Tire Kicking

Before I judge, I wish I would
     remember to
consider things not understood
’til someone looks beneath the hood
     who isn’t prone to misconstrue
the chassis blemishes I see.
Then nothing but the truth of you
     with dignity
     could shine like new.

 

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

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Radiant Reflection

“My forgiveness is the means by which I become aware of the light of the world in me.” – A Course in Miracles

When a harbinger of horror stalks the hall
and the silent sycophants embrace its call,
if you feel your spirit caving
to the voice of doom enslaving
tattered vestiges of courage,
come and stand behind the children
who believe the world’s worth saving.
See the light.

When custodians of chaos overreach
past the sentinels of liberated speech
and the sun goes undercover
where the creeping shadows hover,
bring an instrument for digging
through the wreckage of illusion.
Hold a lamp for one another.
Free the light.

Though the oracles of anger spread their lies
to the detriment of people they despise,
meet the hate and halt its churning
with the self-assured discerning
of a watcher who has witnessed
the capacity for healing
in a love that’s ever-burning.
Be the light.

For the weary world is longing for the day
when the universal truth goes on display
in its unimagined starkness.
Neither powerless nor sparkless,
each of us can stoke the passion
for our destiny that’s dawning
as divisions born of darkness
flee the light.

 

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

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Illusion

butterfly-effect

Easy does it when you try
separating fact from fiction.
What appears at first a lie
might have been the source of friction.
Things are seldom what they seem;
faith felt genuine, but was it?
While arousing from a dream,
easy does it.

In my childhood I believed
truth’s as black and white as painted,
unaware that some perceived
shades of grey as well acquainted
mentors of inquiring minds.
Through the game, I learned a smile would
pass for certainty that blinds,
in my childhood.

Far above us, pundits pounce;
preachers prime the Sunday sermon.
Both are ready to denounce
scrutiny from lowly vermin.
Truth lies halfway through the mist
in the hearts of those who love us.
Yours and mine can coexist
far above us.

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2014

Lamplighter

lamplighter

As truth revolves, its facets are revealed
in changing light.  My muse awaits, concealed
in shadows, steering clear of Father Zeus
(who set a slew of noisy daughters loose
in poets’ heads).

For only in the stillness, where the threads
of myth and fable intersect, can reds
and yellows, mystic blues, and shades of grey
be woven into words that light the way
as truth revolves.

In poets’ heads, illusion’s snare absolves
the writer of the story — fact dissolves
in smoke and mirror’s slanted tell, not show.
But when Lamplighter comes to me, I know
she speaks no lies.

If then, and only then, do I arise
to paraphrase, with freshly opened eyes,
the broader bearings of the lessons wrought
from living into truth, each tender thought
serenely spreads.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2011


Image by ceoln (CCL)