Strengths

 

Compassion is not weakness.

It is a strength.

Empathy is not weakness.

It is a strength.

Sympathy is not weakness.

It is a strength.

 

So, it is my only guess,

that those who fear

our strength,

your strength,

are making rules,

to save themselves;

 

From the cascading

torrents of the emotional

complexities of being a

genuine human-being, that are

about to be wrought upon

them. In waves of dissention

and objective derision.

 

A call to action,

not to arms,

a call to our strengths,

and willingness to feel

and see the world through

the eyes of others, others

not as fortunate or lucky.

 

Action through choice,

action through serious consideration

and recognition that every action

bears consequences, seen and unforeseen,

yet we must continue the struggle

against those that view our strengths

as weaknesses.

 

We, through these strengths,

can create, build and advance;

pushing the potential of our

progress with muscled shoulders,

that have borne the weight of

history; our words commanding,

“No more falling backwards.

We.

Push.

Forward.”

For The Birds

 

I interrupted their meeting

it would seem,

as I stepped out onto my

back porch to enjoy the Summer

breezes, the congregation

of birds and bugs and squirrel’s,

that had gathered together,

made a hasty break-up of their

crowd.

 

“I’m sorry,” I said as the birds

took to the air, the squirrels,

jumped and bounded across

the chain link fence, and the bugs,

well, the bugs were playing it cool

and just nonchalantly buzzing in

lazy whizzing cyclones.

“Really, my fault,” I apologized, without

letting on about my curiosity.

 

What was this meeting all about?

I wondered.

I took the few porch steps down into

my yard and looked at the ground

where this meeting was being held

but there were no traces of any meeting

notes or half eaten bagels, no cupcakes

or “Happy Birthday Gary” card.

Nothing but dirt.

 

The birds continued their aeronautical

dalliances, as the squirrel’s moved on to

the telephone pole and the wires, swiftly

scurrying out of sight, the bugs…, just didn’t

care and kept swirling like drunks at a

kegger, staggering around,

circling without knowing why,

but instinctively drawn to it.  

Yet, it was all suspicious.

 

The animal meeting remains a mystery to me

as I found no evidence of plots to take over,

no secret portfolios detailing the animal plans

for their solution to the human problem;

they’re tricky, those birds, and squirrels, and

bugs. Scheming and plotting their revenge,

I know it. I’ll keep watching.

Maybe they know.

Let's Talk About Rainbows

 

Let’s talk about Rainbows,

those colorful bastards in

the sky, and why we love

them so very much.

How breathless they leave us

as we look up at them with awe.

 

To begin, it’s all about light.

Light that we perceive with

our super cool human eyes,

a rainbow is sunlight spread out

into its spectrum of colors and

diverted to the eye of the observer

by water droplets.

 

But the original source is sunlight,

coming from our near-by star,

a single source of light, broken up

into its components that our eyes

interpret as a rainbow.

All from that one light source drifting

ninety-three million miles away.

 

The building blocks of life,

sunlight and water,

working in union to create

disunion of photons into

their visible wave patterns,

or simply, their colors.

 

Each band of color is light

refracted and reflected from

different raindrops, viewed at

different angles.  

As a whole, it is a majestic miracle

of nature on display. One we accept

without remorse or judgment.

 

It is apt then, that the Rainbow

is the perfect symbol for us.

For human beings.

One being, from many parts, creating

something beautiful,

reminding us of ourselves, of humanity and

of our fragility and frailty.

 

We’re all rainbows really.

Just as colorful and diverse

as any skyward display.

Complex and simple,

joined in perception

without preconception.

 

Light and water,

painted with experience,

tinged with nostalgia,

raining together,

a showcase of what we can be;

incredible,

amazing,

gorgeous and awe inspiring.

 

If we want to be.  

 

 

 

 

Information on Rainbows: https://www.eo.ucar.edu/rainbows/

 

Uncommonly Common

 

Common Sense now seems

wildly uncommon.

And what was common sense

300 years ago, is clearly nonsense

now.

 

We know now that germs

and bacteria cause

disease and illnesses.

Unless you’re some sort of

anti-vaxxer who still thinks

the power of prayer will keep you

safe from the viruses that God created to kill you.  

Then stop reading here. Sheesh.

 

In the past, the idea of bacteria or viruses

would have been treated as complete hogwash.

Our ancestors might have said

fairies and curses from old

Gypsy women caused illness and disease.

Or your blood isn’t the right humor,

and that you needed a bleeding.

 

We go kicking and screaming

into the future, as if being pulled

by our hair, while similarly grasping

onto the antiquated ideas of morality

or medicine, politics or the “American Way”,

with an icy death grip.

 

I admit, I am stubborn to embrace

the “new thing” sometimes.

It scares me every once in a while

to let go of my comfortable

conceptions about the world, people

and places.

 

Yet I believe in common sense,

and common sense is based on what

we should know now, not what we knew

300 or even 40 years ago.

So, if the new common sense is a little

different, so be it.

 

As long as the sense is indeed common,

I suppose.

But then…, I was cursed…,

by a witch.

Don't Ask

 

“Hey buddy,

you haven’t written anything

in a while.”

 

Yeah,

I’m worn out it seems,

world weary.

 

“But there’s so much

about the world to

write about.”

 

Shut up.

 

“Damn,

sorry.

Just thought you could use some encouragement.”

 

Sit on it,

Potsy.

 

“Hey, no need to get

personal.”

 

You want a poem?

I’ll tell you a tale

of a young male,

who asked for words to no avail,

he pouted and shouted and continued to wail,

till he got his way and became the butt of this tale.

 

“Well… then…

I really don’t like what you write anyway.

In fact, I think it sucks.”

 

Cool.

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Your Square

 

Turning over in your hands,

inspecting each side,

tracing a finger along the edges,

feeling the weight as you lift it,

the smoothness of the surface,

the roughness of the corners,

your square.

 

A square perhaps,

empty for now,

to be filled with the

suspense of not knowing

what will eventually reside

inside.

The anticipation of storage.

 

The materials,

velveted, tufted,

satiny, silky, all present

in the square, which you

still turn over in your mind,

re-examining the memories

of your examination.

 

This cube,

or box,

could have any number of

dreams or desires,

neatly packed away and placed

on a shelf in some other

square you call home.

 

On a block,

on a grid,

all squared away in multiple

squares, squirrelled away,

in neat stacks of squares,

which had been turned and

inspected by the hands of so many.

 

Tucked away,

is the square,

safe from other squares,

who squarely disagree with

what is in your square,

but it’s your square and what’s

in there was done so with care.