The Psyche Takes a Break

Transported to a long abandoned hill,
the vision through a classic poet’s eyes
allows reflective drops to crystallize
in images ascending from his quill.
And, for a moment, time lies hushed and still.
The blush of first discoveries arise
in panoramic sway across the skies
with vibrant colors bending to my will.
But then despair begins to overwhelm
my senses. What’s the use of fantasy
that clings to an ethereal caress
while suffering afflicts the tarnished realm?
Encircled by the world’s insanity,
the mind deserves a holiday, I guess.

 
===
After On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer, by John Keats

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

Image Source

A Can of Oops

If I could wield a monumental can
of Oops! and travel back through space and time,
I’d circle ’round the sun like Superman
obliterating planetary slime.

I’d wipe the stain from any human heart
that ever felt unworthiness and shame
and wash the tongues of any taking part
in propagating hatred in God’s name.

The odious graffiti on the wall
would melt away and metamorph into
the artistry of nature over all;
an unpolluted, unifying view.

And after false perception is destroyed,
I’d hurl the dirty rag into the void.

===
cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

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

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.

The Call of Home

The beautiful side of IC 335

I’d love to travel astrally,
projecting past the sun and moon
into the realm beyond the bounds
of brick and mortar, blood and bone.

When carried on a single thought
aloft, my busy brain would cease
its constant chattering while I
enjoy the panoramic view.

But for the needs of day to day
existence in a mortal shell,
there’s no place I would rather live
than here at home on Planet Earth.

Let not her strength and beauty fade
because we failed to heed her cry.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2013

Knock Need

door

“Go often to the house of thy friend, for weeds choke the unused path.”
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’m waiting, fidgeting with doubt, between
your door and the familiar country road
that points the way back home. I felt I owed
an olive branch at last. Beyond the screen,
I see you darkly now — an awkward scene
looms imminent. Where hearts once overflowed
with easy conversation, seeds we sowed
lie dormant in a fathomless ravine.

I never knew the reason. Twenty years
ago, I’d meet you if I had to crawl.
What stifled camaraderie? Illusion?
Perhaps, if puffed resentment disappears,
we’ll stand on common ground. Along the hall
your shadow nears. Reunion or intrusion?

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2006

The Moving Finger Pauses

vintage-cassette-tape

I’ve often wished (who hasn’t?) for a chance
to press the rewind button, start again
and choose a different partner for the dance
of fickle youth to play what might have been.

Instead of giving circumstances reign,
I’d tap the hidden track of inner peace
and circumvent the path that leads to pain;
let static fade and harmony increase.

But tempting though it be to theorize
on rearranging compositions past,
each segment is a lesson in disguise
that can’t be altered once the program’s cast.

And focusing on tapes that self-repeat
defines the formula for soul-defeat.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2012

The Key

clouds1001

Between the posts of now and yet-to-be
exists an air of utter mystery.
The apprehensive ego speculates
its end occurs when there’s no more of me.

Defiantly, it strives to storm the gates
of heaven, railing hard against the fates,
but on a quiet sea untouched by storms,
the soul knows immortality awaits.

For energy is endless — it transforms
in ways we can’t conceive as essence warms
to universal consciousness.  Esprit
arises from Creation’s vapor swarms.

Regardless of the how or why, the key
is living in The Now abundantly.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2012

Holy Instant

universe

Based on the teachings of A Course in Miracles

Behind each errant thought there hangs a thread
of continuity, a knowingness
that’s hidden by an unrelenting fear
of meaningless existence. Only in
suspended judgment can the truth emerge.
When ego is subjected to the light,
illusion evanesces. One by one,
each child of God, awakening, recalls
his rightful heritage of endless love,
for separation never has occurred.
Now, following the thread back to its source,
we see the world for what it is, a screen
projecting unreality, a blip.
The little willingness is all it takes
to conquer thought and matter, time and space.

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2012

Public Domain Photo

I Cry

tears

“Sorrows which find no vent in tears will soon make other organs weep.” -Henry Maudsley

It’s utterly humiliating.  Why
must I be doomed to blubber like a dunce
at anything that moves me?  Never dry
or cool, I’m drowning in the genome pool.

Emotions, down with you!  Get dressed, you sluts!
Behave yourselves — stay covered to the neck.
You’re killing my performance, spilling guts,
indecently parading on the deck.

Bewildered, stunned reactions (vacant eyes
and slackened jaws and shuffled shoes) are fraught
with undertones from all who patronize
with pep talk: “Get a grip. You’re overwrought.”

If weepers ruled the planet, we’d allow
a bit of slack for those who don’t know how.

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2002