Without a Cure - POEM of the MONTH!

Without a Cure

(Love Song)

The sun fell on my heart

When you gazed in my direction

Causing immediate symptoms

Which radiated adoration

Soon it burned into devotion

Like initials on an oak tree

Or the gold smelted into rings

Worn in passionate symmetry

Without a cure

My love is without

Without a cure

Your love is without

Decades of yearning discovery

In the warm sun or cold satellite

Even with occasional absence

Our flame still shines bright

Enjoying the nights by candlelight

And feasting on noonday pure

Thrilled the sickness of our love

Came without a cure

Without a cure

My love is without

Without a cure

Your love is without

Without a cure

Our love is without

Without a cure

Our love is – without a cure

~

"How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eye are doves."

- Song of Songs 1:15

"Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the young women."

- Song of Songs 2:2

Second Chances - POEM of the MONTH!

Second Chances

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only forgiveness and grace could be easily found

like the dimes on the sidewalk

where I inadvertently bumped into you the other day.

I was just carrying my groceries to my car.
But instead of picking up the clearly visible currency of love, 

you lashed out with colorful metaphors and questioned my parentage.

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only I had picked up a few

from the cup holder in my car as I approached your 
front door only to discover you stood me up. 

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only you had a pocket full of them when I yelled at you.

You only forgot to take the trash out ...

what was I thinking when a slurry of saliva spewed

from my mouth along with the superlatives which

sent you into a spiral of sadness.

Even though I eventually asked you for a dime,

we didn't speak the rest of the day.

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only I had taken the time to grab a handful

when you borrowed my car without asking

and crashed it into my ego.

If only I picked up the dime I saw in the hallway

after you struck me down by the slander of misinformed gossip.

If only we could see through our drunken display of insults

at the last wedding we attended a decade ago,

as we both needed to exchange this valuable currency.

If only, ...

I wish second chances were like dimes.
If only we could go to the bank and withdraw them in rolls

so we'd have plenty for those close to us; and when out 
and about interacting with the other humans.

It's quite possible I offended you at some point.  

I'm sure I took your seat,

or that choice parking spot

or I flashed a condescending grin after hearing your poem.

Or to you, I'm sure there's something you're stewing over.

Perhaps a lack of greeting

even though I did spread salutations to the rest of your table,

or maybe I cut in front of you in line,

or maybe I have yet to pay you back.

Hey! I'm just like you.

Full of holes in my pockets and sometimes lacking a dime.

I'm just one of the many other human beings

on the streets and in the cafes of any given city ...

"Hey mister, can you spare a dime?"

~

Epilogue

For Heaven's sake, I know someone

with an endless pocket-full of dimes!

The One (a haiku) - POEM of the MONTH!

The One (a haiku)

A boy and his bike

Abandoned on the front porch

Till Love came to play

~

Then Jesus told them [a] parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

-       Luke 15:3-7

Attitude - a short story

Attitude

 

After the verbal torture and drama at the Thanksgiving table and surviving yet another afternoon of gorging like a pack of wolves unsure when the next prey will cross our path, the alpha relatives made their way to the local mall on Black Friday. Growling at the disharmony of my belligerent Aunt and ignoring my brother-in-law after unpleasant discord at lunch in the courtyard, we dragged our newly discovered carcasses of treasure to the trunks of our respective cars. Yes, we mostly drove separately. And alone was the state of strategy of which I craved.

 

On Shop Small Saturday I walked into a new store downtown called Attitude. The       young lady behind the counter offered to assist, but I insisted I was just looking around. After aimlessly wandering and wondering about the events of the preceding days, I motioned for help. A second woman appeared from behind a store fixture. At least she and her co-worker maintained epidermal integrity of their ear lobes, and both kept their natural hair color.

 

"My name is Sandra, welcome to my shop. How may I help you?" She was certainly young. My expression betrayed me. I scanned the many levels of shelves with the intent to hunt on my own, but instantly her confident demeanour dispelled my previous misconceptions. She asked what I had in mind and provided a few options. "Based on what you describe, I'm inclined to point out this popular item," she started as I examined it. "But I need to add, it seems to have a negative effect on people," she cautioned, as I tried it on with ease. Too easy, in fact. She emphasized the store had a return policy, and from her kind tone I could tell it was important to avoid any initial dissonance.

 

With it still on, I detected aversion on the faces of the other customers, as if they were at the ready to dart and scatter like elk on the prairie. Careful not to frighten, I made a second attempt -- this time with significant effort. It felt uncomfortable.

 

Alert to my hesitation, Sandra assured me it would feel more natural over time. I pondered my decision for a moment. As I gazed into the mirror, the results seemed contagious as the same herd of shoppers gravitated toward this new selection. Unlike yesterday, I was gifted with smiles. I stood wondering audibly how it would look outside or at home or at the office. While she reminded me the name of this small shop – Attitude – my groans of indecision prompted the joyful owner to respond, "Well, it is your choice; may I suggest you pick out a good one."

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.)