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A journey that you takeA journey that you take without a fee,
A journey you did not decide to start,
A journey you can't stop, no special plea,
A journey that is whole and never part.
It's fuzzy when you start and when it ends,
And in between it's clear and often sharp.
Sometimes you think you understand the trends
And then again it's cloudy, blurry, dark.
The trip continues when you sleep or doze.
The plans you make don't seem to change the course,
And whether trying counts, you must suppose,
But even trying can't succeed by force.
Do not despair, for here's the tip to trip
Through time: companions who will grab and grip.
A few days pastA few days past, it was anticipate.
Nine months is long. We would accelerate.
Instead, we fill the time, alleviate
The wait. Concern and joythey alternate.
Now see how beautiful begins with "B"!
And so do blessings, blankets, blink and bask,
And baskets, buckets, balanceoh and Bre!
It's all about a baby, if you ask.
Excitement damped with caution, care and calm,
All hands in service to this little face.
The calm is punctuated with alarm!
With hunger gone, he now returns to grace.
Hope tries again. We come along with glee.
Old story, new: a holy family.
If I am a horseIf I'm a horse, I'll fit myself with bit
and bridle, pulling hard, with foaming tongue.
If I'm a cat, I'll pad about or sit
with claws retracted, even if I'm young.
If I'm a dog, I'll chase the ball but let
it go when alpha dog says put it down.
If I'm a goat, I won't let brambles get
entwined. I'll let them clip my cashmere gown.
If I'm a bee, I'll stick to industry
and won't get mad when honey's scooped away.
If I'm a bird, I'll sing and find a tree
to call my own, and chirp at dawn each day.
If I'm a butterfly, how shall I fly?
Without cocoon, with gladness, till I die.
A great idea to grow in ringsA great idea to grow in rings around
A central core, and grow each year in spite
Of what the weather sends. Below the ground
The same thing, down instead of up, brings might.
I tried the rings but went in circles round
And round until my head was blank and light.
Then when I tried to think a thought, I found
I just repeated dead-end thoughts. Good night!
I took to heart the putting down of roots
And tried to find stability in depth
But all I found was being anchored shoots
The possibility of change. Inept.
In rings and roots I'd hoped to feel more free.
I guess I wasn't meant to be a tree.
So hard to say at least someSo hard to say, at least some have survived,
As if the dead were some experiment,
Statistics hiding stories, curves derived
From metrics without feelings, no intent.
Too much imagination is required
To put a face on wrongful death each time.
For those who've wept before and are so tired,
Why would they borrow yours and make the climb
To see a wretched view they've seen before?
So now you know how history builds veneers
Of callus, how events that made us sore
Put cryptic smiles on cheeks that once had tears.
An army of those tearless cheeks now needs
To rise. But see, in Flanders fields grow weeds.
What right have I to askWhat right have I to ask of you again
The same things that I've asked a hundred times
To shim the gaps in daily life, to span
Dark halls with rays of light, to fix my rhymes
That do not scan. And I could list some more
But you'd get bored and mutter something wan.
You say the bland and hide an inner core
That won't reveal the way you feel. The swan
That glides through every day with seeming ease
Depends on all the ruffles slicked by you
With secret balms. And all I say is please
Or thank you, now and then, a kiss or two.
No right to ask but when did need say no.
To smoother ways and calmer days I go.
Perhaps there was a reasonPerhaps there was a reason for the hat
That warmed my head to close my ears. The lapse
Of sound and understanding made me chat
Instead of listening. Hence the small collapse.
I thought you said that you were staying here.
Imagine my surprise! My brain would wilt
Discovering that you'd left for good. The fear
I'd harbored all along was like the tilt
That makes the axis of the earth arrange
The seasons so severe. Like winter's brink
At any moment bringing death yet strange
Reversals coming with the spring, I sink
And rearrange my hat above my ears.
This time I'll hear ahead of seasons' fears.
I talk about things trivialI talk about things trivial to see
If these are people who discuss just facts
like weather, sports, and knee-jerk policy
fed pret-a-porter by those newscast hacks
If so, then I will also talk, about
The heavy rain last night and isn't spring
Quite late this year and maybe I will tout
The latest fat-free spread with salt-free zing.
For who is there to talk about real fear:
Like public health and flagging GNP,
the wars that only escalate each year,
and CEOs that take much more, for free.
The trivial is all that I can say
Or else I'll scream, and you will turn away.
The milk of human kindnessThe milk of human kindness, one percent
At best, no longer thick like heavy cream,
Is skimmed or thinned, dried up like breasts now lent
For other reasons; not a spurt or stream,
Just drops of liquid, slightly rancid, plopped
Upon a hungry cheek to those in need.
Go feed yourself! And thus the milk was stopped
And kindness taken from a kindly deed.
When politics and charity are torn
Apart and threatened: do not meet again,
A rendezvous may come like lovers sworn
To reconnect at any cost or pain.
The milk of human kindness might restore
The kindly urge as well as those now poor.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More