A Poem

Daddy is doing breakfast this morning….

So Mama can have a minute to post and ponder before the day takes off and hits cruising.

I haven’t felt particularly well lately. Something viral that’s hopefully making its way out of my nodes and systems.

It has caused considerable exhaustion….so yesterday, the Mama who never naps…. found herself napping midday.

Not being able to fight through it further, succumbing to the pillow and shut eye – I woke up somewhat refreshed.

And inspired.

After resting, waking, and reading this post….I picked up the pen and a poem inked out.

Just like that.

Crazy what can come from a little rest and reading.

It’s also wise to note what can ooze out of a heart – when it’s had a steady diet of good wording.

I’ve been taking in poems lately, chewing and ingesting morsels of carefully laced messages.

What’s been going in, is now coming out, apparently.

Also, when a writer reads… sees…hears about some wild devastation, or some brilliant joy, or some hysterical event – words of some sort should follow…

Letting the world know all about the sorrow, or happiness, or whim…. discovered.

This poem…. reads like a rap.

Not sure how that happened.

It just flowed that way.

It’s been a while since I’ve tried my hand at poem assembly.

And I’ve always been blissfully unaware of the proper mechanics in doing such things.

This might change, but as for now….you’ll have to make do with what some may consider a rusty read.

It’s a vulnerable thing to offer it up and out here, but I have to start the brave sharing at some point

Woes and Words

I don’t understand the contrast
It’s vast
And time I advocate through pen, at last.

Atrocities I haven’t truly seen
So mean
Bodies of babes ill and filthy lean

My heart follows what I’m hearing
So jeering
These images of suffering and sick fearing

I’m here in my home in leisure
Abundant measure
All around, in every corner, pleasure after pleasure.

And they, in mire and muck and madness
Such sadness
Each bend, null and void of all gladness

I can’t comprehend why I’m here
They’re there
None of it seeming just,right,fit,or fair

Oh God, what am I to do?
To woo?
What can my pen and page cue for You?

I know your power pulses ink
Just think!
The change that could occur, if evil thinking would shrink

We have to put the stench before people
And steeple
To be a megaphone for the crying and crippled

Words have this punch, this potential
Wherewithal
An ability to awaken the instrumental

They can bring before us fact and foe
We know
History’s writers and abolitionist still glow
 
Their efforts still mightily posses
And caress 
And arouse us all to the deepening abyss

So I pass my thoughts here on paper
Dear Maker!
Move, cajole, convince the world, save her.

 
 
May your Memorial Day weekend be bright, revealing, restful, moving, and inspired, friends.

 

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