Before the firmament was hung
as backdrop for the galaxies,
the spirit of creation stirred
and murmured, “All is well.”
Behind a white primordial screen,
the painter of the universe
was mixing colors, shades of light,
and smiling. All is well.
Between the oceans’ ebbs and flows,
the peaks and valleys, rocks and grass,
a changeless matrix is revealed
as proof that all is well.
Beyond the fundamental set,
the king of choreography
assigns the species to their marks
with purpose. All is well.
Because the players blink and fade
like stars in love’s connecting ring,
eternity’s a running show.
Forever, all is well.
Mary Boren, 2013
Take a minute to enjoy
loving simple things around you.
Work can wait, let peace employ
all your senses. They’ll astound you
with the sights and sounds and scents
in the lap of nature when it
sets the pace for your events.
Take a minute.
Mary Boren, 2012
Public Domain Photo
Secluded in a woodland glade,
the bunnies, fawns and squirrels stir
to mothers’ nudges. Silently,
they stretch their legs and fluff their fur.
The muted hues of dawn exude
seclusion. In a woodland glade,
no raucous horns intrude upon
the day’s impending promenade.
Along the misty river, birds
begin to fill the hush with tune.
Secluded in a woodland glade,
they celebrate til half past noon.
How often in the bustling world
assaulted by the noise we’ve made,
our spirits yearn for reverie,
secluded in a woodland glade.
Mary Boren, 2011
The form is quatern.
I’ve jettisoned the nonessential stuff
(to wit: excessive bulk, possessions, pounds,
illusions, fears and attitudes). We’ll fluff
our chosen nest with gentle scents and sounds
in harmony with nature’s pulse. The hand
that shelters, guides and nurtures us compels
a smaller set of footprints on the land
in honor of the place where Spirit dwells.
Let frozen assets metamorph to slush.
Simplicity’s the message driven home
as, underneath the transitory rush,
life’s acquisitions dissipate like foam.
When living in a thirty foot RV,
the only things worth noticing come free.
Mary Boren, 2004
It isn’t on the map; it can’t be found
with compass, reached on foot, by plane or car.
It isn’t ruled by force; it isn’t bound
by walls. The vision opens where you are.
Irenica, the unpolluted land
beyond the dream is calling day and night,
“Come home, beloved child. The distance spanned
is Nothing. I’m within you — seek The Light.”
Her beacon gently whispers of a choice
to live where neither greed nor fear hold sway
as love unmasks confusion, stills the voice
of hatred. Sisters, brothers, it’s The Way.
A consciousness surpassing one alone
begins a blink beyond our comfort zone.
Mary Boren, 2007
On the river, life is sweet;
love abounds and time’s a trickle.
Occupants of one petite
recreational vehicle —
Charley, me, and little Ted —
treasure days and nights together;
share a table, porch and bed
by the river.
In the morning, songbirds call,
eagles soar, and squirrels scurry.
Solaces the waterfall:
“All is well, no need to hurry.
Here beneath the cottonwood,
touch the realm that knows forever.”
Peace of mind is understood
on the river.
On a lazy afternoon
from a hammock swayed by breezes,
our extended honeymoon
sets the schedule. If it pleases,
go canoeing from the park,
laughing, feeling not so clever
overturned at ten ’til dark
in the river.
After supper, by the fire,
ears attuned to night so thick it’s
teeming with the heart’s desire,
hooting owl and chirping crickets
underscore the dreamy mood.
Loving is a shared endeavor,
with a prayer of gratitude
for the river.
Mary Boren, 2006