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