My Preference, by a Hare
Next to a soft warm rabbit, I
Love naught so much as a broad bright sky
A picnic under a chestnut tree
A bunch of kids in a spelling bee
A crazy quilt on a big deep bed
Sweet summer breeze playing ‘round my head
Cashmere and silk, or a good night’s rest,
But in truth, I still love bunnies best.
Beauty is in the Mirror of the Beholder
Brenda, trendy modernist, zips through her ultra-racy home
Her super-powered vacuum on a wave of pearly foam;
Her sexy subatomic voice, her skirt of crisp chiffon,
Her to-the-minute kitchen wares, her wildly brilliant spawn,
Her microscopic facial pores, her savvy in her biz,
Convince nobody that she’s great, but make her think she is.
Worlds of Peace
In the sleepy little world where
kindness can prevail and thrive
The beasts and people live in peace,
all happy just to be alive
Their gracious ways, generous hearts,
their gentle speech and thought and will
Protect them all throughout the day,
and through the nighttime hold them still—
Would that this dreamy little world
could bloom and flourish here on earth
And that such hopeful tenderness
pursue us all straight on from birth
My wistful wishing is not vain;
this virtue could embrace us all,
For we do know how to be so,
if only we would heed the call
And so each morning as I rise
I make a small and silent prayer
That by the night’s new-darkened skies,
we’ll find ourselves all living there
None Escape It
Here in the crematorium, a lily
escapes the flaming heat in Esgard’s grasp;
Esgard, though, won’t escape the same way, will he?
He’s much too far beyond his final gasp.
No need to mourn excessively, though, fellows,
for Edgard doesn’t need your tears and dread;
while he’s now in a form that quickly mellows,
the lily, too, will soon enough be dead.
It Takes All Kinds
I am the back end of a pantomime horse,
and I say this without much embarrassed remorse,
because I could never have claimed too much class
to have let people see I’m a true horse’s ass.
No reason to laugh, though, or mock me in jest,
since I’m in such fine company with all the rest
of the others (this, straight from the true horse’s mouth),
for we know every north end requires its south.
No cause for weeping, dear friends of my heart,
for prancing behind is its own kind of art,
and no matter how foolish the fine equine farce,
better far than play dead to just play the arse.
Peace of mind and clarity can be mighty hard to come by these days. Half of the time I have a tendency to suspect they’re things I once had access to or even owned in small quantities but somehow misplaced. Don’t mind me, I’ll be crawling around here on hands and knees with my compatriots. If we look like we’re hunting for lost contact lenses while not actually awake, you might well be right.
Respite
Among the herds and hordes that clamor for attention undeserved,
Some few remain that will not yammer but sit back, demure, reserved—
Odd, in the cacophony of wild, attention-grabbing rush,
That what finally wins from me my focused notice is mere hush—
The effect of surfeit, excess, ultimately in the riot
Of the maelstrom, is what checks us in our racing: simple quiet—
So I seek the silent moment, empty spaces, basic form
Of absent noise and crush and foment, then go back to face the storm.
Sad Story All Around
Sylvester from Sylvania, magnificent skier and scout,
Went off to explore the slopes one day, but the minute that he was out,
His girlfriend Sylvia opened the door to another particular friend,
And I needn’t tell you that soon enough, they all came to a tragic end,
For Sylvester’d forgotten it was late spring and roots sticking out of the snow
Tripped him at top speed; with a nasty fling he crashed to the gorge below;
Meanwhile, back home, Sylvia and Sid were having a high old time
‘Til Sydney’s wife showed up with a knife, and that’s the end of this rhyme.
Uncertainty of Heart
Amid most fond expressions of affection, endless love,
Devotion and determination to be stewards of
These sentiments and feelings, is that little nagging voice
That tells us it would not be so if we had any choice,
Because we are perfidious by nature, roaming, weak,
And fearful of commitment to degrees we cannot speak,
And paranoid, on top of it, that others are the same,
And so we speak our pretty vows and play our little game,
Attempting to convince ourselves as much as other folk
That our desires and adoration aren’t some flimsy joke—
The shocking Surprise Ending to this tale is that at death,
Some of us finally realize upon our final breath
That all of it was true, and that our hearts were so inclined;
Too bad we take so long, we fools, to see that we have lived as blind.
Work Forever in ProgressHundreds of lines later,
I have nothing to show
except if you count
a sense of accomplishment in having
been faithful to a commitment, in having
persisted steadily in the face of the
unseen and unknown, in being
somewhat soothed by the simple
process of having given a little
heart and soul to something
simply because I could.
However I came to exist,
I think I might be a little bit
the same kind of puzzle myself,
imperfect and utterly incomplete,
but nicely so, for all of that–
nicely, because,
after all, I am working my way
toward being something at last,
and whether I have
an encompassing purpose or not,
I have at least
begun to Be . . .
Seventeen years ago today I got married. And as all of you who have visited this blog with any regularity know, when I got together with the man who became my husband, spouse, best friend, partner and daily companion, I gained a world of music. Of course, music was a big part of my life already and distinctly a contributing factor in our getting together in the first place; I worked in the university art building, right next door to the music building, and spent plenty of quality time there going to concerts, meeting with friends and all of that sort of happy thing, and when the nice Director of Choral Activities asked me if I’d be willing to help spiff up the aging auditorium for the annual Christmas concert festivities I gladly said yes. That was only the first time I made banners for an occasion of collaborative fun with that nice DCA man. Less than eight months later I was making bunches of banners to fill up a church nave for our wedding.
No surprise that, since under friendly pressure from them we gave up on the attractive idea of eloping and just having a party with our family and friends on our return, we decided that the best alternative was to have a celebration with lots of music and just party all the way through the event. Turned out it was easy to do so.
Assembling our wedding’s participants was easy-peasy. Relatives and friends from work, home life and church lined up and pitched in as planners, greeters, acolytes, reception hosts and much more. Clergy? Well, as the daughter of a bishop I didn’t have far to go to hunt up someone to marry us. The church’s lead pastor presided and Dad officiated, and a dear sweet retired pastor friend served as lector. Witnesses? Having three sisters, I had no problem lining up a team; Richard’s backup was easy to arrange as well: his sole brother, our mutual beloved friend Jim, and Richard’s colleague and partner in choral crime, also named Richard (Nance). Musicians were easiest of all for us to arrange, unsurprisingly.
We had an outstanding pickup choir of students and members of Richard’s choirs, past and present, and friend-colleagues playing horn and singing the processional solo. Jim, getting in some exercise during the service, was organist as well as standing up for us. That, as well as having helped us plan the whole service and choose its music, and set one of my texts to music for our congregational hymn. Richard N, besides joining the altar party, pitched in (no pun intended) musically as well, conducting the choir for us in a lovely collection of pieces capped by the premiere of the exquisite anthem he composed for the occasion (now a best seller for Walton Music!).
Yes, this is a brag post. Happily, all true.
Happy Anniversary, my Love.
Art-Colored Glasses 