There’s a corner in the basement
where nocturnal creatures spawn
mortal fear that renders optimism sparkless,
but the balance born of nature
in the crucible of dawn
is reserved for those who waited through the darkness.
Human history is littered
with unspeakable events
that would justify eternal condemnation
but a nucleus of dreamers
rising up to love’s defense
can emerge from any faithless generation.
As the curtain falls on freedom
through the apprehensive night,
may a unifying spirit find us banded
with rejuvenated purpose.
Let it lead us to the light
where impossibility is countermanded.
2021 Mary Boren
If I could spend a weekend with the me
who used to be, I wouldn’t waste a minute
dispensing admonitions bound to be
unheard instead of boldly living in it.
I’d load me, bag and baggage, in the car
blindfolded, like a hostage – scared, unwilling
to see the wonder in the way we are
and take a trip abundantly fulfilling.
Awaking to the pungent pull of pines
with senses bathed in joyous morning glitters,
I’d hold my hand to swing between the vines
and join the chorus of the woodland critters.
For only in immersion at the core,
dissolving all the filters of resistance,
can unreserved relinquishment restore
the nature of divinity’s existence.
Alert to every scent and sound, aware
of all within our mental jurisdiction,
no leaf is left unfluttered nor a hair
unsplit in separating fact from fiction.
So, guided by example, having flown
the strictures of illusion that have driven
my younger self within, I’d say, “You’re known
and loved for what you’ve always been: forgiven.”
Mary Boren, 2014
A tally of predicaments could wrap around the block.
The kids need shoes; the bill collector’s calling.
Politisquabbles dominate the news at 6 o’clock.
Relax, the sky is probably not falling.
The pundits paint a bleak scenario. Predictions seem
convincing in their repetitious drumming,
but to the watchers waking from a bad collective dream,
one thing alone is certain: Change is coming.
More likely what we’re feeling is a planetary jerk
produced by waves of panic. But, believe it
or not, a proven principle is steadily at work:
The world’s as good or bad as you perceive it.
So when you’re pecking for a meal on ground that’s parched and hard,
and hear the sound of thunderclouds advancing,
take heart. Don’t blindly string along with chickens from the yard
to hunker in the coop. Look up! Start dancing!
Perhaps the slurpy spectacle as optimists cavort
in mud could set a brighter course. Thank heaven
our future’s not determined by the 6 o’clock report.
“America’s Got Talent” airs at seven.
Mary Boren, 2008