Truth

TRUTH


Truth
what is it / where has it gone?
I think I see it in the distance
perhaps on the horizon
but perhaps it is an illusion.

Truth
my parents always told me
that I should tell the truth
and I knew what truth was
in those long-ago days.

Truth
we used to be able to trust
people were basically honest
news media was trustworthy
who dreamed up fake news.

Truth
I cry for what we have lost
and perhaps never will regain
damn the damage that is done
damn the distortion of truth.

Truth
I cry for the future I will not know
I cry for the innocent children
who will grow up in this world
where truth is most often untrue.

Truth
what is it / where has it gone?
I think I see it in the distance
perhaps on the horizon
but perhaps it is an illusion.

Truth.

Shared with Susan's Midweek Motif - Truth.

My Mother's Flowers

My Mother and Me

 My Mother’s Flowers

Every Memorial Day weekend we journeyed to the greenhouse

to pick out flats of petunias, geraniums, and marigolds 

to plant around our home and also for the gravestones

of the two cemeteries where my parents’ deceased were buried.

Stooping over the soil with her shovel, hand digging holes,

Mother artfully arranged geraniums, marigolds, and petunias

and an occasional coleus in her front yard flower beds.

As a child, I often found my mother standing with her garden hose,

watering her flowers before the rise of the strong morning sun.

I knew not to disturb her then, as this was her time.

Time passed. My mother could no longer care for flowerbeds. 

Her eyesight dimmed year after year, blindness was inevitable.

Instead she planted flowers in large pots on the front porch.

It was important for her to grow flowers.

Then one day when my mother was almost blind

she awoke to find her flower pots stolen.

Gone were the plants that had been her pride,

the only reminder of her gardens of yesteryear.

The thieves stole more than flowers from my mother,

they stole her desire to grow them.  She never had flowers again.

They had been all that was left for her to nurture.

Nothing more to care for is a very sad thing.

Monday is Memorial Day in this country.  I am sharing a poem that involves a family Memorial Day tradition---at least at the beginning of the poem.  It is not a new poem, but I don't have the heart to write a new Memorial Day poem this year.  I do like this one AND the picture.  Smiles.

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Now For a Breath I Tarry

Now For a Breath I Tarry


Now for a breath I tarry
as I contemplate the end of day
I wonder as I linger
what will still happen along the way.

I look back upon my path
and all that was accomplished
the fragrant flowers smelled
the dreams that have come to pass.

So much in just one life
many stages and phases
I smile as I realize that
one life can hold so much joy.

Not that all was trouble free
sorrows appeared along the path
tears flowed and tempers flared
imperfections by the score.

Was it worth it - this life?
did I make some kind of mark
the question asked of the wind
which echoes the question back.

Now for a breath I tarry
contemplate all that was lived before
I wonder as I linger
what more, pray tell, what more.

So often when I am uninspired, I take a look at Rosemary's Friday feature for inspiration.  This poem was inspired by a line ("Now for a breath I tarry")  from "The Shropshire Lad" - a Houseman poem Rosemary featured.

It is Enough

It is Enough

It is enough to awaken
each morning at sunrise

It is enough to look forward
to a little joy each day

It is enough to
enjoy simple pleasures

It is enough to have
dogs by one's side

It is enough to trust
the worst of times will end

It is enough to have eyes
that can read and see beauty

It is enough to have ears
to hear the bird calls

It is enough to have arms
that can hug and hold

It is enough to savor sunset
at the end of the day.

I am submitting this to Poets United Poetry Pantry.  I was inspired by Rosemary's I Wish I'd Written This in which she featured the poem "It is Enough" by Neil Meili.  Please take a look at the orignal.  Maybe it will inspire you too.

Dancing With the Sky

Dancing With the Sky

Dream of flowers and sweet fruits
romance and the ocean
inhale silver music of spring

feel the tropical breeze
laugh with the sunset
invite a lingering kiss

drink in sunlight and raindrops
oh to dance with the sky
and scribble the clouds purple!



I wrote this poem in 2016.  As I am not very inspired at the moment, I thought it was time to revisit it for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  It is pretty apt for this time of year!