Spring is here, the grass is riz, I wonder where the thoughtfulness is
It used to show its open arms and nurture difference, free from harm
And now I hear a warning hiss
Foretelling creeping Animal Farm
Not strange the changes stalemate makes
I’m stumbling over ladders and snakes
Especially with so much at stake
But what the hell, folks, them’s the breaks
I wonder if I need the night
To train discernment without light
Or if I need a light at all
To feel my way along this wall
Perhaps it’s light that plays me false
I need to lean into the fall
And when I reach and seek a pulse
I hope to recognize its call
Before its decency has faded
Before I get too mean and jaded
Spring is here and summer’s soon
Civility is free, a boon
And thoughtfulness, a twilight sigh,
Awaits, just nigh
Where also lurks a snarling, feral
And I ignore these at my peril
this piece is a sad little commentary on my workplace situation right now... sigh. what would i do if couldn't write or train? i shudder at the prospects!
ReplyDeleteIn answer to the above question.
ReplyDeleteHit people with a large tree branch?
I know what you mean Harlequin. Music has always played the role for me writing does for you. Where would I be without it?
ReplyDeletewm... haha... er, yeah!! nice insight into my authentic self.
ReplyDeleteMr. C.-- I like music as well, but for me,it is more soothing. it is not as ... cathartic as writing and training. it's nice to have these healthy outlets, isn't it?
double-edged swords abound - like a new suite of tarot designed to lay waste illusions. If it weren't for the bizarre environments we inhabit to earn our daily bread, we would not have anything against which to measure our sanity. Nice piece harlequin.
ReplyDeletePisces-- indeed, you are too correct!! if it weren't for these bizarre environments... in some ways, i appreciate them for all that they bring and summon. but some days.... grrrr!! thanks for the visit and the sentiment.
ReplyDeleteHarlequin,
ReplyDeleteYour poem echoes exactly my feelings this Spring. For the first time in twelve years my hometown of Bloomington has failed, in Springtime, to penetrate my depths and render away my blues. Only last week was I finally able to "see" the season. And that's pretty late.
I really appreciate the fact that your poem confesses a darkness while none-the-less gives the obligatory sidelong glance to grace. I needed that.
What would [we] do without [this]?
andy-- thanks for the visit and the thoughtful comment; glad that spring is awakening within..
ReplyDelete