Snow prevails in the realms of Otherworlds,
And moonlit mortals imagine light flight.
Bright pink faery orbs float and dance upward,
Spirals in song producing bright delights.
At times, thought considers the other side.
Dreaming in the moment bestows lessons.
A flame amplifies the insightful mind,
And we learn to breathe in our own heavens.
The depth of the forest brings us fresh breath
While we try to fly the stellar Cosmos,
Doing all that we can to keep our health
While sparkling moonlight plays its song and glows.
Venerable Oaks and Hazels reach high,
Grounded on Earth, yet, bound to Raven's eye!
What’s wrong about jokes? Simply timing
And that’s what mars good ones: Poor Timing:
Crackers know when joke’s bell starts chiming
For it their cracking lips priming…
Jokes flow and their hearers like toads croak,
Crackers targeting ribs with jokes poke,
Their effect mostly a bomb-scare-turned hoax,
Laughter exploding they did just coax…
Nice joke sometimes is sweeter than coke,
Sadness goes back to the sleep you woke;
One’s eyes from tears of sweet mourning soak
Sometimes praises for cracker ‘smart bloke.’
Jokes forget, please, for the saddest yolk;
After an accident not for folk:
The bereaved might not his fury cloak;
You could be much worse than one who’s broke…
Yes, jokes can be intolerable,
When their butt is a venerable,
Loud pained shouts of ‘How unthinkable,’
A swipe at cracker quite reasonable…
Otherwise in life we need laughter
That will be quaking high-up rafter.
When the gunman stares into your very soul
A bullet might redirect his gaze -- not gun control
April 30, 2019
After the shooting at Chabad of Poway, CA...
… and so many others
a venerable morning
scorning
the absence
of destiny
all for free
for naught
is me
abstaining
politely
from this
race of man
for all
to see
Lucky day! Father McShane was on the altar.
I knelt in gratitude, in silent applause.
He said mass faster than the lead car in a drag race.
Hosts flew and before we knew it: “Ite, missa est.” *
The nine a.m. ritual was well worth it on Sundays with daddy.
Out of the mist of sneezy incense, enclosed in glass tabernacles
food for the soul of another kind awaited us at the Brewster bakery.
Father and daughter a spiritual team of confectionary communicants,
were in search of the one true doughnut, the absolute muffin.
My father kept us ever faithful.
*Go, the Mass is ended
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
June 14, 2012
Venerable sky so vaunted so blue
Meandering pastels freely spew
Lofty visions dicharge anew
Clouded memories stealthfully skew
New horizons, sharp vistas brew
Panoramic scenes vividly hew
Lucid images swirl in your airy stew
Fleeting dreams soar from my view
Fresh perspective in your realm preview
Froward fantasies from your borders mew
Sink streams of hope into your purview
A wide range of blessings artfully cue
Polluting substances filter in your purifying flue
From your soaring loft colorful contrasts renew
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