Sparked by Words

Archive for the ‘Just a Thought’ Category

Trespass

The soles of my feet, my bared knees and forehead

Bend to the earth as do the strands of my hair

Trailing over my cheeks

 

The one good thing about being brought so low

Is not my humility, proofed by drops of my blood

Pooling in the dirt

 

But that I am left only one direction for movement

May the One Who abides in the High Heavens

Help me to rise

 

If I am unseen, ignored, or even abandoned

Perhaps I will be lifted by atonement of my sins

The flood of my tears

 

Sighted by bugs and spiders in their native land

No others will witness my remorse or their toil

More holy than mine

 

Just a thought 77

 

Painting Africa Landscape courtesy Pixabay

 

 

 

 

Morning Blooms

Morning blooms a fervid pledge

The horizon and the stars, yet

From every next morning crawls

A battered promise cobbled

From the previous morning’s rubble

 

All future in a bud or the wind

Rinds of melon, a wilted rose

Only one petal removed

The elegant equation of

Despair and a child’s hope

 

Blossoms cast on the ground

An apple clenched in one’s fist

The breeze murmured in hair

A nimbus cloud damp against lips

Water casting pearls upon cheeks

 

Chants twine around two wrists

Lightning cradles two heartbeats

The bright promise of morning

Forgets yesterday’s heartache

And wakes the sleeper

 

Pause by the moaning trees

Crouch on salt flats

Pad into the wilderness

Rush toward tomorrow

For dreams of horizon and stars

 

 

Just  a thought 76

 

 

Painting Olivenheim, by Vincent Van Gogh, 1889, courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

Slippage

 

What slips from my pen is thoughtful, measured

What slips from my mouth – too often damned vile

 

Words scattered like seeds borne on wind

Feathers from the pillow

Oil from the jar

 

The pain in your eyes

The hurt on your face

 

If only I could redact half of what I say

Even then the world would still be too

Full of loathsome remark

 

The counterweight to an evil tongue is not apology

But silence before speaking

 

Here I offer my best effort

Nothing

Please accept my measured words

 

 

Just a thought 75

 

Photograph courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Employment Opportunity

Doughy, dumpy, and droopy but dauntless and otherwise technically inept woman seeks readers willing to look beyond her physical features and miserable mechanical skills to read her words.

 

Are you willing to consider the qualities that make you look beyond surface rubble for the luminous interior?

 

Apply within your own counsel.

 

 

Just a Thought 74

 

 

Painting Old Woman Reading by Yehuda Pen courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Down the Stairs

 

“Yes, I pushed him down the stairs

But he’s the one who fell.”

Not a valid defense for violence.

Doesn’t turn a terrorist into a freedom fighter.

Won’t create justice for the wrongfully accused.

Can’t replace lies with an ethical mission.

Won’t douse fire once ignited

Or salvage what’s been destroyed.

Not a reason to hold hostage the innocent.

Does not showcase nefarious behavior as decency.

Won’t grant a medal for heroism

Or a trophy for humanitarianism.

Unconvincing as policy for disguising acts

Of bigotry, racism, misogyny, deceit, or hatred.

Address God in any and every language,

It doesn’t make an evil deed holy.

And it sure as hell isn’t a mandate for peace.

Only cowards push and blame.

 

 

Just a Thought 73

 

Painting Steps in Algiers by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

Popcorn Bowl

I filled the dog’s water bowl with my popcorn.

She won’t drink water from anything but my popcorn bowl and I’ve grown weary of arguing in barks and growls.

The popcorn tastes of salt. I can’t be sure if it’s the spice of the bowl, the popcorn, or my tears.

 

Just a thought 72

 

Popcorn image courtesy of Max Pixel

 

Struggles on the Ground

No matter the struggles on the ground

The fire or earthquake or flood or revolution

You still awake to the baby’s cries and rush

To quiet her, diaper her, lift her to your breast

 

Rain descends, rivers run to oceans, wind rises

Dust settles on the white linens, grit mars the table

Boys and girls beg for a story and pencils

Babies turn in the womb, mouths reach for a kiss

 

No matter how weary your back bent to task

Your spirit slashed by fever, worry, conflict

The electric bill must be paid, bread bought

The children need breakfast before school

 

Surgeons raise their knives over ill flesh and cut

Farmers plough fields and force seeds into earth

Fishermen drop nets so deep in the sea they vanish

Some get well, some harvest, some eat, some drown

 

No matter the guns in the street, rockets overhead

The body bows to its insistent daily needs

Before you stand, work, march, weep, shout, fall

You must park outhouses along the battlefield

 

An old woman reads documents and diaries

An old man sorts certificates and photographs

They write their letters to their grandchildren

Wishing them fewer struggles on the ground

 

Just a thought 71

 

Homeward, painted 1881, Georges Inness, courtesy Wikimedia Commons