POEM: Getting It Together

I see tragedy in the world
Not as the enemy
To be retreated from
Nor as an accident
Captivating my perverse stares
Rather a musing
These puzzling pieces
Of my heart
Shuttered into a million pieces
In chanting invitations
Entranced overtures
Moving beyond words
As a gait way
To the presents
Of an unbroken whole

This is yet another poem about hope, a familiar theme of mine.  With all of the tragedy in the world, it can be difficult to have a light heart.  I often muse that I have to laugh to keep from crying.  This seems to me to be a basic choice of perspective to bring to life.  How should I orient my attitude in life?  Staring at tragedy can become a perverse rubber-necking, like seeing a wreck that you can’t seem to take your eyes off.  My personality is built in such a way that I easily see the falling short of any given situation compared to some more perfect ideal, or even the being aware of multiple perspectives or choices that are equally inane, in some banal equivalency.  The former is a perspective of idealism.  The latter tempts infinite forms of nihilism, all leading the same place: nowhere.  Perhaps needless to say, I identify much more strongly with idealism.  I deal with -isms all the time!  For me, the decisive factor in choosing between idealism and nihilism is a devotion to a positive outlook.  Great minds have pondered the tally between good and evil, and it seems that it may be a close call.  Some try to escape the question by believing that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all the same.  Of course, it does matter what we believe.  Some times believing is seeing.  I’m betting my life that good is stronger than evil, or simply that I am going to try really hard to be on the side of good.  I see a major developmental task in life as sorting out my relationship with the One, which some may call God, perhaps Tao, or even hope.  This always takes place in context of the myriad of things, the many, the stuff of our everyday life.  This poem alludes to our hearts being shattered and shuttered into a million pieces.  The poem ends with the epic allure of an unbroken whole, or perhaps, within human capabilities, healing and reconciliation of broken and estranged people.  The transition, the path, the opening between, mere musings and such a desired positive state, is filled with invitations/overtures, most of which will go unanswered/unfulfilled, and movement beyond words to action.  This requires taking the lead.  This requires inviting people to be better when being worse seems much more plausible or practical.  This requires my own volition of acting better when being worse seems much more plausible or practical.  My best, most simple definition of leadership is this: bringing out the best in others.  I have hope because it brings the best out in me.  May our highest hopes incarnate hope for one another.  Make it so…

POEM: A Mother’s Nature

This poem did not exist a few hours ago.  I was interrupted by a thought (captured in the first few lines) and I took the time to jot them down.  Seconds turned to hours as the muse is a taskmaster second to none!  The harm we are doing to our planet haunts me.  Meditating upon the good nature of a higher power helps center me while on a planet where cynicism flows freely.  I am powerless over the creative powers.  This is a good thing!  I stand in awe.  I will stand to protect our planet.  Enjoy!

A Mother’s Nature

Mother Nature is relentless
Like our best dreams
Unlike the monster one step behind us
And gaining
She will do us no harm
Patiently waiting
For her children to return
To the home she has fashioned
Never out of style
Yet oft forgotten
Too few admitting to such a hospitality
Taking the mantle of patients
Picturing her children’s development
Framed by her own love
Razed buy edifice complexes
No matter how
She made them field
And forced unmatched
Given freely verses
Accrued credo
Never to retreat
With receding heir lines
Lured into orphanages
Buy counterfeit presents
That no’s no currency
Now
Giving no quarter to a homme-less mom
A mirror sham to couch their shame
Forging the future
A bode
Swayed by unnatural winds
A backwards whirled
A lost race
Imitating won another
They could get no flatter
In the crush of by-gone dates
Rapt over and over
For what they ware
Gripped by un-void-able cells
Phony sustenance
Quiet a pare
The elusive wons and zeroes
Forming a mock 10
Sow quickly barren
Fake breasts
Seduced into beating
A psycho-path to
Unending litter
Mine-ing anything and everything
That would
Make steal
Throbbing from a mother’s chest
Hearts trumped
Up on false charges
Beating the rap
A single ruse
On Mother’s Day know less!
As she goes
About her business
Miss taken
Scores of prodigal children
A fatherless brood
Ever digging that irony
Any bogus meddle will doo
Pinned to their empty chests
Never wandering up ponder
All is dwell that ends dwell
Wee awe
End up
In hour
Birth place
Returning too
One’s native
Land
Taken
In
Buy
Mother Nature
By awe accounts
Receivable
How can it be
That she is
Unscarred
By us?
There is no sphere
Like hers

POEM: Flowers Cut

I set before you these flowers
For your reflection and edification
These flowers were cut from my yard
A yard not unlike the two yards that will cover us all some day
Some may say that cutting short the lives of these flowers is wrong
But what do I say to this?
That the greater danger is cutting our own lives short
For it is much easier to harm ourselves than to harm another
Unlike most flowers and most of nature
This flower lives in the city
Most flowers and most of nature
Are as beautiful as they are unseen by human eyes
But these flowers, these city flowers
Go largely unseen, even as so largely present
People pass by, out of their minds
Racing to that whose beauty cannot compare
Neither flowers nor nature require our attention
But, ahhhh, the beauty is all sufficient
So, if I have cut short the life of these city flowers
By some few days such is life
Pardon my offense
And help me repay such expense
With such beauty they briefly impart
Not unlike this poem
Which from the mind will soon depart
Let such beauty replenish the beauty of your heart
And prepare you for every worthy start

The beginnings of this poem struck while I was taking a walk late yesterday afternoon.  I was to go to an Occupy Toledo General Assembly meeting early that evening, and I decided to take some cut flowers from my yard.  I love it when the muse strikes!  It is a glorious curse of the poet to pay homage to the moment when inspiration strikes.  Having a life where I’m able to do this brings me incalculable joy.  Some may say that I have too much time on my hands, but I certainly don’t have a watch on my wrist, or a cell phone in my pocket.  Anyway, to the calculating chronologist, we all have the same 24 hours each day.  Poets know better, I say in all humility, or rather awe.  While many of us live a similar amount of time, in terms of times our heart is beating and there are waves in our brain, there are simple and great differences in how well we live that time.  I am partial to the blessing given by the late Will Rogers in saying, “May you live all the days of your life.”