Specter of the Happy New Year

An end in sight but there is a bend, too, to be turned;
While not everything left behind us can be burned,
Yet there is the unknown, frightening yet exciting . . .
Will we meet another street like the one we are on?
Or will it be fresh, clean and serene for us to travel?
We glance at the clock at the crossing of this block
And tremble inside; we cannot abide where we are,
No matter how brightly shines our star;
We will go far in a mere few steps, dear;
Time chimes late into this night as we look for light,
Bright sun newly risen on horizon with anticipation
And hope for better pilgrimage in a much better age;
But we do not know and this shows in our very eyes!
Some won’t make it to the bend; it’ll truly be the end;
Some will go swinging around bringing holiday cheer
Never knowing the Reaper is near;
Yes, sadly, it will be their last year;
Some will round the corner in fear
Of the unknown, asking what seeds have been sown,
And when they are shown, all the fear will disappear
In the brand New Year in which we will hear shouts
Of glee and bitter cries, hellos and sad goodbyes . . .
But it comes, nevertheless, as surely as the sun rises;
So may the New Year bring you cheer, I say this day,
And may blessings fall upon all who are near and dear!


Looking for Long-Lasting Peace?

Like a lightning bolt of realization to jolt us out of our stupor:
We call ‘peace and goodwill to all,’ but before we can have peace,
We have to be peace ourselves from the inside-out and about all
Of the world around us, abounding in heavenly love from above!
Peace is not something grand you lease for some period of time,
Oh no! This is more than some vaudeville show, we should know;
This is real reality, not carefree game or some tawdry marquee
In which we’re free to simply do as we please;
No! This action takes place first on our knees!
And before we cry in any protest, we have to say goodbye
To anger and lust, hatred and all danger to genuine peace;
It is then wars shall cease, the end of cruelty just round the bend
As love will send serenity to the hearts of one ‘n all everywhere!
Do you really want peace? Then be peace and live out peace . . .


Blessed be the Poor

Do you know what it is to beg for bread?
Do you know the dread of not being fed?
Have you ever had to hang your head?
Have you ever felt the need to plead?
And have you ever been misled,
Given stones in place of bread?
It’s not easy and makes you very queasy;
Some people quickly think you’re sleazy!
Oh, but to be turned down with a frown,
Especially after you’ve helped so many,
Giving a twenty when you had plenty –
Or even when you barely had a penny –
It makes you sick, like a kick in the gut!
When you yourself fall into a rut,
You’re mistreated like filthy smut;
Even your temple-church cuts you;
No more wanted; no more needed;
They have nothing to give for you to live!
Tell me, do you know the dread
Of begging for merely bread?
To be in need of even a few small seeds?
. . .
‘Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’

On Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL)

No smiles but miles of tears with fear,
Our home stolen and made to roam,
When will insidious desecration end
And re-creation begin in redemption
Of our native land in bands of liberty?
Railroads, byways, rigs and pipelines
All fine to corporate heads dead
To the living world in which they live!
They destroy our worth
With our mother Earth,
But do they consider the bitter truth?
They are destroying themselves, too;
Is this truth that they never knew?
Stand with us against this grand plan
To further mar land and poison water;
Withstand this planned defilement
Without giving in to any beguilement!
To stand with us is to stand with you ~
This earth is also place of your birth ~
For we are all one under shining sun,
And our work of restoration just begun!

Important Note to Readers:  I have drawn my inspiration for this poem from Tanya’s “with reservation,” and would strongly urge/encourage you to read her poem and the information she provides. ALSO, please very seriously consider signing the “Stop the Dakota Access Pipeline” petition, and please know that it does not matter if you reside in another country! Well over 300,000 people have already signed and some of those signers are from outside the U. S. Just bear in mind that this issue concerns largely helpless Indigenous Peoples who need your voice as much as any other. Thank you and God bless!

Forest Pilgrim: Another Way, Brighter Day

Thick forest, tattered hood in tangled wood,
Walking along well-worn path with long-born grief
With no relief but in the belief that there is an end;
Weary traveler sends signal shouts absorbed
By the trees and foliage, and nothing to see
Beyond the thicket surrounding all around,
And not even the sound of singing birds
Bringing sweet news from higher views . . .
Has he been this way before?
O weary traveler, you cannot ignore
In gullibility the possibility that you’re circling round
And are bound to meet yourself coming and going . . .
Stop here! This is somewhere, anywhere that may be,
And not nowhere; why tear yourself in two
Because you can no longer bear the burden?
There is bound to be a better way this day, some say;
Stay for awhile and rest in nest of cloak and grass . . .
Let some time pass in peace and the war inside cease,
Then look for the narrow road less traveled
By the brook of clear water always running near,
So dear to the pilgrim in thick forest of tangled wood;
See out from under your hood the way up and out
And sooner than later you will shout in daylight
Upon plains lush and bright at the sight of which
You will dance and prance like newborn fawn
In the rising dawn far away from well-worn path
Where heart was torn by soul-born grief . . . Relief!

There Is Something Going On

There is something going on beneath the surface,
Something of purpose that escapes the naked eye;
There is an unseen profundity in life all around me;
Even though I cannot see, I can sense the degree
Of complexity and the intricacy and even intensity
Of machinations in which I have only my station;
Life is far more than we can know
And life never shows itself in full,
(which may be why I’m like a bull in a china shop!)
And this can seem cruel but, alas, tis really a mercy;
But how odd it does feel to feel intense movement
All around you, knowing but not knowing, bound
To affect your life in some way some unwary day;
Yes there is surely something going on underneath
Still in its sheath, perhaps, but there and I’m aware
I’m aware . . .

Wisdom: Lachrymose at the Kiosk of Life

How can you help but be lachrymose at the kiosk of life?
You peer into the lacunae of the souls of those who buy
Without even knowing why and you try to explain in vain,
But every person bears some irremovable stain of heart
That you yourself cannot even begin to clean
Because to that one the spot remains unseen!
And who’s to blame for such shame when what you offer
You offer for free to any person who might see the value
Of your gift to lift them out of folly and absolute despair?
Yes, your gift would repair their sickly minds and souls;
Instead, you’re left weeping, keeping your gift in hand –
Lachrymose at the kiosk of life . . . you cry as you try . . .

Underside: Another Look at Peace

Peace comes at an awfully high premium
But the stadium is filled with customers
And the very effort can crack the cranium

Peace is allusive and illusive . . .
Some would say even delusive
And the fight for peace abusive

Peace, you see, is often individual perception
Or group conception that allows no exception
And arises from an apperception that chokes
Off the inception of any ideas however ideal

Peace may even be a double-edged sword
Read ‘n available on the diplomatic board
To slice both ways at the roll of the dice
Making men into mice not so really nice

And peace at any cost means freedom lost
So frost covers agreements never ratified
In this variegated, stratified world of ours
For, after all, it’s much easier to make war

And sometimes peace can be a prostitute
Quite astute in her charmed dealings
Creating piercing ‘n poignant feelings
While blood is spilled, more coffins filled

Peace, you say? Whose peace?
And how reads the high lease
To make all wars finally cease?

No, peace begins within where we are able,
Not at the negotiating table of fancy fables

Think of this as people cry, ‘Peace! Peace!’
Release idyllic visions
And begin with the better part of the heart
Saturated in genuine love from up above . . .

Note: This poem was indirectly inspired by my friend and fellow-blogger, Sheldon Kleeman