Laughter’s pealing through the spaces
hollowed by the weight of loss,
filling cracks in broken places
where distress and mercy cross.
Open hearts attend the healing
with the balm of fellow feeling
softening misfortune’s traces.
Mary Boren, 2015
Public Domain Image
In struggling to accommodate
two pugilistic hearts and minds
within myself, I pull and push.
Rebellious spawn of love and hate
feigns discord, but awareness finds
the crouching devil in the bush
more fearful than the prey it stalks.
When authenticity’s exposed
it undercuts deception’s mask;
pain fertilizes/action talks,
while pointy-headed needle-nosed
impostors lurk in pill and flask.
Get real! Be bold! Don’t medicate
emotions — let them dance and skate!
Mary Boren, 2010
It dawdled on a hook eleven years
and never ticked a tock. Perhaps some dust
had lodged inside the brain and rendered gears
immovable, as if its wings were trussed.
Why fix what isn’t broken? Twice a day
it told the proper time and, looking good
around the clock, held loneliness at bay.
Its own true song lay dormant, cased in wood.
The day I left I moved it to a wall
across the room. The pendulum swung free
and rhythmical; stout heartbeats ticked for all
their reawakened value. Much like me.
A change of scenery can loose the flow
of lifebound energy. Get up and go!
Mary Boren, 2003
Forgiveness heals, unlocking doors to free
forgiver and forgiven from themselves.
Without regard for penitential plea,
But what to do when indignation swells
the heart with pride? Unbind and let it be.
Again, again, again, as pride rebels …
release the grip of animosity
and leap into the realm where stillness dwells.
Extended to a radical degree,
Mary Boren, 2010
I caught the fragile essence of a rose
that floated from the pinnacle of pain
and wafted through my senses. In the deep
encrusted caverns of my heart, I felt
an indescribable, compelling rush
of joy — unfettered, boundless joy — and as
it bubbled to the surface seeking out
the path of least resistance to the light,
I clung to earth, awash in healing tears.
It comes and goes, but always leaves a gift:
Love’s fragrance clings to all the rose has touched.
Mary Boren, 2002