After the Storm

The sun came shining brilliantly after the storm,
Sharp, warm rays spreading out across the sky,
And the birds are singing yet again and they fly
So freely, at liberty, and reconstruction follows
Upon the heels of destruction in nature’s flow;
Reconstruction like resurrection follows death,
And the wind blows ever gently now to endow
Earth with sweet scent of rain on grass ‘n trees,
And how else should it be? This is life writ large
In the discharge of ever-winding cycles of living
And reminds us that there are storms, to be sure,
But always the sun behind the ominous clouds,
Always light so bright to overcome the darkness;
Indeed, the sun did come shining after this storm
. . . after every storm, after each and every storm!


Waking Up a Year Later

This morning I awoke with a melancholy heart,
My mind on a trolley filled with a volley of thoughts
Brought on partly by the New Year, partly by the old,
And I felt cold, yet at the same time strangely bold;
Not only had I survived the old, but in ways even thrived,
And I could not help but wonder what is in store this year?
I hear it’s supposed to be a good one for me, but we’ll see!
Here it is, then: January has creeped in and I begin again;
Changes are in store for me, so it won’t be a bore for sure!
And I do have my resolutions for some small revolution
In my life, but the year now stretches far beyond my sight,
And it is a bit frightening; will there be blight? Or might
I thrive like busy bees in their hive? Well, I am alive!
What about you? To you I simply say, ‘Happy New Year!’
May yours be blessed with peace and cheer and lots of love!

Yuletide Plea and Prayer

Now let there be Yuletide cheer for all near and dear
And those far away, too, without any reason for fear!
No tears or mocking jeers, let peace and joy appear
For sheer enjoyment; no sneers or smears, only love
In which each person is a compeer – small and great,
Short and tall – everyone is hailed at the grand ball!
Let war and violence cease and let goodwill increase
With mother, father, daughter, brother, sister, niece
And everyone without restraint or taint of misdeeds;
Yes, and let all needs be met – the hungry finely fed,
And beds for the homeless, and medicine for the sick
As a grand gesture from ole Saint Nick – with a prick
Of conscience to inspire those who can give to give
That others might truly live everyday along this way,
And let not be for just one day but all the year round;
Let the Yuletide spirit abound in sight and sound . . .
One born long ago was torn and died; and Mary cried;
Let us tear no more but dare to begin to repair now!
Give birth to mirth this Yuletide in cheer, my dearest,
And let love once again descend from up high above!

Note: Previously published on Pax et Dolor

This Is September

White fluffy clouds swim serenely across azure skies
While butterflies float so gently in the pleasant air,
And so the season has come again to quietly repair
At least some of the broken pieces best left unspoken;
Gentle breeze and honey bees send me to my knees
In prayer this man will spare no effort to beware
Of the nefarious snares he has so often caught himself
In seasons gone by, withdrawn into his personal past
Where only the memories last as bright sun shines
On this new day in September, offering a new way
If only he will stay the course with determined force
With no remorse . . . only looking upward ‘n forward
As Lady Autumn wraps her gentle arms round about
In the stout reminder that all dies only to live again
In the birth-Spring of new life with untold promises,
But for now . . . for now I spy golden leaves and heave
An assuaged sigh of relief that another Summer of hell
Has rung his final bell, casting his last devilish spell,
And now goes the way of all seasons all year round,
And so, too, with this welcome change I am bound
To change as well . . . am I not? This is September . . .

Welcome Lady Autumn

Honey bees and climbing trees,
Riding bikes and taking hikes,
Shorter days and gentler ways,
Summer bids fare-thee-well
To tell of coming new season,
Cooler yet not cold, not yet,
As autumn whispers in my ear,
‘I’ll be here. . . I’ll be here soon,’
And what a boon she shall be,
We’ll see as leaves turn gold,
And old stories are retold
Against the slowly setting sun
While new tales are spun
From much younger tongues;
Evenings of game playing
And praying round the table;
Thanksgiving Day not far away,
And then in seasonal stride
Comes round Christmastide. . .
Welcome Lady Autumn!