Social Mediation - POEM of the MONTH!

Social Mediation

Social media, or mediation

Directed at polite deviation

And political variation

Middle-school humiliation

To limelight dissociation

Work-place nauseation

Choking family association

Without officiation

To habitual inebriation

Closet asphyxiation

Or dramatic retaliation 

Staging humiliation

Of self-worth depreciation

Can't find alleviation 

Internal appreciation 

Or planet evacuation 

A cry for reconciliation

Courageous initiation

And humble arbitration

Without abbreviation --

In need of social mediation

Since the day after creation

The Tavern - a short story

The Tavern

The piano played softly. Or the soft piano played a melody to smooth out the edges of another rough week. It had an empathetic touch. She never raised her drink to her lips due to the intoxication of song. Cradled by the booth in the back corner she exhaled a deep sigh, as she tried to avoid Monday. A single glass of a local red was a Friday night ritual. But for now, contentment was beyond the grape as a crescendo built up by masterful fingers on keys of black and white.

The beast crouched outside in the dank and dark alley. Its claws grasped fear of tomorrow.

The candles brightened smiles. Or bright smiles reflected off the twenty-one candles. But the wax dripped into the cake like the tears of the birthday girl soaked into her heart. A private party of only two in the reserved back room was spotted with a mix of joy and sorrow as was painted on the face of her eldest sister. The pendulum on the clock down the hall stirred the present moment, and at the same time the grief of yesterday. They forced smiles and fought to celebrate the momentous occasion.

The beast ogled through the frosted window with eyes of red. Raised above its scarred head was anger against loss.

The bent ear heard all. Or the ear of his long-time friend was bent around the corner of the bar -- and listened. Buddies since high school. They were parked on adjacent stools for hours over a couple of pints. One soaked it all in, while the other's blood boiled. One glass was half full, while the other was half empty as he voiced his displeasure of being a useless tool. The spirit of the latter was filled by the dedication of the former. Yet, something lurked in the recesses of his mind.

The beast cracked the heavy wood door open as one foot hovered over the threshold. Hidden behind its back was hatred toward another.

While others danced their troubles into the hardwood floor, the beast charged in as it splintered the door frame. Shards of indifference pierced the ceiling and walls as a dark veil cast shadows of doubt into the minds of the patrons. Under attack, their route of escape was blocked. It smacked fear at anyone who would succumb to it. It hammered down a steady rage of anger. And from its hidden place, it swung hatred in a berserk frenzy. It preyed on their happiness.

The patrons gazed at one another, stunned by the evasion. Or it was an invasion into their refuge. A few begun to shiver and shrink into the shadow. But courage thrived in certain pockets of the tavern. Their strength came not from the spirits displayed behind the bar. Something greater than a strong proof proved a finer flavour. Out from the walls of social exclusion, there arose quality in character. Enough suffered! The fearful woman came to the aide of the birthday girl challenged with anger, while the man tempted by hate turned toward love. In turn, he offered to lighten the burden of anyone who faltered. And they all faced the beast together. For three are stronger than one, or two. And the beast faded into it own shadow until it left the tavern.

~

“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” – Ecclesiastes 4:12

~

Also published on Synchronized Chaos, July, 15 2024.

Fresh Bones - POEM of the MONTH!

Fresh Bones

Born to lose
To the crafty hands of Time
As fresh bones ...
Fresh bones
Recount the futile attempt 
To win the battle against flesh
And blood ...
Now the energy 
Of what once mattered
Is absorbed by worms
Picked to the bone

Nothing matters
In the dust of stars
Only the warning 
Of fresh bones:
Heroic deeds
Of flesh and bone
Ultimately result in loss
But not if you lose your life
For the One who breathed
Life into your bones –
Instead of trying to win it!

~

"'Meaningless! Meaningless!'
says the Teacher.
'Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.'" 
What do people gain from all their labors 
at which they toil under the sun?"
- Ecclesiastes 1:1-3

"For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, 
but whoever loses their life for [Jesus] will find it. 
What good will it be for someone to gain the whole 
world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give 
in exchange for their soul."
- Matthew 16: 25-26

(If using a phone to read this poem, turn your phone sideways for the best view of this post.)

Surfing on an Atomic Bomb - POEM of the MONTH!

Surfing on an Atomic Bomb

While surfing on an atomic bomb

"Dr. Strangelove or:
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)"
by twm1340 is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Dad sipped gasoline in a honking line,
With waves of heat several blocks long,
Tempers soared, but we kids were fine;
Hell! We were promised flying cars
Despite Martians eating our guitars.

Prom queens with feathers took flight
As we soared to the highest volume,
In a world decreasingly black and white
And a color TV in every living room,
But we totally knew who our enemy was
As we fought the political Santa Claus.

While Mother Russia ate her own
And answered to our Olympic boycott
We fought to avoid a bogus chaperone
To drive Route 66 for the best snapshot;
For we had dreams of skipping midterms,
Then felt like a truck stop meal for worms.

We dropped F-bombs in detention,
A fragile club for the misfit elite;
We danced to beat out any tension,
For our music would never be obsolete;
These waves pounded the golden beach
Like we always had something to teach.

For the holes in our jeans were natural
And the mousse a permanent fixture;
Like the endless Cold War was surreal,
Games played on the almighty computer;
But at least M*A*S*H was on syndication
As history became a comedic distraction.

We need a convertible Bug on half-throttle
And not another colorful flag unfurled!
Drop these singular words in a bottle
Because one second can change the world;
But hell! We still inhale repeat sitcoms
While surfing on our atomic bombs!

~

(If using a phone to read this piece, turn your phone horizontal for the best view of this post.)

The Parallel World - POEM of the MONTH!

The Parallel World

I wish I could find the parallel world;
Not just by any portal at random 
But to the world of the perfect dream
Unblemished by the pride of man.

There is no need for weapons
Because no one ever goes hungry;
And there is no need for towers
Of cities with polluted industry.

Injustice is not in their dictionary,
Nor greed, envy and indifference;
People walk in villages without fear
And abide in the path of providence.

Neighbors are valued more than gold
And no one has the need for tears;
Nothing breaks, not even hearts --
It is the first and final frontier.

I wish I could find this parallel world,
Not with the need for an adversary
But the one in which no one sinned --
And I'd trade places with the perfect me!

(If using a phone to read this poem, turn your phone sideways for the best view of this post.)

Silver Creek - POEM of the MONTH!

Silver Creek

Running wild, Silver Creek is more valuable than gold

It flows into the heart of the river as it flows through mine

A late summer mountain rain is the canvas for a rainbow

Reflecting off the catch at the end of my line

Carry me away to these waters, a new story

Show me the love created as wildflowers intertwine

Reveal to me once again the secret of blissful therapy

Guide my spirit through the evergreens above the treeline

Let me remain beside your musical, calming water

Until the day I abide forever with creation's Author!

(If using a phone to read this poem, turn your phone sideways for the best view of this post.)

No Man's Land - POEM of the MONTH!

No Man's Land

 

Less strength is required in a peloton,

Tucked in the draft of a pack of riders;

The protection from the wind,

Managing effort for all the kilometers.

Two large packs form by error,

Or by strategy, or by the elements,

And one rider is caught in the middle;

A position requiring greater resilience.

Stranded in no man's land,

Although sometimes by design

To bridge up to the leaders --

Or just struggling in the Alpine ...

Alone with a bicycle in the playground

Or perched on the highest floor;

Fashioned or fooled by society,

Hearts flatline behind a locked door.

Anxiety is the companion of solitude,

Whether calculated escape or unplanned,

The risk of failure is over the horizon

When stranded in no man's land.