Reflections of Beauty

Something simple, something bright, like a rose;
Something light and very delicate to one’s sight;
Something so refreshing meshing myriad colors;
Something stunningly majestic and undomestic;
Something quite vast on which to cast your sight;
All beautiful yet only dutiful reflections of Beauty
Unseen, untouched but flowing and ever glowing
In what is seen and has been so since time began;
Beauty showers the world from her great bowers,
Yet does not show her face in the pace of this life,
But she’s unceasing in releasing her magnificence
For all to enjoy and praise to raise high our spirits;
Yes, all her reflections are icons of her perfection

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Oh Would-Be Philosopher…

Would life be more beautiful without Beauty,
Or beauty alive without Life, despite pain?
Is there gain in the cold, unfeeling rain
While no wings enfold, nor droplets glimmer
With unseen spirits, what makes them shimmer?

Does it satisfy the soul with gashing hole
To rage against prophet, priest and sage?
Are we to gauge our life on earthen stage
By no more than pretense of what we sense,
Cream of foolish dream dreamed in gilded cage?

Ah, no! Human gene did not arise from machine;
Tossed unseen ‘neath blackened skies, unclean,
Filthy beginning with no meaning, careening
Toward senseless death, no heavenly breath;
Ah, no! Tis more to be than what we see…

Why rant and rave, then, from Plato’s cave,
Thinker so mighty and great, with venomous hate?
Leave in peace those who believe and cease
Your debate, while you inebriate your mind
And carve your fate, without divine of any kind.

Some may wail and cry for some goodly supply
Of goddesses and demi-gods; religiously try
Ere to appease and please, but some of us
Fly already where angels sigh and sing whereby
We fill our souls and laugh content so high.

Ah, philosopher so wise, why do you prize
Diabolic lies, when would be better Socrates
To follow, to appease, than anger so rotten,
Of hell begotten, with all love forgotten;
Are you really content with materialistic bent?

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Note: Originally published in August 2015 as a bit of a diatribe against atheistic materialism, now republished due to some renewed interest as well as for the consideration and reading pleasure of new blog followers. Blessings to one and all!

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Hear the Voice, Make the Choice

Yes, I know there is something in you that longs
For light and life, peace and truth so very bright
Even as you look star-gazed into the nightly sky
Trying to think of the way to shrink the cosmos
Into your mind and there bind it to be your own
Where seeds of immortality are sown in beauty
And you imagine it to be your duty to be as God
As you tread the sod of earth, place of your birth
For this is where you find your worth in existing
So you keep persisting in the chase but resisting
Answers given long ago in script and lovely song
Going your own way day by day, never your soul
To stay ever in one place as you outpace yourself
In your relentless race to trace the fine line of life
But Life itself has already found you
Your only need is but to turn around!
Hear the Voice call and make a marvelous choice!


“He is our God; we are the people he cares for, the flock for which he provides. Hear his Voice . . . hear his Voice.” (From the 95th Psalm of the Hebrew scriptures)

And Every Seed That Grows

Every seed needs to grow through pain to gain its promise,
And t’would be insane otherwise to think it should shrink
From such potentiality in reality of its life now just begun,
When the sun beckons the seed to break free, feed ‘n grow
In the show of maturation by the saturation of an alive life
Within a hive of nature in which it should strive to become
What it was meant to be for all to see one magnificent tree,
And is this not the way with life so rife with pain that gain
Comes not with comfort but that we suffer without buffer?
Ah! Should we pout that our sprout comes about with pain?
But there is pleasure, too, in a measure of genuine growth!
Our reaction is satisfaction in but a fraction of maturation!
Yes . . .
Every seed needs to grow through pain to gain its promise:
Life

Idiocracy

Some say that democracy is the best form of government,
And perhaps this form of governance should be the norm;
However, it can breed a storm from dorms to living rooms,
From kitchens to legislative halls that fall to self-interest;
And what happens, then, when government is truly an icon
Of the people governed, and becomes of cupboard of idiots?
When entertainers are pundits and tweets become so sweet
That they make daily news and kindle views from officials?
When pictures that should be trashed are brashly shown
In public buildings as art by the self-designated oh-so smart?
When unimportant issues call for tissue to wipe crying eyes?
When the rest of the world calls for the best, but the best
Are given a vest in lieu of the grave and are called to invest
In the circus as government becomes more like giant Argus?
What happens, I ask, when democracy becomes an idiocracy?
I say the Revolution is long over, and God Save the Queen!

Or . . .

kakistocracy

In the One Same Game

Saints and sinners all play in the same game,
Sometimes wild, sometimes tame,
Sometimes intriguing, sometimes lame,
But never the same as the players change,
And so does the range of play from day to day,
And no one can stay in the same spot
Though they may look like an ink blot;
Everyone must move — this way or that,
Up, down and all around — even if bound
For nowhere in particular, but somewhere,
Anywhere but where they were, that’s for sure;
And rarely can one return to where they were
Because the field never remains quite the same,
Though who could blame someone for thinking
Somewhere stays the same for some time,
But time chimes on in alteration of creation
With very little stagnation or resignation
To immutability — only a divine attribute —
Which does give credibility to the game of life
In which both saints and sinners are destined
To play both day and night, in dark and light:
In the same one game famously called life . . .
But, odd as it is, all seems to remain the same!

What Makes That What? Do You Know?

Do you still see a tree stripped bare of all its branches,
Or has it now been shrunk to a no more than a trunk?
Beg to tell, is a chair still a chair with only a pair of legs,
Or, perhaps, with four legs but what if it lacks a back?
Is a house still a house with four tall walls but no roof?
Or are two walls and roof proof enough to be a house?
Is an automobile still an automobile if it has no wheels?
Pray tell, if it has no engine either is it merely a shell?
And how much can you take away from a person until
She no longer fits the bill of being person?
Then, do tell, what are you seeing in her?
Is the heart the part that makes one human?
Or would we deign to say it is the brain?
But hearts and brains are parts in a long train of beings!
Do mind, body and soul bind together to make a person?
But how much of each is needed to reach a full person?
Ah! Do you see what you really see
When you look into the book of life?
What, indeed, do you see when you look at you and me?
Perhaps you only perceive what your senses receive . . .
Or do you really know in this grand show of mystery?