Tuesday, April 25, 2023

A Bench



She offered a view:
of a lake, of a sun
centerfold
framed by a tree and foliage,
green with life.

At the forefront, a bench,
which she described
as just a bench.

"Just a bench," she said
as if to save the day,
the moment that got away.

"Just a bench," she said
as if to greet the day
that in each of us awaits.

As if to bless those less blessed,
she offered a frame, a flair, a tree
sunshine, 
dispersing rays of light over me. 

"Just a bench," she said
by the lake with fishes inside
beautiful as a girl carrying a life.

A bench, a beat, another day
in the city of jazz,
or anywhere else you might be at,
a bench is never just a bench,
a bench is a memory of those who sat:
to unseize the day, to contemplate,
to pray, to give thanks, to rest
to hold hands; to mourn the ones who passed.

|  in the memory of Renee |


                                                    

Wednesday, April 19, 2023

Fading

 




     Something about a cover of a book: torn, faded, beaten by time; a fate we share.

Before we open, before we witness the lives inside, we know these people have suffered the same condition as us: life, living. A stick floating on a river, determined to make it to its destiny; determined to set the course of its own fate; but fate is where we are, and forever changing.

     The writer inside this one had his own illusions, each movement allusions to a place he knew to be his destiny; while ignoring the houses floating along side the shore. Inside, lived stagnation, or so he thought, as he floated aimless towards a better place; taken by the current. Somewhere. The faith and the unfaithful, bearing witness.

     These are the sort of books we take down from the shelves, and skip through it, reading passages here and there. Because we are busy too, determined we are to reach a destination of our own making, our own Shangri-la

     To craft a life, worth of being admired by the mundane persons living inside the modest houses along the shore.

     These are the sort of books the people on the shore take down from the shelves, and sit on a rocking chair, a blank for comfort and warmth; besides them, coffee, and Maria cookies on a plate. 

Content, for the time being, to be where they are.