Poem of the Week #89
The Inner Bit
The rose’s thorn and berry’s bramble,
the pine tree’s prickly branch, all designed
to keep beauty’s intruders at bay.
And yet, we who are in need of balm,
will find a way to overtake that
which is our brief prize, tucked away.
The scented bloom, the tangy fruit
the green bower, the precious center,
all conspire to teach us to defeat
that which would keep us from what fades
and fails; that momentary inner bit,
the place where bliss and sorrow meet.
Poem of the Week #88
Even in the flat lands
where no distant mountains
pull the mind upward
and no oceans open
the heart to the wide
and welcoming horizon,
and where the roadsides
are lined with dingy, sorry
excuses for happy places,
even there, a child can find
something to love.
On the grimy, noisy street,
the child clutches an ice cream
in one hand, and its mother
in the other. The child does not
know it, but a memory is thus made.
There are no mountains
or oceans in the picture,
and even though (in later years)
they will inspire, it is
the reach to mother’s hand
that remains love’s guide.