They wear brightly colored hospital scrubs.
Their won style of blue, yellow, pink or red
Some may say they sometimes bring police dogs
Who wag their tail when people pat their head,
The volunteers see what others do not see
They understand what others just want to be.
They realize a little compassion does go a long way
They generally help the sick or anyone in the hospital they stay,
They are very an "ear to the ground" as I well speak,
It is their caring ways that people do well and seek.
Whenever you need one they will be there
In tea time, meal and whenever you need them,
They initially raise enthusiastic hope and sweet dreams.!
Written: 9/8/14
Theresa Marie C.
Complexity comes in the simplest of forms-
Sounds all around us continually speak
When the spring equinox is nigh-
Children at play, screaming glee to the wind
Sliding down slides, landing with a thud.
The cry of seagulls enjoying a free dinner
Whilst beach goers forget their leftovers-
The lapping of the waves, purity abound
Draws every human like a magnet, as if
Still secure within the Mother’s womb.
Sit in a meadow of grass, listen close
There is a microcosm of sounds to adore
A snake slithering into his hole in the ground,
A cricket jumping, an ant colony busily working
The scratching of a mole, digging blindly, crunching
on insects- appetites galore!
Sweet Spring! a time when the newborn are learning
and the fertile earth renewed-
Listen closely and you can hear their progressive journey
To earn their wings and leave the nest.
A colt’s awkward run, the fledgling bird
flapping for all it is worth.
Frogs chirruping in the night, a fox
stealthily seeking it’s prey. The owl warning
of advancing predators, just so he can
greedily take the deceived rabbit as his own.
Listen close as new life begins all around
Invigorating spring abounds in sound!
A Poem
Lost or found
Make no sound
Ear to the ground
Crisp and thin
Or heartfelt soft
A waterfall of words
Tumbling from the sky
Clouds spinning by
Grasp the sense
Or lose the bait
The poem as always
The authors trait.
With ear to the ground
I felt a slight tremble,
like the stir of a whispering breeze
breaking its covenant of silence.
Stoically solemn hills
partially cloaked in roaming shadows,
the sun swiftly swimming,
across the edges of dawn.
Large crackling trunks,
with gnarled limbs pointedly misshapen,
standing huddled, accusingly transfixed
against a backdrop of mangled silver.
Clouds growing grimmer shades of pale,
as they swell with sadness,
to hang forlornly
upon realization’s icy horizon.
While glass houses of man’s dreams,
reflect the barrenness of fruition,
acid tears bleaching clarity;
Leaving hazy mists
for humans to draw lines of denial,
with fingers of blame.
And nature is naught but empty ark,
grounded upon the shores of our wasteland.
For we greedily drank the waters of her womb,
swallowing whole the seeds of needed fertility.
Now a fruitless humanity remains,
spitting only salt,
into her infinitely gaping wounds.
With an ear to the ground
The thunder of a thousand poets
Exclaims in perfect confession
Centuries of unadulterated bliss
Of written words,
Of sounding-words,
Of the heart bowed down.