Tag Archive: poem


Mess

 

Mess

Get up, look back, a beautiful mess

Non better then an unmade bed

Thoughts of who took off that dress

When worries left my head

Rapt in the unkept

Room for discord

Such a joy

Extol

Love

String

String

 I found a string this morning

Amidst the leaves

Near a bench

The air had that morning scent

A scent of autumn

A scent of stars

I walked to pick it up

Crunching leaves with every step

My scarf secures me with warmth

I squeeze the string

Longing to find you on the other end

Equals Two

Equals Two

One plus one equals two

Pi

Physics

E = MC²

Calculus

Is God in math?

Everything we know about the universe

Is explained through equations

is math = to god?

Are numbers, gods gift to help us understand?

What a wonderful thought

Gods language expressed in equations.

In the beginning there was an equation

And all became known

Gravity follows an equation

What goes up math brings down

Equations determine the destiny of our universe

Determines you

You are here

Brouwer fixed point theorem

Essence of life explained with numbers

What numbers await you?

Could the big bang be one exploding equation?

A universe of math

You and I have been given

A portal to the mystery

One plus one equals you²

Dream

Dream

We laid in bed

Our hands in a clasp

I drifted into sleep

Holding on to my dream

—-

Sentinel

Sentinel

Raindrops fall as if pint sized parachutes

Feet invade a lush universe

Beyond the stone wall (acting as the sentinel)

Sculptured with imagination

Moss sparkles with essence

Glows green as if plugged in

This carpet

So green

So moist

So cool

Masquerades my path in a hush

Twigs squint as I walk by

Raindrops gently bow my head

I’m humbled by this beauty

Aware am I, that this

This moment

Belongs to me

Absorbing this

Is life at its fullest

I thank the sentinel

A shepherd of this beauty

A Face

A Face

There is a face etched in my mind

A face ever so kind

I spotted that face visiting my hometown

A face I have known for so long

Loving and gentle as a beautiful song

A moment in time oh so strong

Half a century passed like the mist of a white gown

I knew that smile, a circle came around

Now An old lady, still in my hometown

Same house

Same furniture

Pictures of her husband, long gone

Pictures of her children

Dusty

Cracked

Brown

Each picture reflects a life aging

Each picture reflects a love raging

Each picture reflects a moment in time

As a child we left with anxiety

Immigrated to a land across the sea.

Now, I’m still moved by her ageless face of love,

As She poured a cup of tea

with a symbol of a dove

She died soon after

But here is my thought

She left a legacy with just her smile

Her touch

Her love

 Her care

How will we present the face we share

In 50 years will someone care

?

A Reason for the Season

A Reason for the Season

The holiday season is unique

Lively living with lights and laughter

Much to do about giving and love

I must add for me it’s a banquet of life

A celebration of family and friends

Even strangers become a delight

Memories are also part of this meal

Favorite gifts are ones not bought

Childhood thoughts are like dessert

sweet and sprinkled with melancholy

Things are missed this time of year

Wishing lost loved ones where once again here

Also missed is someone once held dear

Someone I talked to through out the year

For you see this season there is no Christ

Only stories and fables created by a few

He can not hear those sitting in a pew

We alone create this season of love

This helps me understand

A reason for the season

So be of good cheer

It’s amazing what stardust has made

In billions of years

Oma

Oma

My grandmother died of pneumonia.

In nineteen fifty three

I was seven

I hardly remember her.

So long ago

yet

I still feel her love.

Victor Jara

Untittled by Lilly Fenichel

Victor Jara

Positioned in front of an abstract.

An empty museum full of artists.

The treasure  before me has a story.

The abstract lines ask me,

ask me, for interpretation.

Soiled yellow covers the canvas.

Lines and spatters of black.

Gobs of paint still sit where the artist placed them.

Rifts of red like flashing lights of lunacy.

Disturbing wretchedness gallops at me.

 

The young man who created this is gone.

Now I stand where he stood.

I am in the place where he held a brush and made a touch.

In a past decade, these oils developed a declaration.

Abstract forms are revealing a struggle.

I sense tears dripping on the painters palette.

Fear jerks my hand, I want to escape.

 

The decade of the 60’s was not all love and not all free.

That decade gave us 10 years of

– war, a senseless one.

10 years of

– American leaders gunned  down.

10 years of

– so many deaths of our own black kin.

10 years of

– cities burning with bomb shelters to hide from our own man made sins.

 

How can abstract lines relay thought, struggle and pain?

I am aware of the artist’s arousing aversion.

It was just those emotions that guided his brush.

The yellow of war

The black of death and despair

The red, a call for all to react.

 

The canvas now shows a torso – mutilated by minds of madness.

Reminding us of  Victor Jara

Singing his song with shattered hands and splintered ribs.

Murdered by his own government, let me add, all supported by the CIA.

His death now in full display through other onus hands holding a brush

This colorful canvas coaxes us to continue.

 

Broken guitar strings make an appearance.

Twisted and curled incapable of producing sound.

Phil Ochs, like other troubadours, also silenced, his songs no longer sought to be sung.

Prophets of the present world show deeds that are a nations weeds.

 

Yes this display is a declaration of danger,

in company with other conceptions of art.

If you stand up for your conscience then beware.

Entire governments may be mobilized.

Your body and mind broken beyond repair

 

I touch the painting trembling as I sense the past

The rough rope reeks around my neck – this is how the artist left his spot in life.

My feet sense the floor but that painting has no door.

I understand why his tears wet my soul.

He was trapped in his term of truth.

Artists today exude similar emotions.

Emotions we all live with in our moment in time. 1

Trenches of Truth

Trenches of truth

Moonlight softens my face

Reflecting in a puddle of tears

Touching trembling trees

I ramble, not alone, in a forest, now ravaged.

Searching for a trench of truth

Where are the scouts to lead us

The rivers of righteousness are lost

The Potomac is poisoned

Once it nurtured a great forest

Now moonlight exposes greed, destruction and despair.

Occupy the forests, stake your tents, replace the stewards of our trees

Cleanse the Potomac

Let it once again baptize.

.