Colden Vortex

"A winter's day, in a deep and dark December"
(With thanks to Paul Simon)

Cold as brittle as icicles hanging from branches and eaves 

Bitter and breathtaking, it turns exhalation into frozen mist 
and exultation into gasping pain.  

The popping and crackling of ice-laden branches, the syncopated snapping of logs and lit kindling;
the sharp tang of pine, incense of wood smoke, sweet, acrid, and ozone.  

The wind, like lashes on exposed skin, whips inflamed flesh into white and red weals, freezing tears in squinting eyes.  

Blue and grey skies, frost-bitten toes,
grey-blue fingers,  inflamed dripping nose;
running like a cataract over an ice-slicked slope. 

The Polar vortex eddies and roils through the town.  

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
 © 29 December 2017 

Finis “…I’ll Cry if I Want To”

(with thanks to Q, Lesley, and the lyricists)

I don’t go to parties;

I am no longer a Party Member:

I am not a Republican,

I am not a Democrat,

I am not a Socialist, a Tory, or Labour.

I am not an Independent, a Libertarian, or an Anarchist.

I am not a Progressive;
I walk in lock-step with no one.

I do not take any side except my own.

I am a questioner, a delver, a free-thinker.
I believe in fact and not innuendo.

I am a Compassionate and a Realist.

You do not want me on your jury.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 8 December 2017

Dam’s Burst

(With thanks to Mr Sondheim)

The sun comes up
I’m still thinking; no rest, no sleep.

The ability of forethought, to think clearly,
to find solutions is both terrifying and comforting.

Knowing answers is no blessing
when no one’s asked the questions.

Questioning has no benefits
when considering the conundrum of existence.

I’m still waiting; it’s like ‘I’m losing my mind’.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 1 November 2017

Big Bang

Chemical reaction
or psychic spark,

Intentional manifestation or physical science;
Theory or legend?

Indisputable fact or hypothesis?

Does it matter?

Once there was vastness; now there are solar systems.

Whether this was creation or causation
is of less significance than the astounding magnitude of existence.

Does our knowledge of science negate the possibilities?
What caused the spark of life to ignite?

Mayhap what is termed magic is a so far unidentified and misunderstood philosophy;
or perhaps the unknown used what we’d call quantum physics as a tool?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 1 October 2017

Introspection

(on New Year 5778)

Quietude, melody,

Harmony, nuach,

Nigun,

Mediation, nusach,

Poetry, discourse,

Contemplation, reflection,

Rapport, warmth,

Goodwill, remembrance, Ruach, catharsis,

Individuality, existentialism, congregation,

Interfamiliarity, unity, fellowship

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 27 September 2017

Tashlich

(With thanks to Rabbi Jason Fenster for the inspiration)

I am but an atom in a sea of humanity, a single spark of the world’s heart;
I can not heal her on my own.

My actions are slow; I have stones in my shoes.

Pebbles as small as grains of sand wear away my good intentions,
my aims of learning, charity and deeds of loving-kindness:

Anger, Frustration, Envy, Despair, Sadness, Helplessness, Bitterness, Pride;
all are grit eroding my shields.

I need to stop and rest, empty my mind of distractions, remove my shoes.

Let all the gravel life has put in my path turn to grassy trails that lead to the water’s edge.

Let me open my heart and hands to cast my sins and sorrows upon the waters,
like breadcrumbs for the birds; only then can I walk again with purpose.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 21 September 2017

Earth, Wind, Water, Fire

Mother Earth trembles
while the Anemoi blow widespread, circular patterns;
the Okeanides drop floods from the sky as the waves pound at fragile earth.

Hephaestus erupts in flame and heat, raining down fire;
burning everything in his wake.

Here we sit, asleep in our own worlds, in our own personal space;
praying for it all to stop and hiding our heads in quicksand.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 7 September 2017

Don’t let the Lights go out

(With thanks to Peter Yarrow)

We once had the Torch of Liberty,
the Votives of Memorials and Dedication,
the Candles of Sabbath;
the Moon, the stars, and the Sun.

We lit the brightly coloured birthday candles of childhood,
the tapers and menorah candles of holidays
as well as the flickering brightness celebrating old age;
lanterns in backyard tents
and flashlights for reading under the bedsheets.

Once there were fireworks celebrations
instead of the flash of gunfire, and Tiki Torches on our streets.

Once we fought to keep the Candles of Life lit in the ‘Winds of Change’;
we had lightness in our hearts,
but our light and life-force have both dimmed.

Sometime in the recent past, Life flipped the switch,
and the Light is guttering out.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 21 August 2017

Rain, Rain go Away

Yesterday would have been my father’s 91^st birthday; the 15^th will be 30 years since his death at 61 and 9 days; this recent flooding has been reminding me of that year. We took turns visiting him in hospital, but the week leading up to his long expected death none of us could get to Park Ridge.

That Saturday, my husband and I spent over 2 hours travelling the 10 miles to Lutheran General Hospital. When we arrived his room door was closed, and we discovered he’d died in his sleep waiting for us. It was up to me to call the Rabbi, to wait for my mother and sisters to arrive, and to break the news to them. In the days before mobile phones, all I could do was wait for hours until they finally got there; we forget how out of immediate touch we were with each other then.

I’ve since written many an essay, poem, memorial, eulogy, obituary, and tombstone verbiage for many loved ones as well as acquaintances. I wrote nothing for my father though, I’ve tried over the years, but little has grown to fruition. I’ve often wondered if that day’s repeated waiting purged those words and thoughts from my well of words.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 07 August 2017

Drip, drip, drip...

(With thanks to Shawn Reeves for the inspiration)

One drop, a single tear; each molecule becomes a deluge when joined with others.
Floods, waterfalls, rivers sculpt their own courses; pushing their own agendas.

Swim together, sink separately; floating along as a separate microcosm might make a lovely bubble but we need ripples, we need torrents, and we need high tides.

Remember the glorious rainbows
that form from the gossamer foam atomised over booming waterfalls;
cataracts formed of droplets... or the billows of cloud-forming steam from rain on hot rooftops.

Singly, the droplets are lovely to see when lit by a sunbeam but together they are glorious.

Be the patient drip, drip that builds a strong, but delicate, seeming stalactite…
or become part of the waterfall that carves its inimitable path
while showering the sky with rainbows.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 07 July 2017

"With hey, ho, the wind and the rain."

"But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain"

(With thanks to Will Shakespeare and Sir Terry Pratchett)

Oh, Death

Do not follow close behind;

I am not caparisoned for a desert trek.

Walk far ahead with enough time for the hourglass' sands to trickle gently down.

Ride slowly, on your Pale Horse.
You are outside time; you will always arrive punctually, even if and when I'm late departing.

Wake me not if I'm asleep.

I will be busy dreaming of sea journeys, black sands, and horse's footfalls.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 16 July 2017

Vision Quest

 “I’d already gone the distance…”

(With thanks to Robert Zimmerman)

Dream in colour

Dream in laughter

Dream of loved ones

Dream in joy

Cry happy tears

Weep out your losses

Forgive your regrets

Embrace your tomorrows

Don't forget to breathe.

Learn from yesterday's lessons
Make plans; for good or ill take solace in today.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 4 May 2017

Progression

“People seem ugly”

(Paraphrased with thanks to The Doors)

People are befuddling,
people are strange.

Known quantity or stranger:
it is impossible to know what they think or to explain how they act.

Is humanity beyond research, beyond insight, beyond reason?

Have we lost the ability to see beyond our ingrained, myopic opinions?

Has humankind determined its own extinction by choosing to believe,
and to repeat obvious nonsense on a closed loop?

Talking into an echo or to the reflection in a mirror achieves nothing going forward.

Blinders on our eyes, fingers in our ears, and venom from our lips keep us in dizzying spin.

Eventually, unless we take better care we will all get thrown from the merry go ‘round.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 10 May 2017

Reach out in the Darkness

(Thanks to 'Friend and Lover' for the inspiration for the title)

When I am alone, at least alone in my mind
everything disoriented and out of place
Carrie Newcomer is my therapist.

When my spirit is chilled, my plans in disarray
I need a voice telling me that it will somehow all work itself out.

Then I turn to the safe place of Carrie’s sumptuous timbre.

When I am feeling despondent and low
hopelessly, deep-down blue
Ann Hampton Callaway is my healer.

When all the colours of my life have leached and merged to shades of grey
I need someone whose Blues are deeper than mine.

Then I seek out the shelter of Ann’s resonant tones.

When I am in doubt about my place in my world
uncertain, perplexed, and in doubt
Rupert Holmes is my comforter.

When I need to dampen the insecurities of life before I’m overwhelmed; 
I need an intelligent reminder that the World is a complex structure.

Then I seek the philosophical libretti of Rupert.

When my spirits need lifting, 
my lungs need filling, and my joy re-ignited
Debbie Friedman is my candle.

When all seems gloomy, my light dimmed; 
I need to experience the sensations and emotions of joined voices and sweet, minor melodies. 
Then I turn to Debbie Friedman to remind me to sing out and breathe in.

When I am lost and need to find my path,

when I need strength for the battle
Patti Cathcart is my beacon.

When my potential seems diminished;
I need Tuck and Patti’s light and inspiration.
Her boundless, untethered scat and Tuck's miraculous fingers are the hallelujah to my prayers.

Words and music, rhythm and voices
the style, the ideas, the perceptions can open the heart and calm the mind.

The resolution of joy and pain, madness and melancholy;
eased in the resolution of a chord.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 19 April 2017

Blue Skies

 "Noticing the days hurrying by"

(With thanks to Irving Berlin... and the 4 musketeers)

I want a new life, a new house, a new world,
a new dream, a new existence.

I want a puppy, electronics and mechanical things that actually work,
and a reality that doesn’t need repair.

I want friends that answer when I call.

I want to smile and to laugh.

I want pain I can live with instead of abiding by its rules.

I want a vacation from worry, a holiday from stress,
free time without demands.

I want a new mattress and comfortable pillows.

I want fresh air, time to rove and nowhere to be.

I want authors and musicians I love to never die,
at least not until after I have.

I want concerts and museums, theatres and galleries.

I want sight-seeing in cities and walking on seashores.

I want health and happiness, and love and joy;

I want “blue skies and palomino ponies”.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 11 April 2017

Easy like Sunday Morning

(With thanks to Lionel Ritchie)

Water soft on my skin, 
warmth soaking into my bones, 
the faint scent of rosemary and eucalyptus: 
silence except for my breathing 
measured and deep, 
eyes shut against the ambient light.

I sink into my mind's world, 
moving pictures behind closed lids, 
and the whisper of sandalwood.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

©9 April 2017

Insult to Injury

 “Anger destroys your soul”

(With thanks to Marvin Gaye)

You expect an apology;
what are you waiting for…
go about your day, live your life,
what makes you imagine anyone will admit they were wrong?

You believe there was injustice;
maybe there was…
so what if people were harmed,
just who do you think will take responsibility for the damage?

Your feelings were hurt;
was it their fault or yours…
who won the argument doesn’t really matter,
do you know who is winning the war?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 30 March 2017

Ephraim

 "and I can see the fire on the water"

(With thanks to Chris de Burgh)

Sun glitters brightly

like prisms of broken glass 

on rippled water

Shadows dance and dip

amongst the bobbing colours; 

strangely shaped reflections

Upon the surface

mirrored trees and grasses dance

across the harbour

Masts on horizon

slowly glide beyond eyesight

tinted sails in sun

  

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 23 March 2017

Rites of Passage

"It's alright to pass away"

(with thanks to Irving Berlin but especially to Nathan Jacob Goldstein)

I dreamt of my grandfather in his Masonic apron;
presumably upon the morning of his funeral.

There was rain on his glasses,
or maybe it was only tears in my eyes.

He peered out through the bow windows onto the avenue as if searching;
maybe it was tomorrow that he was searching for in vain.

He warned me that they wouldn’t let me go
that the elders deemed me too young.

He and I knew better but the choice was never ours.

He held me to him tightly;
you are allowed to cry, but not to mourn
because you will be always here in the circle of my arms.

He was right, they wouldn’t let me no matter my mother’s and my pleas;
but he’s visited me since both in waking and in dreams.

I am always encircled in his afterglow.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 21 March 2017

Strata

Layered clothes

Layered looks

Layered hair

Layered fringe

Layered colour

Layered paint

Layered lives

Layered joys

Layered eons

Layered rocks

Layered stains

Layered times

RS-M

2 March 2017

Laissez les Bon Temps Rouler Sur

“It’s Just Another Day”

(With thanks to Sir  James Paul McCartney)

Duck, tuck and roll…
roll with the punches;
roll the dice and let them fly.

Or just roll your eyes
and let your shoulders shrug for all the good it does to try.

See the rolling fields…
of gated communities,
not a working stiff anywhere in sight;
then, in the moment roll down those grassy hillsides
tumbling, laughing… free.

Roll down the windows…
feel the breeze on your face.
Enjoy yourself this once;
today you’re allowed to howl at the wind.
Turn on the radio and dance in your seat.

Now roll up to the doorway…
there are all your friends and your family;
see all the people
arms outstretched and smiling.

You know you’ve arrived ‘cause they’ve rolled out the red carpet.

Roll a cig’… roll a joint…
lift the piano’s lid,
trill out a drum roll,
or twist the tuning pegs of your guitar.

You’re home now… hail, hail rock and roll.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

©28 February 2017

21st Century

"I can see all obstacles in my way"
(With thanks to Johnny Nash)

I wish I had a light-box with which to see the world more clearly;
I wish it was possible to see right down to people’s souls.

I wish we could understand people by the colours of their thoughts instead of the colour of their skin;
to know them by the music of their minds instead of the disharmony of their words.

I wish we could read people like a book with pleasant plot twists and happy surprise endings.

Instead the syntax is garbled, the words misspelled, the stories unimaginative, the characters self-indulgent.

I wish the good guys glowed with smiles and light, and the bad’ns carried warning signs;
that people were judged by good deeds rather than good looks and a bank account.

I wish people would listen to what is said instead of hearing what they expect.

I wish that good would triumph over evil, and truth over prevarication with more frequency.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

©21 February 2017

If we don't Listen how will we Hear?

"Do You Hear Me Now?" (song)

(With thanks to Bert Jansch)

If I avert my gaze from the ills of the world;
If I cover my ears to the wails and cries

Who will hear me when I call?

Who will listen when I speak?

If I silence my thoughts,
put a finger to my lips;
refuse to speak out when the world is in flames;
who will heed me when I warn of lightening, smoke and ash?

If not me who, if not now when?

If I do not call things by their true name,

If I do not see things as they really are,
if I only look the other way;
who will know my heart, who will hark to my voice?

If the only words we hear are our own, the only vision ours,
then for whom do we speak, for whom do we write, for whom do we draw?

If we are only an echo of ourselves
then who will answer in the canyon's expanse?

If not now when, if not us then who?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 18 February 2017

Humanity

“A good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read.”

(With thanks to Sir Terry Pratchett)

Art is ephemeral
It is in the mind of the beholder;

It is balance, it is asymmetry.

Art is finely crafted,
it is roughly hewn.

Art is fleeting, art is permanent;
it is brightly coloured or darkling greys.

Art is bold crescendos.

It is minor chords,
it is minstrel’s lute.

It is Rhapsody in Blue.

Art is soaring spires,
it is a cottage in a glen.

Art is couplets, it is pirouettes,

It is soliloquies

It is rap.

Art is neatly worded on an ink stained page.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 11 February 2017