Leaping the Heap

When I’m stuck in a pit of malaise
and self-pity flares up in a blaze,
I am forced to concede
that for lightness and speed
this old body has seen better days.

But my spirit’s not bound by the hide
that is holding my fragments inside.
When the flesh is enmeshed
in itself, I’m refreshed
by escaping the prison of pride.

 

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

Photo Source

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To the Song of the Cosmos

Your melody’s transporting me away
to sunrise in a candy-coated land
where no one suffers at another’s hand.
You offer me serenity to stay.
I’m tethered to the protoplasmic clay
you fashioned from the void. I’ve always planned
to hitch a ride back home. You understand
my murmurings in spite of what I pray.

But I’ll decline the invitation while
my fellow travelers are left to grieve,
for who would sing your words if I should leave?
I’ve given them the only things I had
to share, a simple sonnet and a smile.
I’ll catch you on the flipflop. Don’t be sad.

 

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

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Precious Metals

When I die and my worth is extolled,
it won’t be for the riches I hold
or my saintly deportment,
despite tooth assortment
of porcelain, silver, and gold.

I am being replaced by degrees.
With titanium joints in my knees
and the plate in my wrist,
I should clang when I twist
like a full set of prison guard’s keys.

I’ve got pincers and pins in my toes
for reshaping the elegant pose
of my hooves in their shoes,
and a stash of loose screws
rattles ’round when I’m blowing my nose.

If you’re secretly hatching a plot
to heat a gargantuan pot
and melt me down early,
don’t bother — you surely
won’t get twenty bucks for the lot.

 

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

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Style and Substance

(After A. B. ‘Banjo’ Paterson’s “Ambition and Art“)

Style

I am the vessel that boldly glides
through seas uncharted,
lending a shape to the open sides
where craft is started.

Splitting the distance from east to west
in measured portions,
I ride the peripheral ocean crest
without distortions.

Tossed near the shore of Eternity
where dreams are thrashing,
I trust in the union of form and free
to keep from crashing.

Substance

Come to me under the stars and bring
your shining essence.
Nothing uncommonly bright takes wing
without your presence.

Whisper the secrets the angels tell
behind the curtain,
music and magic to gently quell
the lust for Certain.

Enlightenment voyages wispily,
its scent alluring,
bathed in the fathoms of mystery
that’s all enduring.

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

Image from the public domain

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Give Me Your Tired

 

With boundless greed invading
like charging bulls, creating
an atmosphere of hating
all up and down the aisle,
remember how we started
with open hearts unguarded
and immigrants rewarded
for waiting by the mile.

For all have benefited
from hordes that were admitted,
like threads securely knitted
in variegated style.
Our tapestry unravels
if loudly pounding gavels
prevail. In all your travels,
outshout them with a smile.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

Photo from the U.S. National Archives

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Malevolence Concealed

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Malevolence concealed in shadow waits
for optimal excuse to storm the gates
when every guardian of night has fled
and left no vestige of the light they shed
across the peaceful courtyard love creates.

A solitary candle flame abates
the siege as amity illuminates
the calculating coward that propels
malevolence concealed.

No other coalescence separates
abiding love from hate that cultivates
chaotic storms within the citadels
like unity of purpose that expels
unwanted dispositions and negates
malevolence concealed.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2018

 

Public Domain Picture

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Pilgrimage

light on hills
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” -Rumi

The hills are steep, the climbing’s hard.
If you would persevere, it
may leave the body deeply scarred
and dissipate the spirit.

But when you scale the furthest crest
and overlook the valley,
abrasions suffered on the quest
will yield a grand finale.

The gift of elevated sight
revealed as you continue
will radiate the path with light
that’s coming from within you.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2018

 

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Cleaning the Slate

cat in mirror

Before I face the coming year
in a flurry of resolutions,
I stand before my conscience here
in the middle of my ablutions.

Reflections of a scowling brow
when my patience was sorely tested
are splayed across the mirror now
in a mural of time arrested.

New promises are meaningless
on the altar of Good Intention
’til heaven’s finished cleaning this
with a powerful intervention.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2012

 

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Frosted Patterns

“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown,
and in between, there are doors.” -William Blake

Frosted patterns on the glass
camouflage a portal frozen
on its hinges. Clustered mass
needn’t hide the path we’ve chosen.
Opening the inner eye,
focus on eternal matter
binding everything. Defy
powers of illusion — shatter
frosted patterns.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2017

 

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Leader

"Namaste" by Thom Ricks

If you can set your biases aside
to champion what’s compassionate and just,
and value every member of your tribe
as if you’d given birth to each of us;
awakening to true community,
not rushing into battle unprepared,
but seeking out a path to unity
when sleepers’ predatory fangs are bared,
and forging through the darkness to the source
of light, replenishing your spirit when
the mantle sags, thus modeling the course
of energy infused with wisdom, then…

I’ll follow you with every nerve and bone
to places I’m afraid to go alone.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2017

 

Painting by Thom Ricks

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