Midst, whilst fully conscious
Life's golden dream
They are, for men, women
What's of Heaven
A part. Inhabitors.
Its bright-lit face.
Our neighbours; yours and mine!
In the sunshine!
I’ve been walking in a thousand parks
Sat on a thousand benches or more
Dreamed away hearing blackbirds and larks
Each time I rested like never before
Always forced myself to go out
Being timed up by reasons I deemed
Quite exclusive, although now I doubt
If they were as important, as seemed
In the alleys with flowers and squirrels
I had casual thoughts to unfold
What I meant to divulge disappears
Much too fast to be honestly told
If I could, I would tell you about
Why I needed a thousand parks
Maybe more, I didn’t bother to count
All the moments I listened to larks
Could’ve been something else than tranquility
Of idyllic blue skies, rows of trees
Even though parks were my home facility
I’ve no way to convince you of this.
Crackling of clouds, zigzag of light.
Puzzling the parks, jigsaw of sight.
A Summer storm, finding a spark.
Darkness of green and humid bark.
Adventure’s out, it’s boredom’s hymn.
Travel stories filled to the brim.
Not quite exciting as an ark -
Darkness of green and humid bark.
Balloons looming, red, white, and blue.
Will this cutout give me a clue?
Birds don’t chirrup, outside is stark.
Darkness of green and humid bark.
Little by little filling day.
Scrutinizing pieces in play.
Too quiet, whistling for lark.
Darkness of green and humid bark.
These fingers and eyes sharp’ning skill.
My adrenaline needs refill.
Need to find, national landmark,
Darkness of green and humid bark.
From ancient roots, life surges through his veins
to feed the Lord of Sequoia fame.
Bursting through clouds with arms raised to God,
he honors his Maker who seeded him in sod.
Awestruck men gawk in wondrous delight,
their eyes fixed upon this marvel of might.
Storms rage through woods, seeking timber to slay—
a fruitless endeavor, for the General won’t sway.
Every now and then, I hear the happy sound of laughter
when children visit next door
It's a sound that should ring,
it should be audible much more
Where are all the children?
Self imprisoned in their rooms?
Where are all the children?
Self imprisoned in their homes?
Where are all the children?
Self imprisoned with a myriad of screens?
it's Saturday afternoon and the town is eerily quiet
not a single human sound is coming to the fore
Not from the parks. the playgrounds, backyards or from the streets,
a total contrast, to the days of yore
Today a ghostly silence
as I visualise these scenes
In my heart I feel some sense of pain
as a message loudly screams
Where were all the children
in the days of yesteryear
you could hear them in the parks, backyards,
playgrounds and often on the street
There was cricket. hopscotch, billy carts and bikes,
soccer, basketball, these activities, now all seem obsolete
And as I put my thoughts on paper
and exercise my pen
Can we resurrect community,
will it rise again ?
Destined a red rose, as her tired feet were that day
Day she stepped on the bus, she sat where she should
Should, upfront, where she belongs, so peacefully
Peacefully, with fortitude, seeking equality and justice.
Justice she never thought would come with such liberty
Liberty divinely shining, smiling eloquently, abundantly
Abundantly with God’s fortitude, her aching feet planted
Planted to move not, like a tree rooted beside still waters.
Waters of stillness in her soul, running deep, led by God
God leading her through the valley of the shadow of death
Death where the Lord is her Shepherd—she feared no evil
Evil, His rod and staff protect her with goodness and mercy.
Mercy, she shows all the days of her life compassionately
Compassionately, with reverence and love for humanity.
© Dr. Joseph S. Spence Sr., Ph.D. (Epulaeryu Master). All Rights Reserved. December 1, 2025.
I walked as a grey kid
lost in his own hometown streets.
When my slow mind
began to see more clearly
it saw brick dusted air
and a sunlight blotched with yesterday's scabs.
There were small parks in that part of the city,
where the shabby slept and fornicated,
a wilted grass
was dotted with used condoms
and patchworked with dog urine.
We thought it fine
to explore those sleazy acres
parents behind us, we running ahead.
as if we were discovering paradise.
The clouds would give way,
and a light fell upon this new world of ours
as if newly painted.
For a while, we kids saw each other as
playmates and not intractable rivals.
Later, back in the crowded reek
of the crumbling tenements,
we grew soul-blind once more.
We hoped that the God
we had been instructed to love
occasionally watched over us,
that perhaps once a week
He checked us all out,
from the far side of a city park.
Only a few
make a pact
with the wind
Only a few
know the joy
there within
Free of the shadow
that follows
and stalks
Escaping
tomorrow
in moments recaught
Horizons lie waiting
as pilgrims
embark
Voices like magnets
pull light
from the dark
Only a few
hear the music
on high
Through handlebar
portals
— embraced by the sky
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)
Such a beautiful day to go for a hike in a national park
The contrast of stunning scenery against garbage strewn everywhere is stark
These parks are for all of us to enjoy, but we need to show our respect
If we see anybody littering the ground we need to report it to the ranger to have him catch the suspect
It is time to hold these individuals responsible, who use nature's gift to us as their dumping ground
Maybe a large fine to anyone doing this, if they are found
Perhaps the sanitation department could use their front lawn as a dumping spot
Maybe that would serve as a good lesson that needs to be taught
Respect for anything in this world is certainly eroding away
Maybe we could all do our part to reverse the trend, what do you say
In my heart, I know a lot of us do care
Nature is there for all of us, let's look after it, there is no time to spare
Rosa took a stand
by taking a seat :)
making a strong point
with dignity sweet :D
[I read her autobiography for Black History Month; always admired her, but a big fan of her now!]
An Assault On All That Is Sacred And Beautiful
Standing by the canyon rim
The couple embrace
“How beautiful, still”
Are their last words
*
Two old men
With tears in their eyes
Look out over the canyon
Kicking the dirt hard
*
A boy holds tight
His father's hand
As they watch
The flight of an eagle
*
A girl with
Arm around
Her mother's waist
Reads the posted sign
*
The Department of Interior is no more
We apologize on behalf
Of all that was once
Sacred and Beautiful in our World
*
Let us go to Amusement Parks
To lay new sorrows on their feet:
With sighs show sorrows’ tiger marks
And have them make sad stories sweet…
Let us go to Amusement Parks
For more exciting ways to greet
Keep asked appointment with the Clarkes
And dare to Melancholy beat…
Let us go to Amusement Parks
To streaming tears finally dry,
Like clashing wires let out sparks
Though pockets they might at last dry…
Let us go to Amusement Parks
To loved Jamborees of old try:
Happy Dogs imitate their barks
While chefs of the parks our fish fry!
abandoned parklands
filled with decaying dreamscapes…
frozen wine cooler
Illustration Caption: Frederick Law Olmsted,
father of American Landscape Architecture,
at "El Capitan" iconic summit, Yosemite, CA,
in 1865.
Olmsted saw verdant paths of our core.
Urban sprawl separated at a cost
that let us know nature and adore.
Those who wander find awe is not lost.
Wilderness lands surely shape our view,
songs of soil, stone 'n star, none too far.
See what we, as humankind, dare do -
conquer the inner self where we are.
Landscape concerts to which all can go
futures for youth lie beyond the grids;
where one can become their own maestro,
raise up nature's promise for the kids.
Parks and places for all of our people
spaces for worship without a steeple.
14 Lines Sonnet 99 Words
Pen Illustration by G. Gaul
10/1/2022
She sits in her old four door car
Jittery as a stick shift
All day every day
An old fashion woman
Smoking a pack of Camels
With all the windows rolled up
Goldfish
Staring out
Blowing bubbles in her dirty bowl
To the trolling park people
Who step from their slick driverless SUVs
Into the woods
With their dogs properly leashed
If only they knew
The poetry she was writing
Rhymes flicked away
To her spy ashtray
Who are they
Anyway?
No better than her
As she
Hides
From her lost job gonner kids and Fentanyl bibs
Q will show her the way
She ain’t so alone
With her hours of boredom
And Trump Putin and Xi
Khamenei
Saved like treasure
In her crumpled hands
She’s noting the march of our deaths
Every day
Out here in the open
Not the other way around
As I had intended for this poem
There’ll be a time
Soon
When she unleashes her door
And gets out
Breathes the same air
Armed by the unholy words
Take back what is yours.
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