Uprooted

Marina Shemesh

Uprooted 

He had a plan the little one

into his pack he stuffed a root

prised from the tumbled tree

they had cut – men in boots

shouts of “timber” laughter

in their voices as he shivering

at his bedroom window heard

Heaven growl – no sense asking

“why?” from the Tall Ones they’d

only turn a tepid patronizing smile

He watched the tree fall, the booted

thugs get into their truck and leave

in the early morning light and in bare

cold feet in hot heart-burst he raced

somehow silently through kitchen door

and tenderly untangled a single

tendriled root

He had a plan

to travel far to

a place of sun

and gentle rain

and on a hill he

would plant his

tree and wait for

green shoots to

spring in rows

of mending as

he healed and
grew to grown

Time to go....

George Hodan

Time to go….

He lay against white linen

Crisp as he was limp

Hair combed through

With citrus cologne

Wafting in that hot

August wait for

the tardy Reaper –

they waited as well-

each family member

from toddler in arms to

his swollen-eyed mother

He lay against white linen

Crisp as his face was soft

in waiting eager repose

Reaching for something

beyond their wet clouds

 of mortal sight – He waited

perfectly positioned -head

reclined against a mound

of crisp white pillows

Breathing deeply

Completely

Ready to

Stop

in the coming a.m.

POSSIBILITY+3e4dc51086e4f832c1fed5cb01757ead-d4c325f.jpg

in the coming a.m.

buried deep in clay –soft in sleep lay

the dream - wild – its end stolen 

past purloined beginnings – 

buried deep in clay ready to rise 

in sunsoaked cloak of powers–

burns the dawning dream –ready 

to arise from clay – to stand on

strong bare feet, to speak in untied- 

tongues -buried deep in clay -this wild 

unleashed-for-glory–dream-without-end 

stirs in the coming morning, as one shining 

human entity shakes 

eoned sleep from eyes 

finally to see, to live the 

wild dream of one world, 

one heart, one collective 

soul risen from cool clay to

sing with one crystal voice –

shimmering from single grain

of stinging sand to arctic glaciers crashing– 

bounding, through all that lies between – 

from the velvet wing of butterfly to the roar

of tsunamied sea–singing as one clear voice- 

All distilled to one shining perfect being – 

spinning the blue marble between the

palm of one hand- this dream–now-realized 

risen-form-from-clay awake. proclaiming in

the soft whisper of a flushed joyful newborn mother – 

in the rolling operatic fever of ten billion threatened

fathers – affirming with one voice – in this one world–

at one time

I am.

One.








~
The Sunday Whirl

Mother Blasphemy

Alone In Sundown by Amateur Pic

Mother Blasphemy

There rustling in the crisp dry leaves in

my chest I recollect the sweet summer

day – we stood on the deck be-decked

in the spill of golden sunshine -

monkeys’ minds mad chatter

quieted-We were born whole-

together, liquid hearts gelled

in essence of each other and

though it well be blasphemy –

it is mother blasphemy – for

certain my Love rose above

all Power – and I reveled in

obliterating- joy banishing all

others–this new I in full-glow

wet with blossoms-bursting

in tumbled time –newborn

as you, my infant son

together–forever I thought,

until platituded – prophecy

fell –cooling our shared

sun, setting monkeys

to mindless chatter

once more as

plague swept

the smile from my soul –

We lost each other as

the wind blew - a new

chapter without me

my name unwritten

from each new line

until left bereft

alone - but for

that rustling

in my heart

of blossoms

dried to dust

wave you

well on

your

way

cry 

I

I will keep you sweet baby boy softly in the rustling of leaves

in the wind. I will dry my tears and hold your sweet small body

melting into mine on the flowered deck of summer, though the

winds of autumn blow dry and crisp - winter but a breath away.

I will keep you sweet child alive in the rustling of the leaves of

sweet memory as mad monkeys race with thoughts throughout

the trees and blasphemy breathes and I pledge to hold you my

child as my religion - born whole to keep the plague of mortality

banished forever.I shall tear my clothes and my hair before any

harm shall ever come to you –sweet summer child forever mine 

despite the crunch of your footsteps as you turn and walk away –

leaving me with empty arms and dusty infant memories -as you

crunch through the leaves of time walking - man sudden-grown

out of the shadow of my sheltering arms into the glow of a bright 

summer sun of your own.

Tiny girl child

In Honor of International Women's Day 

By Diann L. Neu

Tiny girl child 

Tiny girl child born in the world wind

Blow gentle to a future without excuses

Let the plant from which your perfect

Perfect pink blossom glows – Grow

to towering tree –legs strong- global

arms spread-  to carry you softly club-

protected, sheltered, loved, far beyond

the soul-slashing slice of scorpion sting

Shakira – Subservience - Shame,

smashed shackle to snipped gossamer

string – All - Begone from you forever

Tiny girl child born in the world wind

Grow to run calm fertile fields fragrant

With the trample of mothers gone under

Let the string of images begin in this new

Unfettered future – jungle to city – desert

to arctic cap -blow gentle, blow strong this

Future without excuse.

Tiny girl child receiver and giver

Of the very bread of life – Live in

the knead of this newly born day

Free  

The Sunday Whirl