They raise their hands, beautiful hands, Hands that have known labor, have kneaded, Have created, have loved and been loved. Praying to the creator, a creator, Mother Nature, "End the storms. Save our brethren." And the clouds tower above them like city towers. From plenty, they sense the devastation, the need. Politicians storm the fortresses for a picture. They shout, "We are here with your relief." Paper towels tossed into a crowd who wish for Water, food, medicine, jobs, homes. The cleanup has begun, with a single roll of paper. Beautiful minds are shocked at the blatant Lack of care. The victims are brown, black, and white. They are a colorful mosaic, whirled and swirled by wind. Voices come through the air, the web, the functions of of which convey disbelief, horror, future action. But for luck, there walk we in similar straits. Caring is call to action. Share, share alike, give. From coast to island to coast the storms remain. You only have a short time to build. Build. A legacy is formed by the footsteps you leave. I step in my ancestors steps. "Here is a broom, I will sweep. A mop, I will scrub. Soap to wash.. The bitter taste of anguish, in the mouths. Eyes that Pierce though miles away. Stories that will be told to Grandchildren, of the great storm, of a roll of paper tossed.
Gold is fleeting, illusionary.
Her arms outstretched, calling, beckoning,
Much is done in her name.
Charity, War. She brings them forth,
Wings of illusion power her flight,
Iron pyrite, ocean sunsets, rivers of gold,
Should she notice you, you would kneel.
Her lips burning you with passion.
The sun lays paths of golden splendor to bring
Inspiration. Her greatest gift is imagination, childhood dreams
Touch life, in a Chilean desert,
Where the sand is fine, rusty,
Pink with a sash of burgundy.
Feel life in a frozen apex above
An island of Canary, mountain high
As the ice covers and caresses.
Stroke the electric vibrations that
Emanate in mirrors, hiding the
Motion of nightlife, stirring it forward.
Pluck the purple passion found in
Tender petals. Surrounding you
Covering you with soft touches of pleasure.
Caress the swollen clouds that dangle
Teasingly just beyond reach. In the heavens,
Promising the cool breezes to passersby.
Manipulate the boulders, stacked by size
Treating the balance of gravity as
If the history of the world is on your back.
Trail your hands around the Austrian pattern
Swirling in a monastery as though
It was a moving footprint of a snail’s shell.
Splash against a sandy beach, scrubbing
The ocean’s waves. Feel the surging
Power that pulls away from your hands.
Touch a savage pattern, alkaline and dry,
Feel the salary of traditions old
A page of understanding that caresses as we learn.
I've walked them all, the roads, The paths, walking as they call out, "Here! Here I am!" And the twists and turns from civility To the brash encounters That leave you breathless And thinking. I've walked them all. The journey leads you to new Thoughts and actions, people, Dogs, the dogs are my favorite. They teach me to look with my ears, My nose, then my eyes. "Here!" they bark. "Here I am!" Tails wag and we part, friends. The cities bustle and blend themselves Into mirrors of bright reflection Of the life below the windows. The buses roar like dragons Belching out smoke, foul odors, And the bystanders standing On the curb shout, "Here! Here I am!" The bus lurches to a stop. "Here! Here I am. Now board and Use the windows to see what you miss When you don't walk." It snarls, winds its engine and dreams Of standing still in the tumultuous wind And listening to the roar. I stand alone on the bus stop, Indecisively making a decision To walk down the treed streets. Strong armed trees holding the last leaves Of fall. Autumn calls out, "Here you are. Look at me." And the beauty makes me weep. I am the bystander, taking the road. Calling my children to let them know To look on a map and see me. "Here! Here I am!" But invisible, They see only the marker of Where I have been. I can call, "Here! Here am I! See me!" They don't. I have a secret. A wood's walk, Where the king of the forest Strode into my path. "Make way. Make way. This is my path, My road. Here I am." And I see him, towering over me. I answer, "I am here, too."
There you stand, arms outstretched, Gathering the last sun of a season As the cold moves with infinite patience. The crystals of frost will soon haunt you. They spread from dawn to dusk, and infiltrate Your woods at night to decorate with lacy Precision, precision which creates chill and ice. But beneath the earth, you grow and shiver Living like ants on the stored food in your veins. Your tenants, the squirrels follow your lead and nap. Their nests decorating during the winter, A barren decoration, brown, gray, but hopeful. You create the roots of spring while waiting, While knitting through the winter months. Arms outstretched you gather the last rays, knitting, Before the sunset of autumn and the dawn of winter.
A Barcelona Child, while soccer was playing,
Did kick the ball to his old mother graying,
It bounced so hard,
It left the yard,
In the atmosphere weightless it is staying.
Funny, somedays you just need a good limerick or a bad one. I’m looking for the positive in my own world. I got to watch some young children playing soccer in the Old City of Barcelona, that fortress that is a bastion of museums and the baroque. No one seemed to mind that they were using the old wall for sport and I enjoyed watching them be happy kids.
The challenge: https://mindandlifemattersblog.com/2016/12/10/limerick-challenge-week-50-goals/
Better had you called her Mother, For mother she was before you stole Her every waking moment with your needs. She never minded the change that goes with: I need water, cookies, a story. I need soothing, aspirin, a cold pack. I have a broken dolly, truck, fix it, Someone hurt me, pushed me, my knee... My broken heart, my bank balance. My lost friend, my best friend gone, I'm alone. You were never alone, not you. She hovered over you even when you refused to see. Still she held you and gave you worth, forgiveness. Counsel given you, and some of hers from a lengthy speech You remember. You lust for more, but lack the patience Of saints from world's dust covered and ash filled. Mother finds a way, always she finds a way. My friends have, my sister has, my brother took. Return it, all of it to her, give her the life That she thought she would have, but you changed. She gave her all away, every drop: tears, smiles, cries. Still she sets the table, waiting for a call, a note. Cooks for your empty spot, carefully decorated table, Leaves a napkin to blot your lips or brow, a post card. Folded on the table, she keeps her dreams for you, The funds she gathered in pennies, for ice cream, notebooks... She gave you her dreamscapes to bear with you, Lush beautiful realms of the mind. Freedom. In place of your sorrow, a breeze for gladness. She healed you, scolded you, taught you, Worked to learn the math both new and old, So you could explain the new world to her. Mother, better had you called her Mother, Before she was labeled Martyr, as willingly You took away her smiles of you, to leave her Eyes in tears and heart in two.
Relax, but be vigilant. This is warmth in the sun, Cool in the water, Danger in the depths. Your mother warned You about days like this. Where the happiness in your Heart reaches out to others. You can't resist this moment. Relax, but be vigilant, Life is happening.
Rainbows at sunset, roads to follow. Lined with flowers, cars and noise, In capitols, in the wild, in back, The alleyways, the secret ways, How do we know where to tread lightly? When should our feet pound the pavement And fight the oppression that takes The middle class and the poor from us? We celebrate the shiny, fountain sprinkling Water that gives us a drink of hope, Then take our place, eyes down Shuffling along as we try to Keep the noise down so the neighbors Don't complain. Is this the road of The future? I step outside and look up At the soaring bald eagles who were once Endangered. Their flyways are now healthier. Our roadways should be healthier, broader, Wiser, a step firm with resolve, a hand On the wheel, a place to arrive at. Soon.
Can I do without your call? Making arrangements to survive, To ignore the rest of strife, freely given. Can I do without your song? The snow arrived unasked, unsummoned, With the feeders empty and promises, also. Can I do without your cheer? Here in the gray land of between, Where the silver bells of registers Ring the advent of poverty, competition, Fool hardy expectations of man, not beast. Here I find you, still cheerful, still singing, Your small talons grasping at the dirt, Looking for that last pillbug, that last seed. Your flock only humors me, As the camera whirls, clicks, spits and spats, leaving talon prints as they settle for the night in snow. They wait, they linger until sure That the warmth of yesterday is gone And the time to fly free and warm has arrived. I cannot live without your song, Your calling out of peace and forgiveness All for the price of a seed or two. I cannot live without the holly trees, The magnolias that decorate with red seeds, The pines silent except between creaks of wind. I need your cheer of simplicity.