IT WAS NOT LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
It was not love at first sight, I must confess,
But a gradual awakening like the coming dawn;
Its rosy light spreading slowly over the darkness,
Over the quiet slumbering hills and sleeping fawn.
No Cupid’s arrow let fly from his enchanted bow;
Speeds unerringly to strike the unsuspecting mark.
More like a gentle nudge rather than a sudden blow
That moves the heart to forget oneself – to disregard.
Until the realization like a seed begins to sprout,
Takes root before the tender stem from the ground breaks free
To spread its verdant leaves as the sun beams dance about
And through the years matures into a towering tree.
Come away, my lady, to a castle built out of love.
I will be your knight in shiny armor, you my fairest queen.
Together we will dwell on a mountain top high above
Amidst blues skies; white, fluffy clouds and the sun’s radiant beams.
Along with a lock of hair, brush of hands and a chaste kiss,
With lute, voice and poetry; will satisfy all our needs.
In contentment we will live – harmony and wedded bliss.
Our hearts, minds and souls as one in lofty thoughts and noble deeds.
Each passing hour of each passing day spent in a green bower.
There we will converse and read bathed in a golden light
To cultivate our minds and souls as well as tree and flower;
Build an earthly paradise; our own garden of delight.
Time that nemesis, that cunning foe
Will come to reap what it did not sow.
Like the corrosive effect of rust,
Changes all things back into dust.
As each hour stealthily slips away
Until Death arrives without delay
To ask for life in payment full
With all the interest that is due.
Time that nemesis, that cunning foe
Regrets neither the sorrow nor the woe.
(Father Time will soon come to ring in the old and ring in the new. Happy New Year! PM)
No peace on earth, no goodwill towards men
Tis not a season jolly, but one that’s grim
Malls are decked with boughs of holly
To lure us into a spending folly
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
Are all I have to eat until I get hired
No use dreaming of a Christmas white
With Arctic melting, there’s no snow in sight
Ye merry gentlemen that nothing you dismay
At least the drummer boy had his drum to play
Not much to be merry, not much to cheer
All is gloom like the tragedy of King Lear
Tonight I’ll make a wish upon a star that’s grand
That love and peace on earth again will fill this land.
The silent snow is falling flake by flake
Solemn is the ticking of the clock
The slowly passing hours have drawn late
Memory has come to torment and to mock.
The fire has died down to glowing embers
Like the past, will turn to ashen gray
The sleeping mind is wakened to remember
Time has washed and faded all away.
Of life so vivid, once so bright
Images come rushing back anew
In the morning’s weak and pallid light
Winter’s white has changed to sullen blue.
HARD TO LIVE THE ROMANCE
Hard to live the romance
Life keeps getting in the way
Moonlight walks, a slow dance
But no one wants to play.
Poetry, wine and roses
Are the bread of life
For some, they’re merely poses
To woo then win a wife.
Chivalrous knight in armor
Lithe damsel in distress
Turns out to be a bore
The lady quite a mess.
Castle in a trailer park
Steed a beat up Ford
Hard to light the romance spark
With life in such discord.
Happily ever after
Once upon a time
Seems the only thing that matters
Is the reason not the rhyme.
Liza with her prejudice
Mr. Darcy with his pride
Such romance is not for us
Just trying to get by.
But I’ll wake up each morn
Believing in love that’s true
Until such fruit is born
These poems I’ll write for you.
bamboo broom (image from Rakuten)
IN PRAISE OF SWEEPING
Two of my neighbors are proud owners of gas-powered leaf blowers. On any given weekend, the air is filled with the jet-engine whine of their turbo-charged hair dryers as they walk around their yards creating miniature tornadoes of swirling leaves and dust.
I prefer to do things the old-fashioned way and use a broom. It’s not one of those wooden handled, straw brooms grandmothers used to sweep out the kitchen, but a high-tech one with a PVC handle and an extra-wide head with durable, synthetic bristles cut at an angle. What takes me an hour my neighbors can do in ten minutes flat. One neighbor, out of pity, offered to let me use his leaf blower, but I politely declined, mumbling rather apologetically that I enjoyed sweeping. And I do. Instead of noise comparable to a busy flight deck on an aircraft carrier, the only sound my broom makes is a gentle swish, swish, swishing as I sweep the driveway and the walkway leading up to the front door.
In Zen monasteries, monks use bamboo brooms to sweep the temple grounds as part of their training. Like any rhythmic, repetitive activity, sweeping is conducive to meditation. To sweep properly, one must have the correct mindset which is to “become one with the broom” so that it becomes an extension of one’s body. You simple cannot achieve such a state of mind while wielding a noisy leaf blower. In fact, while sweeping the driveway, the idea for this essay quietly came to mind.