Silence is Betrayal

“There comes a time when silence is betrayal.”
The words of Doctor Martin Luther King
hang heavy in the air. Intentions fail
to halt the arc of hatred’s brutal swing.

The centuries of organized oppression
are coming to a climax. You and I
must take a stand for justice. Shy discretion
is not a virtue when the stakes are high.

As hard-won rights are carelessly dismantled
before our eyes, the growing battle zone
erupting in the streets cannot be handled
with slacktivism. None should march alone.

Resisting with a vengeance, beat the drum
and shout in unison, “The time has come!”

 
 

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

Imagining

Imagining we know the score,
we’re suiting up to argue for
a noble cause, but harmony
eludes the grasp of “me me me”
engaging in a psychic war.

The value placed on “more more more”
instead of peace defies the spore
evolving in humanity’s
imaginings.

Civility’s esprit de corps
is fading like the dinosaur
but listen, learn, and love, lest we
become the people we abhor
imagining.

 

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

Watchers

Eating popcorn at the movie,
gasping at the gruesome scenes
satisfies a dormant longing:
life by artificial means.

In the field of entertainment,
chaos brings its own reward.
Heightened senses lust for drama
manifest in gun and sword.

Watchers trapped within the frenzy
clamor in a common voice.
Re-emerging from the darkness
offers up a brighter choice.

When the world jumps out of focus,
squint your eyes and stand behind
someone with a crystal vision.
Let your lens be realigned.

Be the watcher watching watchers.
unaffected by the fray.
Pressing through illusion’s gauntlet,
live on purpose every day.

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

She Knows

As Winter mounts his harsh assault
does Nature cringe, assigning fault?

A sodden path serenely weaves
through barren trees without regret.
She knows regeneration waits
while metamorphosis creates
fulfillment in a promise met —
the aftermath of rustling leaves.

 

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017


Photo Credit

To the Wrong Texas Right

There’s a sinister threat to freedom,
       prosperity and peace
that is slithering through the tunnels
       in legislative grease.

On a platform built of hatred
       and ignorant “righteous” rage,
you have sullied the Lone Star emblem
       across the global stage.

Running rampant beneath the mantle
       of Christianity,
it’s a mission of undermining
       the thread of sanity
hanging limp in the minds of voters
       confused by the disguise
who are filling their veins with venom
       and rallying to your lies.

While slaughtering education
       and help for the old and poor
and labeling sexual nature
       a condition in need of “cure,”
you spit in the face of Jesus
       and mock his example of
the worth of a life that’s rooted
       in charity and love.

But we are the sons and daughters
       of heroes who’d never let
fanatics dishonor Texas,
       and we have not spoken yet.

 

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2014

In the style of “The Secret People“, by G. K. Chesterton

 

Echoes

Syrian refugees wait on the Syrian side of the border near Sanliurfa, Turkey, June 10. Bishop Eusebio Elizondo, chairman of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops' Committee on Migration, says the United States should welcome Syrian refugees and work for peace. (CNS photo/Sedat/Suna, EPA) See ELIZONDO-REFUGEES Nov. 17, 2015.

(CNS photo/Sedat/Suna, EPA)

In the face of human need,
may our voices be projected.
Kindness shown in word and deed
never leaves us unaffected.
Whether given or received,
fellow feeling fills the spaces
hollowed by the woes perceived
in the faces.

—–

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2016

#stoprefugeedemonization

Heart on a Hill

heart-on-a-hill

The valley of their recent discontent
was rife with misperception, doubt and blame.
They never seemed to trust the true intent
in one another. Days were all the same.

Each argument produced a bitter crop
of grievances for one divided whole,
a couple longing for the mountaintop
together, but without a common goal.

But then he tripped and banged the water pail
against his head so hard it made her sick.
Compassion rose within her like a gale
of cleansing air. Disaster did the trick.

So, climbing hand in hand, they claimed their hill
where happiness now reigns for Jack and Jill.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2016

 

The source of the photo is a mystery. If known to be in violation of copyright, please advise.

Enter Head, Exit Mouth

bouche-et-levre-de-chameau

Watch out for falling filters
as you navigate the maze
of dearly special people
living in a mental haze.

Spontaneous eruptions
of uncalculated word
can range from ultra-shocking
to adorably absurd.

(“You’ve got a booger hanging.”
“That’s an ugly baby!” Or,
“I need to lick your elbow
to authenticate the score.”)

Uniquely wired and cobbled,
limitless synaptic arcs
can reach beyond the norm and
leap to unexpected marks.

And though, in common circles
viewed as socially uncouth,
there’s magic in proclivities
to speak untethered truth.

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2016


Public Domain Photo

,,

Absent

empty-chair

You’re as easy as a recipe for jello
running fifty fathoms deep beneath the foam,
an exasperating, independent fellow
as familiar as the road that leads to home.

At the door, anticipation is supplanted
by the telltale disappointment in a dog
when the one for whom he’s waited, pranced and panted
isn’t coming home tonight to lift the fog.

When I reach across the bed and find it empty,
it’s a pressing emptiness that’s amplified
by the silence in the darkness, and I simply
cannot rest until we’re sleeping side by side.

Over breakfast, hovering across the table
in the place of grizzled cheeks and tousled hair
is a multi-headed vacuum on a cable
sucking all the effervescence from the air.

So I’m sending you this telepathic summons:
Get your stuff together, put it in a sack,
hold your ear next to the ground and hear the rumblin’s
of how thoroughly you’re missed. Now hurry back!

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2016

 

Public Domain Photo

 

 

Watching the Children Play

children on playground

We struck up conversation easily —
custodians with no apparent lack
of common ground. (It seems he has a knack
for working on transmissions.) Suddenly
his focus shifted momentarily.
Three names rang out, three children answered back.
His explanation made my jaw go slack:
“I need to hear their voices — I can’t see.”

He never saw my estimation rise
for one so fit, with miles and years to span,
whose handicap won’t bump him from the race.
I swallowed hard, then slowly raised my eyes —
two gluttons drinking in the scene — to scan
the playground, seeking out my grandson’s face.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2001

Photo Source