Imitation

fall reflection

 

You are the gold

and I the reflection;

I am the copy,

You, its perfection.

If I can but mimic

Your brilliance and hue,

Impressionist painting

could point hearts to You.

Lift

canopy

 

Unless I lift my lowered gaze,

I’ll miss the Beauty in my days -

Remain attached to lowly sod,

Where lowly caterpillars plod.

But if I lift my thoughts above,

Forever seek the path of love,

My heart will rise on golden wings,

Accomplishing much brighter things.

The Road Not Taken

road less taken

 

I stopped today beside the road

that I had never taken;

I gazed along those verdant slopes

at what I had forsaken.

My broken spots pulled hard toward

‘what ifs’ and ‘might have beens’ -

My heart was caught and hung upon

the fence where doubt begins.

I cannot walk along that path,

my choices barred its entry;

I’ll never know its final trail,

so Grace will be its sentry.

Thoughts Are Clouds

summer sky

Thoughts are clouds on canvas sky -

Some go idly drifting by,

Moved by whim or circumstance,

Shaped as concepts meet by chance.

Others draw conclusions there,

Intention giving studied air -

Captured by the artist’s mind,

Reflection paints each view refined.

Lest your work of art be marred

By thunder-heads, be on your guard;

Better than the stormy strokes

Are lovely thoughts that hope evokes.

In the Garden

Prairie blue eyes HDR

 

Hatred breeds where darkness obscures

the beauty attached to cells

which split and divide with remarkable similarity;

every heart bleeds blood.

Every soul’s veins mark its skin in tattoos inked with life.

To decide that one of the Earth’s peoples should be obliterated

is to nominate one flower for destruction.

Would you choose the rose? Or the sweet pea?

Which deserves death?

What reasons could justify the removal

of one shade in the spectrum,

 pure Light knit whole?

Colours, textures, scents, flavours -

the loss of but one is to deny the rainbow its arc,

the garden its splendour.

What great catastrophe will be required to cut away the cataracts

 that blind us to our collective dignity?

*

My heart is heavy as I consider some of the newsfeed I have read this morning. Will we never learn that hatred is ugly? That violence is evil? That each of us has a place in the Global Garden? What legacy will we leave to our children if we cannot learn to love our neighbours?

The Mark

broken

 

Scarred.

Withered,

defective,

broken, battered -

but boldly blooming.

Consider each fracture

proof you are alive;

count each blossom

audacious

beauty

mark.