truthful

Truth seems an ever more elusive thing on the lips of the ones that rule and sway, so scant now that every word becomes just another exhausting mirage. But step into the garden, and sit with any simple bloom. Let its beauty unfold and speak to you. Without a syllable, nature brings the truth.

as yourself

A photo showing a portion of a stained glass window.

churches dot the corners of all
cities and towns, big and small,
spires reach up to the heavenly gates
even as community disintegrates,
saying love your neighbor as yourself.

the skies are scattered with satellites
tracking life in bits and bytes
up to Mars and beyond we go
so much knowledge, we think we know,
best love your neighbor as yourself.

better armed than all the foes
donate dollars to fix the woes
technology will save the planet
the discordant voice, go ahead, just ban it,
but love your neighbor as yourself.

for all we learn and all we see
life remains a mystery
there could be a reason though
for hearts that somehow feel and know
to love your neighbor as yourself.

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growing things

Photo courtesy of Eugi’s Causerie

The trail takes a long, slow curve and I emerge onto a gentle slope, a vast sun-washed meadow of grasses and spindly flowers — all undulating with the breeze. My feet meet the earth with each step. Under that tender blue sky, I am but another growing thing, beautiful and free.

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Thank you, Eugi’s Causerie, for another delightful prompt and photo. This week’s prompt, “meadows.”

yeah, might be the soil

this place
isn’t dark
it’s just empty
completely barren
every now and then
i do see
some bright thing
way over there
on the edge of things
but it’s always fleeting
like a falling star on the far, low horizon
i keep planting things
so that something will grow
in this endless empty space
but nothing takes
maybe it’s the soil
or just not enough sunshine
i get tired of trying
i suppose i could try
painting things again
at least maybe that would help
this space 
look occupied

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at the artist’s cottage, a drabble

Courtesy of Eugi’s Causerie

His cottage looked out to the waves and the sky. Paints, brushes, and canvasses in varying states of completion filled the space. His lonely time on the bluff fueled creative landscapes highly prized by art lovers. 

Then one day, the woman with the black hair knocked on his door. Now, he lay idle, his fingers mingled loosely in those raven strands, inspiration long evaporated in a haze of romance.

“Today, my love? Please, pick up your brush again,” she coaxed.

He knew he was done with landscapes. 

He stared into her sapphire eyes. New inspiration flickered.

“Yes, today,” he smiled.

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Thank you to Eugi’s Causerie for the prompt, “mingle,” and the accompanying photo.

JB

he seems just a mere whisper in the night
a ghostly wraith
i could put my hand right through,
but no,
he’s really there, breathing,
standing unsteadily in the dark cool,
the light of the streetlamp
glinting off his head where hair used to be.

how long, how long will we have you?
days? hours? or perhaps just minutes.
you are barely there
i would put my arms around you
but for fear of breaking you.
you laugh and you smile
as if you are not in the act of disappearing
as if you are not in pain.

look at this long bold man
who forged his path
his own way
doggedly gripping this life even as he
ebbs into a world beyond —
what is it that we are? how is it that we stand
in this place of in-between together?
why must we suffer this collision?

even now,
look at you in the bright heat of the oven, 
hammering, crafting on the anvil
the only thing that means anything
at all.
and just look at this beautiful and cherished thing
you make in the midst of the
incomprehensible.

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