Tag Archives: poem
SoCS: A Mostly Hopeful Poem
Today’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “mostly/at least.” Use one, use ’em both, use ’em any way you’d like. Bonus points if they both appear in your post. Enjoy!“
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At least we still have trees.
Trees live and breathe in most countries, mostly.
At least there are still good people in the world.
Most people try to do the right thing, mostly.
At least the seasons continue to change.
You can tell the difference between winter and summer, mostly.
At least there is music to hear or make.
We can sing, hum, or feel the rhythm of drumbeats, mostly.
At least we can still agree on some things
when we put down our guard and look hard, mostly.
At least we can still have hope.
Hope lives in the songs of birds.
Hope lives in the laughter of children.
Hope lives in prayers and wishes.
Hope lives when we believe in hope. Mostly.
~~~
I’m almost finished reading Jane Goodall’s book about hope. It’s been interesting to learn more about her life and thoughts on hope. She’s clear that we still have a lot of work to do, and we need to get to it, or keep at it – working on our individual pieces of the puzzle to save life on earth.
…
Stream of Consciousness Saturday happens every Saturday, thanks to our persistent host, Linda Hill. For more streams and info, visit Linda’s blog by clicking HERE.
Completing Herself
She had always said,
“He does not complete me.”
With disdain, she said,
“He is not my better half
And I am not his.”
We are whole people.
But when, after two decades,
He up and left,
A gaping wound,
Invisible to the naked eye,
Left her vulnerable.
It would have been better
If the wound was visible,
Bandaged with a white flag.
She thought it was healing well,
But the wound festered.
She tried to fill the emptiness with
Anything that remotely resembled love,
And the wound became infected.
Finally, finally, she stopped trying to fill the wound
With a person who would never be enough.
She looked for herself in the woods.
She looked for herself in the water.
She looked in friendship,
Human and nonhuman furry friends.
She looked to God who opened her arms and held her close.
Finally, finally, she felt completed by all these things:
The constants that had always been there for her.
And the wound healed.
I’ve shared this photo of me before, but it fits so well today, I had to share it again. It was taken by my daughter about 15 years ago.
~~~
Today’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was:
…“comp.” Find a word that starts with or contains “comp” and use it in your post. Enjoy!
For more streams and SoCS rules, visit our host, Linda Hill, by clicking HERE.
A Quote from Maya Angelou’s “A Brave and Startling Truth”
“…Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines….”
Maya Angelou
This quote is from Dr. Maya Angelou’s powerful poem, “A Brave and Startling Truth.”
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.”
― Maya Angelou, A Brave and Startling Truth
One-Liner Wednesday and Just Jot it January are brought to us by Linda Hill.
For more one-liners and jottings, visit Linda’s post HERE.
Thursday Tree Love: Fringes for Earth Day and a Poem of Glad Awakening
Meet “Grancy Graybeard” also known as grandfather graybeard, granddaddy’s beard, old-man’s beard, snow flower tree or flowering ash, and Chionanthus virginicus. Botanists call it a fringe tree, and while I’m not technically a botanist, I’m going with that for now.
I discovered this tree with it’s delicate fringes and fragrance at Greenfield Lake Park on Saturday. What a delight to discover something new! The earth is always showing us new and wonderful things!
This poem was nearby in the fragrance garden:
Thursday Tree Love is hosted by Parul Thakur on the second and fourth Thursday of each month. Please join me in sending prayers to Parul’s home of India where the second pandemic wave is hitting hard.
For more Tree Love, visit:
For the Whales
Photo by Robert Pittman / NOAA
I submitted my poem “Take No More Prisoners” to this poetry festival/contest. I’m not sure how they select winners, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a look and see if you like it.
Thank you!
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2018/03/17/read-poetry-take-no-more-prisoners-by-joanne-macco/
Anything is Possible! 