Tag: creativity

Vesting Equity

I write because my mental real estate
is limited. As thoughts accumulate
they spill into the yard at this address
like loose debris that chokes the grass unless
routinely raked and bundled up to wait.

The curbside pickup trailer’s seldom late
but long before the bags are out the gate
I’m filling more while sorting through the mess
I write, because…

without releasing space to allocate
for flotsam overflowing from my pate,
I’d hoard the weeds and lose the words to press
between the folds where brainstorms coalesce
with conscious clarity to contemplate.

I write. Because.

2023 Mary Boren
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Synesthesia Stew

Panoramic interactions
filtered through the sound of struggle
mingled with the scent of silence
cast a shadow on the scene.
Eyes and ears and mouth and fingers
focus on the fellow feeling
filling designated spaces
all around and in between.

Swirling river bed’s aroma
steeped in energetic flavors
salted with a touch of kindness
constitute a hearty paste.
Add a pound of mountain cabin,
mother’s kiss and robin’s whisper
where a hint of moonlit forest
shivers in the aftertaste.

Senses stir beyond the blend
more than minds can comprehend.

2023 Mary Boren
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The Unassuming Bard

I’d like you all to meet a fellow,
wise and witty, warm and mellow.
The story opens with the scene
of how he finally “came clean.”

Now, he’s not one to self-promote
but once I’d read the verse he wrote
in service of poetic art,
it struck a longing in my heart.
I hollered till my throat was sore:
“Please gimme, gimme, gimme more!”
So sometimes when he’d write to me
he’d dole one out reluctantly.

One day a note from him arrived
that almost left me sore deprived
throughout the week until I chanced
to turn it over, where enhanced
by simple words without fanfare
a splendid poem rested there.
I said, “Hey Buddy, what a feat,
but next time don’t be so discreet.”

Well sure enough, as time went by,
my uncle ceased to be so shy.
Next time the designated spot
was marked with arrows he had shot
across the paper’s forward face
as in humility and grace
he’d fashioned letters bold and wide:
“THEY BE A POME ON T’OTHER SIDE! —–>>>”

ooo000ooo

Written in tribute to my Uncle Buddy in the mid-1990s, when I learned to my surprise that some of the best poets of our time were related to me. I’m so glad I pestered them for their stories and poems before they died.

Selected Poems by M.E. “Buddy” Upchurch
Hal Upchurch Chronicles

My dad and his little brother, having been raised to never toot their own horns, wrote for love. It was in corresponding with them through pre-Internet years that I subsequently discovered the joy of connecting with likeminded poets online.

1995 Mary Boren
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Unflinchable Phonics

Once a species of linguishing wordlums
lay wait from their lair in the woodlands
to terrorize tourists
who travel with purists
protecting the language from hoodlums.

They would squirrel their quivers with missives
of contraband bits of what-is-its,
then hissingly curve ’em
with assonant fervum
to hurl in a rain of munitions.

In the face of unflinchable phonics
the forest would ring with harmonics.
The purists were silenced
and poets were licensed
forever to frolic with sonics.

2022 Mary Boren
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To the Unknown Poets Before Us

“I send my soul through time and space to greet you. You will understand.” -James Elroy Flecker (To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence)

Not driven by the world’s applause
your words were neither praised nor spurned.
You spoke or wrote them down because
the fire within you burned.

From chants to overcome the fears
encroaching on a native camp
to chronicles of current years
your words have held a lamp.

To each of you who heard the call
of feelings that demand release
through ink or etched into a wall,
the echoes never cease.

So whether gathered in renowned
Akashik Records or encased
in ancient caverns underground,
no words have gone to waste.

Millennia may come and go
before or since another surge
renews the link, but we who know
will let our spirits merge.

2021 Mary Boren
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Meat and Spice

(in the style of “Fire and Ice”, with apologies to Frost)

While some are satisfied with rice,
however bland,
I much prefer to pay the price
for hearty fare that’s basted twice
to blend a tantalizing brand
of seasonings that suit my taste;
uniquely wrought, precisely planned
tomato paste
that’s fresh, not canned.

For when the pizza’s tossed by hand
and not in haste,
the cheese and pepperoni stand
like sentries poised to spark demand.
Ingredients don’t go to waste
and every sharply honed device
contributes to the flavor laced
through every slice
wherever placed.

2021 Mary Boren
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Social Pariahs

My friend’s a statistician. He relates
when I describe the aptitude we hold
to steer a train of thought that resonates 
enough to stop a conversation cold.

I once revealed my fondness for the craft
of poetry, and instantly the room
went solid. No one whispered; no one laughed;
each heartbeat thundered with a silent boom.

Comparing notes, my friend and I, in turn,
recount the times we’ve staked our standing on
delivering a topic fit to spurn,
and in the process stoked a common yawn.

For poets’ prattle absolutely numbs
his brain, and I’m averse to ciphered sums.

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2002 Mary Boren
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Style and Substance

(After A. B. ‘Banjo’ Paterson’s “Ambition and Art“)

Style

I am the vessel that boldly glides
through seas uncharted,
chiseling shadows on open sides
where craft is started.

Splitting the distance from east to west
in measured portions
calms the peripheral ocean crest
without distortions.

Tossed on the shore of Eternity
where dreamscape thrashes,
trust an alliance of form and free
to salvage crashes.

Substance

Come to me under the stars and bring
your shining essence.
Nothing uncommonly bright takes wing
without your presence.

Whisper the secrets celestials tell
behind the curtain,
music and magic to gently quell
the lust for Certain.

Consciousness voyages wispily,
its scent alluring,
flooded in fathoms of mystery
through time enduring.

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2018 Mary Boren
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The Missing Peace

Missing-Peace-Found-36x36-2010
Painting by Dario Campanile, 2010, to commemorate the 5-year traveling exhibit:
“Missing Peace Found: Artists Consider the Dalai Lama”

A field of energy surrounds
exhibit halls, artistic grounds
where wisdom flows. A soft wind blows
from Mexico to Greece.
In joining hands around the globe
to touch the Dalai Lama’s robe,
the threads connect; hearts intersect
at avenues to peace.

Emerging from the planet’s core,
the whisper soon becomes a roar —
a rising tide to cast aside
suspicion, hate and fear.
With absolute impunity,
the world embraces unity
when chaos ends. It all depends
on everybody here.

Compassion for our brother’s plight
must hold a candle through the night.
All cannot rest while one’s oppressed.
Conditions inhumane
erode our fundamental soul.
Each person fills a vital role;
we’re called to be the change we see
in dreams.  Let kindness reign!

———

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2011 Mary Boren
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