"Let your speech be brave; from the marriage of Mind & Heart, or retreat to cowardly silence & be forgotten."-L.B.Stowe
The choice is yours for ill or good.
Will you show face or don a hood?
Each day you wake unto our world.
All of its options wait unfurled.
Will you stay in your bed by choice?
Or, choose to give the day your voice?
Would your legend live…giving up?
Or, would you leave us much to sup?
Even villains can say they tried.
Shake off your rust & live this ride.
We’ve got it all; yet, something’s missing.
Our gears grind more; instead of kissing.
Is it just a task for maintenance?
Or, does it require our countenance?
We must confer with all voiced dissent.
Actively listen with calm intent.
Our common ground is easy to find.
Just share the top ten things on your mind.
If there’s only agreement on one…
It’s still shared earth & you both have won.
Oft elusive for me was slumber.
I carried not splinters but lumber.
Shards from a cross I was never near.
Thorns from a crown of violence & fear.
Switches from shrubs embroidered my thighs.
Sticks of repression & its base lies.
Splints just there to keep me from running.
Struts, with help, to keep me from crumbling.
I creak in the cold & sing in heat.
What rest I’ve found, has been no mean feat.
Still, I pull wood from me by plier.
Just some kindling to feed my fire.
Candy bars in mason jars.
Baby Ruth & also Mars.
Sugar safely screwed away.
Break glass in emergency.
Glass case sets the snack apart.
Even looks a bit like art.
Extra layer from me set.
Bad choice made harder to get.
When I start to twist the lid…
I recall why they’re plainly hid.
You know who you are; so go & claim it.
If you do you, then no one can name it.
Don’t worry about who was first or last.
Bide cool in the shadows that great ones cast.
Each one of us must one day stand alone.
No shade or comrades; just moments you shone.
All ye restless that make breaks for the light…
Impatience will burn you; as is its right.
If you’ve been toiling to shake off your mold…
When your starlight comes, it’ll fire you gold.
Withered flowers are evidence of beauty.
Our eyes need look harder as rule of duty.
Saggy diapers running away thru the shag.
A joy wrinkled smile breaks the face of a hag.
There is ugly & pretty in everything.
Perfect imperfections allow souls to sing.
If you are affronted by the sight of flaws…
Don’t turn. Lean closer. For there’s probable cause.
Looking past surfaces oft reveals surprise;
Whether wearing gloom or invitation’s guise.
In short, appeal is so much a murky theme.
Clear waters divine no perfection supreme.
Wise minds are cleft in three: defend, oppose & decide.
To absorb the lesson herein, minds must open wide.
First thoughts come from lizard kin; our instinctual way.
They tell us how to survive life, thru each night & day.
Second thoughts question the firsts’ logic & assumption.
They augment our instinct with balance & with gumption.
Third thoughts shoulder twixt the two & judge the self as whole.
They consider which, if either, serve our human role.
Executions come at last; as ducks are placed in rows.
Rare, it’s about right & wrong; more surfing highs & lows.
I watch a lot of TV but I don’t have tubular eyes.
I do not see the world as screen; so it still holds some surprise.
I never was taught or told that I should be a go-getter.
In my formative years the set was called “the babysitter”.
So, most of what I thought was something my eyes & ears took in.
For, the acts of the adults around were worse than Zenith’s din.
Scores of years of aftermath have all been “brought” to me by “this”.
I learned about important things like music & brands; what bliss!
The diligent writers of programs don’t offer prophecy.
They produced situations & I figured out who I’d be.
The monied hand of death collects us all itself.
Only the true bereaved will feel a loss of wealth.
I never have seen a hearse dragging worldly means.
Long are gone the days of treasured funeral scenes.
Ancient kings lay naked now; all their goods displayed.
They mourn their loss unheard; inside the tombs slaves made.
Understanding was, thru the ages, slow to form.
Yet now, thru wills & trusts, legacies are the norm.
All you collect in life; whatever game you play…
Seems a waste of sun; saving for a rainy day.
People love to go on about life’s ebbs & flows.
For some, sea weather takes a more threatening pose.
The ocean is beautiful, fierce & seductive.
Assuming it’s safe’s the worst kind of reductive.
Not all baby turtles make it to the water.
Nothing has met it without edges to slaughter.
Those that make it have a sharper & smoother edge.
It’s survivors forged keen by the surf’s sortilège.
You face a tsunami by accepting blind fate.
When the flood sluices out, you’re reborn in the wake.
For J
L.B.Stowe 