The Author's Voice May 2011

The month of May is a tough one for me, perhaps that is why I wait until the very last day to write.  This month is a fresh reminder of grief.  A few years ago I lost a very dear friend to a mysterious and sudden illness in May.  And recently a friend of mine lost her son, a young boy, a soldier in the war in Afghanistan and Iraq.  Then just a few weeks ago another friend lost her husband of 45 years, within a few weeks of illness, he was gone.  So this month has definitely been a reminder of reflection and the painful reality of mortality.  With that being said I am very aware that life is meant to be lived and lived abundantly!  But I must indeed admit that I am thankful to be heading toward the month of June.... Peace to all you bloggers who continue to follow faithfully.  You bring great joy! 

Lorely

(In loving memory of Debbi Tepper, Joey Dimock and the soldiers of 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, U.S. Army, and Joe Watts, R.I.P.)

World Peace

Across the universe

Poets and seers have expressed

The vision

The ideal

To have peace

And happiness

Interlocking hands

Singing "kum ba yah"

Nations  of the people

Voluntarily cooperate

Against warfare, selfishness

And greed

A cessation of hostility

What's mine is yours

Brother and sister

Vibrations of mankind

Using energetic active words

To heal transform

And empower

The course

Of planetary destiny

The human heart

Embracing oneness

An all inclusive message

Fighting the winds of despair

Blowing from every direction

Ending strife convulsions

And chaos

Dawning a social evolution

The planet

Of sacred books

Hold the promise.

Rapture

Enraptured by the lack of rapture

A rape upon the rapids

Of astonished beliefs

My ravished body fills with delight

Living each day as if last

Not snatched or grasped

Or clasped upon

A few more years to gather

To capture what belongs

Itching ears want to hear

The kingdom is near

Doctrines of the spirit

Discern the truth

Empowering each

With  different

Interpretations

Now seeing through

The mirror darkly

Cognitive dissonance

A  gift of learning.

Ambiguity

Confusing at best

A plate of food

A drink of water should

Be the crux of salvation

And emphasis.

Not the waiting

Upon counting ducks in a row

Never ready

Always Willing

And

Anticipating

Impermanence

Restless futility stirs within

A numbing pain seers my spirit

As the reminder of mortality awaits

Seizing opportunity of a fair skinned beauty

An innocent one, so sincere, so steadfast and strong.

Yet even the fairest and strongest can stumble across fate’s doorstep of the much needed rest of which stress remains hidden.

A strange world for her, yet so familiar…as if yesterday.

The monotone of the machines, patients crying out.

Sympathetic grins of the staff.

Resilient and apathetic.

The droning days pass.

One caressing another.

For breath to return, the willing.

Bring back to surface.

Reclaiming what has been broken.


(In honor of my dear friend Debbi...rest well fair maiden...)

Milestones

With royal pomp and ceremony

Events mark our lives.

Sometimes with shock and awe

As if a theatrical trick is exposed.

Others are more quiet.

A holy and instantaneous

Awakening of solitude.

Unpredictable moments

Such as a first-born child

We are cut to the heart.

A graduation

Or  the finality of passing.

Bittersweet

Life,  like an ever-flowing stream

Bears all its children away.

Current by current.

Deeper truths and trappings are pulled back.

A power beyond our own

The light that never fails

Is stirring the pot.

A time to turn

To reflect upon the hope filled sanctities.

When there is a break-through.

Only by our own twitching of the hand  

Will our lives become mussed

We can't change the past

Nor can we let its pungent stamp

Define us.

A lurch of the heart

Quickens

Compelling

Drawing us forward

To no return.

Even at our bleakest

The need to praise

To stand amazed

At all there ever was

And ever will be.

Parables

I want to believe

In these cherubims

The silver-tongued

Passionate and  annointed

Spiritual truths

From the ages

Riddling the pieces.

Parabolic simplistic synagogues

Disturbing and trapping the forbidden.

Uttering and revealing what is hidden

A revelation of things past

That which does not make sense

To the blind

The ones who will not go after,

Atrophied and stagnant.

Requiring thought and study

To the light of decision.

Its kingdom cannot be understood

Outside the perimeter

Of the fortressed walls.

Though daunting they do not see

Spoon-fed and lurking

By the calloused doors.

Healing will come

To those

Who are deliberately moved

Not by force

But by choice

To the answers

Of the labyrinth.

Seek ye first

And puzzle out

For yourselves

The clarity

And simplicity.

Hinge of the focused heart

Working and stirring

A change.

Tough and digging

Calling us to question

The Love

Of the Father's  Cloak.

Duty Calls

No rest for the weary

An ever increasing awareness of time

And the responsibilities scattered about

Shattered, frazzled, dazzling with my whims

Sharing smiles, concealing frowns

Whilst within, parts exhausted and worn

Yet pressing on for the call, the cause.

Willing to embrace a cry

“My cup runneth over”

Flowing into the confines, the mounds that surround

Never surmounting to the fears

Reaching out to touch, to extend,

To mend the Love

A decision, an act of will. 

(In honor of all mothers and those who have mothers...-previously posted-Lorely)

NAMASTE AND VENGEANCE

How quickly we forget

That "DING DONG THE WICKED WITCH IS DEAD!"

Sauntering clumsily back into our lives

With embellishment and fluidity.

The stinging of the desert sands

And the scorching of the obscured veiled eyes

Flailing the sandstorm into submission

A sanctimonious manhunt

Narrowed by the years

What have we learned about VENGEANCE?

Is it mine?

The teacher proclaims "namaste,"

Rolling up her mat.

Will there be a NAMASTE?

A day of devotion and reverential salutation,

Or will we devour the pious with our own grim servitude

And allegiance?

Taking up our mats

Will we follow?

Are the twofold turrets forgotten?

Another blip on the screen of radar

Crumbling in the dust.

The ashes and soot of tears

And fears.

The onlookers viewing their demise

Each step carefully orchestrated

With precision and grace.

Concealing their grins

By a shroud.

Hunger

Scratching for food

As the dark battle of death

Long as the evening shadow

Approaches

Ears are open

While lips are pursed

Miscarried wealth and happiness

Lie in obliteration and despair

The same fate awaits us

Under the sun

Branding each of our skins

Righteous or unrighteous

Poor or rich

We are cursed

Without a covenant

Following rash promises

And restless dreams

To no avail...

(All people spend their lives scratching for food

but they never seem to have enough-Ecclesiastes 6:7)