Truth

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Truth

How can I write about truth
when so much of what I hear is lies?
There is little I can say.

I wonder how they live with themselves
when their mouths speak untruths
as if they were profound.

They claim to be people of god,
yet break the 9th commandment daily
and feign allegiance to their lord.

What message do the young receive,
with lies presented every day as truth?
Will society become truthless in the end?

Written for Susan's prompt at "What's Going On" -- Truth

Children

A Childlike Adventure

I yearn to be one of the boxcar children
or to live in the house at pooh corner
where I'll ride on my own black beauty
alongside the mouse and his motorcycle

Perhaps I'll discover the secret garden
in the place where the sidewalk ends
then wander up my side of the mountain
just the little prince and madeline and me

I'll solve the mystery of the wrinkle in time
and reveal everything that brown bear sees
then peer wistfully at the goodnight moon
as I wait for the time you reach me.

I'll travel on the little engine that could
to where the mountain meets the moon
to be able to answer the call of the wild
before I finally paddle to the sea.

This is submitted for Sumana's prompt:  Child/Children at What's Going On?   Perhaps not exactly what she had in mind, but......


I have referred to SEVENTEEN children's books in the poem above.  Fifteen lines have one children's book, and one line has the name of two!

Anger

 

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ANGER

Anger bites,
gnaws at my insides.
I feels so hopeless
cannot find a way
to rid myself of this anger
that hangs on.

One person single-handedly
destroyed this country
and is doing a good job
of destroying the world
as it was when I could smile.

There is nothing
I can do with this 
anger that sticks
in my throat
nauseates me
takes away my joy.

I feel hopeless rage
at this person,
his syncophants
who say yes to his whims,
all those who took 
a wrecking ball to the world.

I boil, seethe, shake my fists,
scream, pound the walls, 
my stomach churns.
I am sickened, I wretch.
My angst comes to nothing.
Just one more depressing day.

Written for my prompt at What's Going On? -- "Anger"

A Poem From 11 Years Ago

Tulip,Violet, and Basil

If Dogs Contemplate Death 

If dogs contemplate death I do not perceive it
they relish today, savor the bowl of kibble
delight in a walk or a game of fetch.

If dogs ponder death they do not reveal it
perhaps that is one reason I love dogs
they acknowledge,  appreciate what is today.

If dogs envision death they suppress it
occupied with their conventional lives
proclaim that death is inconsequential

If dogs consider death they overlook it
as part of life they cannot control.
What's the use of knowing after all?
-------------------------------------------------

I wrote this poem 11 (not ten!) years ago, and as I looked back at my old poems I still find it relevant.  By now both Tulip and Violet have crossed the rainbow bridge, and Basil is 15 years old and still going strong for his age.   I agree with the sentiments of the poem.  Basil, at 15, still savors life, still delights in his food, cuddles in my lap, shows some 'spark' when he plays.  Below is a photo of Basil (as he looks today) and his more recently arrived sister Olive living their best life!

For Sherry's prompt at What's Going On? -- "Ten Years Ago"

Hilary Knight

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Hilary Knight

Born in California,
she found her passion on ice,
then moved with her talent
to the colder midwest.

At the University of Wisconsin–Madison,
from 2007 to 2012,
she took classes, played hockey, and skated more,
earned a degree in history and
a certificate in European studies,
learned how past lives shape the present
even as she was shaping her own
not aware yet that she would be
a history maker herself.

After graduation,
her excellence at the game gave her options.
She became a professional player,
then a cornerstone of the game—
a force to be reckoned with,
a constant presence
on the U.S. women’s national ice hockey team,
always reliable, a symbol of the game,
excellence through endurance, strong.

She did more than score goals.
She helped build something lasting and greater,
pushed women’s hockey forward in North America,
shaping not only her career
but the future of the sport itself.

Five Olympic Games—
more than any U.S. hockey player
(man OR woman)—
two gold medals, three silver,
years measured not by seasons
but by the love of the game.

And in Milan–Cortina,
wearing the C,
she led as captain,
steady under pressure,
guided the American team
to gold.

In Women’s History Month,
her story reminds us:
excellence isn't inherited but
is built over years,
an example for young girls to follow,
leadership earned stride by stride
when no one is watching,
but the ice will remember
those who change the game.

Written for Susan's prompt at What's Going On? -- Women's History Month