I’m finally learning to first say, “No..”–
it’s of wisdom– though read as unkind,
for this is just how some “Yes”s grow:
from a “No”‘s germination in my mind.
One has no prize bloom out of season;
some Yes-gardeners are loath to wait,
but for every not-yet there’s a reason..
(for women, there are seven or eight).
I have the power to become invisible.
Actually, *my* power belongs to others–
they do not see me for the them in their way,
but it serves my purposes well enough..
except when I am behind the wheel!
(So, thank God some deejays still play happy-songs, like this one!)
Youth, when everything (now) seems so..
One gained both my eyes—
and few if any would guess
how hard-won was that gift;
all beyond the eyes, though,
remained in my perimeters
because that’s what I chose
when survival of true unlove
became far more attractive..
It’s awful to have to choose.
Inarguably, the sun sustains life on earth,
but the moon, reflecting the sun’s reality
because of it being a wholly separate orb,
and ever taking turns by zones that we all
here might see and dream and be restored,
reminds us truly of everything the sun said;
be it day or night, then, desert or mountain
— and for all the ages of the world, light is.
Seriously, I just sang that portion of the song (whose lyrics I don’t know beyond “Turn and face the change”) 5 times while counting the “Ch-“s on my fingers.
I’ve been trying to restrict my posting to verse(ish), and truth be told, I do indeed compose something once or more nearly every day, which is a joy not only for me, but for whatever makes enormous *dust* webs in this house. I kid you not one mote when I say the 30-something husband of one daughter’s friend asked me for a yardstick during grandson’s birthday party. He brought it back saying, “Here you go — I got rid of some of the webs.”
By rights, I should’ve been embarrassed. I’m more of a cerebral person, though, and make no apologies for that. I will have a map ready for him next year.
Anyway, nearly every bit of verse turns dismal. Somehow it goes from the sparkling oasis in my mind, to a dirge for Hemingway’s road-crossing chicken (“To die. Alone. In the rain.”). :-p
Oasis in my mind: “Oh. My. God! It’s so beautiful out AGAIN! Timothy-sweet air, clouds be-plumed as a wren..”
Dirge: “Oh. Dear. God! The winds ruffling that old sheet, remind me winter’s near and my life will be worth sleet.”
*sigh.. It’s not working. Think, Relax — THIMK!
(Really, just sayin’ “Hi.”) (Hi!)