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Category Archives: Poverty

Haibun Monday: From the kitchen of poets

Lines/excerpts from: “Family Christmas Songs” combined w/ “New Years Eve at Mill Street ” from the Poetry Vol. Night Before Breakfast, to capture and edit for  this weeks Haibun theme..

ZQ

 

 ~ Baked beans in the pot resting with salt pork, hot dogs browning in a small amount of butter on the stove top, brown bread, peeking’ from wrapped aluminum foil nested by the bean pot steaming, drifting, filling the house with a familiar Saturday night smell. Grandma, the matriarch, while straightening and re-arranging Christmas decorations is shuffled off as the children and their families drop in with hugs and greetings. They shed coats for memories of new years past, recognizing the dining room table and the familiar plates, glass salt and pepper shakers, bread and real butter to toast merriment of a seasons’ joy and the ever-present beginning of a new year.~

All proclaiming it

That true nature within us

Is the prophecy.

 

Note: The Long version “New Years Eve at Mill Street ” w/o the Haiku which belongs to :”Family Christmas Songs”.is linked, if interested.

https://rkgaron.wordpress.com/2013/12/29/new-years-eve-at-mill-street

 

 

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Notes Found On The Refrigerator May 2017

Thankful twigs, children of the blight:

Used as kindling from Camelot to Brooklyn, with ancestry in branches of Majestic Elms—

Extinct in the flames of purification they crackled and glowed in memories

Of the beautiful Main streets with bustling thoroughfares.

—when they, in regal tradition, stole the whole show.

Some interesting research digging around on the subject (for whatever, when it popped up in my mind) about the Elm tree… and perhaps I was looking for something about our future? Understanding and approaching it with history’s humility

: https://growinghistory.wordpress.com/2012/02/28/some-history-of-historic-plants/

 

*****

            No matter where I have been, in my heart I have always heard “welcome son!” And, I am as sure as my sisters have heard addressed— personally to them. The question that accompanies such a greeting is; where exactly are we? That we are being received and welcomed? And, of course, how our etiquette suddenly begins and our exit should end.

Rain falls hard on thorns

Roses soon to bloom perk up

Both will co-exist

*****

Whoa, Silver! Here comes the black stallion to welcome the Pinto.

*****

I sit here by the firelight of life, feeling old, tired, and worn out.

I sit proud with a peaceful heart after battles lost and won—

I notice the imprint of my shield, above the fireplace,

Nicked and gashed in gallant memory as history touts.

It has been sold. Two weeks ago. For bread, vegetables, lettuce, meat,

And sprouts.

I am neither happy nor angry

Nor am I hungry.

 

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A New Day For Love (Rev.5)

 (click on the red circle and white arrow then scroll as you listen and read 🙂

 

A New Day For Love

Wearing in mid-May, on another cold night,

An old worn night-shirt with faded stars and moon.

Blinds closed in the living room,

Shut tight from years of lost nights

Alone, I dimmed the lights.

 

I traded my night-shirt, for all those sad dreams.

I opened curtains, pushed them back

And cracked the blinds to let in sunlight.

Opening the door to the ‘morrow

Wearing new sneakers and comfortable jeans,

 

I heard you knock.

Kissing me on the lips

As I opened the door,

You held my face,

blushing my cheeks.

 

 

 

 
26 Comments

Posted by on May 16, 2015 in Love, New light/New life, Poetry, Poverty

 

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Awaiting My Rescue

I close my eyes to see You washing your hands

I watch the water flow    drip  ping

drip   drip   dropping.

 

My mind creaks      swaying back and forth.

I have to balance myself from completely falling.

 

I ask again      Your forgiveness,

Your understanding   the sincerity     of my last profession:

 

Rejecting ill will       rejoicing accomplishment

without anticipation of reward.

 

Discarding  the cloak and dark shades of truth I have used;

Rejecting reality as anything only visible.

 

I will accept

 all existence      as unparalleled.

 

 

I beg that was not me

drip     drip      dripping.

 

 

let it be my flaws, 

elongated,

heavy with guilt, thinned translucent   

 

in a pool of rippling forgiven sins.

I kneel beneath this water

 

with the joy of revelation, after sadness,

facing a destiny unresolved.

I bow in humility      awaiting my rescue.

 
20 Comments

Posted by on March 29, 2015 in Beginnings, Lent, New light/New life, Poverty, Spiritual

 

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A Sonnet for the Solstice Child

Oh shadow upon me, as a steel gate

Keeps a fountain frozen longing for spring; 

In darkness, with the light’s promise, I wait

for the rising sun on new mornings’ wings.

 

Seeds, beneath ice, reject deaths history

In a mind’s aging place of well tilled soil;

Hands, cold and crossed, holding joy’s poverty

In prayer, for passing summer’s last spoils.

 

Each day in lengthy dour to silver night, 

A child, my youth, an ember in my heart;

Awakens in warmth beyond blackened light,

To await creation’s surprising spark;

 

Welcoming the ‘morrow’s  guest to arrive,

With gate left unlocked, for the solstice child.

 
 

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Residivism

Lightning bursting with quick bright yellow flashes,

Lighting the narrow space between stacked metal beds

and the cement floor.  

Flashing for an instant, exploding on a head flattened pillow

in a room without a door.

 

Boxer, twitching and jerking his head uncontrollably,

face still red avoiding an imaginary opponent.

Inhaling and exhaling in short burst,

dodging and bobbing as he tosses and snorts

on strapped springs creaking beneath his bed.

 

Shadows quickly disappear on a cinder block wall.

 

The morning breaks down into neon lit hallways

with the sound of shufflin’an rushin’ in single file, to a breakfast

of hard-boiled eggs and a light portion of cereal on half empty trays.

Some with heads bent in silence, picking at their food with plastic spoons,

learning to balance their cockeyed day in Styrofoam bowls.

Others brag about yesterdays with a mixture of false pride

and disguised ignorance beneath dark blue woolen hats.

 

All remembering last night’s thunder,

all accepting their sentences as another flash in their lives

to re-configure space, and ways to pass time

in the dreadful cadence of ticking seconds, sixty at a time;

that seems to take no short cuts, before it consumes a whole day.

 

Clipboards carried with names blotted in bold,

checked for attendance, minus how long they have to stay.

How much they owe and how much to pay.

And… how much more without fences of barbed wire

or towers of armed guards when released

with empty pockets with no place to hide;

disgraced in discord, shamed and quarantined

to be labored in paper work and in digital files.

 

They have to go, their class has begun

on metal swivel seats, they simply just turn around.

Groupthink is in session. They must pass a test without a score.

They have to learn not to feel repressed in poverty anymore.

Not to steal when they are hungry or get angry without training or work.

 

Surrendered and in retreat,

They will have learned to wipe their nose on the sins of their sleeves.

 

NOTE:                    “…Nonviolent offenders are still law breakers, and they will break laws until
they learn their lesson. What I am saying is that we need to do a better job teaching
nonviolent offenders the right lessons. That takes more than prison; it takes more
than slap-on-the-wrist-probation. Drug and alcohol addiction must be broken;
discipline and job skills must be learned. When that can be done better, outside of
expensive prison walls, that is what we should do. Results matter, public safety
matters, taxpayer dollars matter, saving lives and restoring families matter.”

Chief Justice William Ray Price Jr.,
State Supreme Court

 

 
 

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