While reading the Scriptures and bathing
In the morning quiet, without warning,she captured me. She then arrested me and
cast a shadow upon my memory.
For a few priceless moments, I mused of her.
She was quiet, small, and most memorable.
Her banks, her gentle and accepting people,
Her well-stocked produce markets, and in spring,
her breath-takingly beautiful Apple Blossoms.
Oh, how she painted one immortal portrait.
That little town in Northern California that
I daily drove through; that little town of
Sebastopol will always have a special
place in my memory.
Sometimes we get knocked around from the outside
Perhaps more often, we are defeated from the inside
It's not always like being attacked by a wild beast
Who doesn't release until he's finished the feast
So often, its true meaning has been redefined;
And being convicted by it is in decline
More often, it's like snail-paced drips from a water faucet
More often, it's like being massaged by the very best
More often, it's a slow kill, satiated with thrills
More often, it's highly hidden in drinks and pills
More often, it shouts with alluring sex appeals
More often, its lies are not so easily revealed
It's soothing and breath-takingly satisfying until
Our lives are slowly drained and filled with pain
It disguises its source
until it runs its course,
And every measure of peace
Disappears and ceases.
Somewhere between silence and truth, a lie finds its grace,
A hope draped in velvet, with comfort’s borrowed face.
It tiptoes through fragile spaces where broken emotions stay,
Painting the eerie darkness in hues of false embrace.
It softens the sharp edges of what truth dares to speak,
A tender veil for hearts that have grown far too weak.
It builds a quiet world where chaos dares not bloom,
Concealing in its depths the morality we fear to seek.
Alas! Though breath-takingly pretty, its hypnotic spell does not survive,
For every lie, however soothing, has no soul to stay alive.
It cries, crushes, and crumbles down before returning to ash,
While cursing the truth it tried so hard to contrive.
Allow me the privilege of stopping to stare—
At a pretty young girl with bright purple hair.
Or, that buxom maiden who has quite a pair
The one wearing no bra, standing over there.
A brash young fellow with cap turned around
Britches pulled down--almost to the ground.
A grossly fat dude tattooed head down to toe
With a breath-takingly beautiful lady in tow.
I stopped to help this homeless man in need
He suddenly offered me a toke on his weed.
“Music” from the car in the next lane is blaring
I am holding my ears, but I cannot stop staring.
The exhaust of a motorcycle deafening loud
I suppose it makes the hog’s owner feel proud.
A man wearing a pigtail reaching to his butt
In our local grocery a woman carrying a mutt.
An aged woman riding on a three-wheel tricycle
Juggling from hand to hand a half-eaten popsicle.
Things are normal, quite ordinary, as you can see
Nothing wrong with anybody – I guess it’s me!
FOURTH PLACE WINNER
written July 23, 2021
for "An Interesting Couplet" poetry contest
sponsored by Funom Makama
Allow me the privilege of stopping to stare--
At a pretty young girl with bright purple hair,
A brash young fellow with cap turned around
Britches pulled down--almost to the ground,
A grossly fat dude tattooed head down to toe
With a breath-takingly beautiful lady in tow,
The exhaust of a motorcycle deafening loud
I suppose it makes the hog’s owner feel proud,
A man wearing a pigtail reaching to his butt
In our local grocery a woman carrying a mutt,
I want to say to them what’s happening there
Allow me the privilege of stopping to stare—
May 26, 2021
Looking at flowers, then leaves, I began to wonder about the roots and seeds. Yes, I thought, that's what I learned in Biology, Botany, Biodiversity ... But a brilliant, brainy, breath-takingly beautiful budgerigar whispered to me:
"You are "thought" [taught to think in boxes, as PT says] to objectify Nature from birth, almost. For us critters, the entire plant or tree is one of us, a community where we help, house, and hallow each other. It is all ONE life form, don''t you see. What are leaves but flowers yet to be? What are flowers but leaves modified for reproduction? Are your reproductive organs separate in type and origin than the rest of your body? Don't humans start life as one-and-two cells? Don't you see the seed - small and insignificant, perhaps - carries generations of trees, fruit, food, and shelter in it?"
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