Butterfly’s Wings

Everything is interconnected;

Poor decisions made a century ago led to a half-century of deprivations and conflicts

Well-intentioned choices made by powerful people changed borders, governments,
created countries, and destroyed cultures and histories.

Displaced people, upset by Empire and cultural changes split off into ever more narrow factions,
 religious fracturing, extremism, violence, intolerance, and hatred.

The desire for unbridled control led to ever-changing alliances, wars, and overthrown governments; the enemies of enemies became friendly allies eventually reverting to even greater enemies than those feared initially.

Those new enemies, knowing so much about their previous allies, turned that knowledge into cultural and actual weapons with the never-ending outcome violence, attacks, insurgencies,
and the mass murder of civilians and the exodus of refugees.

Migration of desperate people combined with global climate change, weather anomalies, famine, drought, floods, and other natural disasters resulted in political discord, closed borders, hatred, blame, and distrust of the other, anti-Muslim and revival and increase of antisemitism resulting
in the rising popularity of insular and autocratic governments.

Greed, the exponentially increasing desire for fortune, power, religious, cultural, sectarian, sexual, tribal and gender-based hatred having an inordinate effect on economies, violence, acceptance, and national and international ethos systems  

Technologies designed to improve lives adapt to encroach on living; causing insecurity, fear, interference, lies, theft, and loss of trust, truth, and independent thought.

Technology also leading to loss of jobs and entire industries, causing more need by people receiving an ever-diminishing portion of income and benefits while corporations and the wealthy become even more prosperous.

Every year, decade, month, week, day, and hour someone’s choice and action will be the catalyst for an entire creation, destruction, or unintended or undesired circumstance; everything is interconnected.

Your unthinking words or deeds might result in another Treaty of Versailles, another Cause of Action, Hiroshima, Overthrown Government, Al Qaeda, Daesh, Iran, Iraq, Libya, Afghanistan, Syria, Pearl Harbor, Tito, Mogadishu, Chernobyl, Fascisti, Pol Pot, Mao, Kim Jong-un, or Hitler.

History, past, present, and future are the roots, trunk, branches, leaves, and fruits of our lives; think before action or speech. Feed or prune the Tree of Life as needed, but don’t be responsible for any destructive growth undermining our foundations.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 5 December 2019

Infernal Triptych

For California, (with thanks, and dedicated to Ross Steiner Z”L)

 “Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down”

Sparks, wind, kindling 

Wildfire, trees, businesses, homes 

Lives burnt into ash. 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak 

© 15 October 2019

“Seemingly Weightless Sliver of Ash” 

Dreamed lives left behind

Memories and futures burnt

Deadly Winds of Change.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak 

© 28 October 2019

"Phoenix Rising from Ash”

Flames burning, cleansing

Cauterising, destroying

Rebirth from ashes?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak 

© 31 October 2019

Lyric(al) Poetry

(for Patti, Carrie, Vance, and Ann)

Write as you’d sing it

Phrases, rhythms, and intent

Sing like a writer

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 20 October 2019

Grace Notes

It's chilly, but I'm warm enough.

My muscles ache, but I can still walk.

The clouds are grey, but the trees are in colour.

The squirrels are hoarding, but I have food to share.

My footsteps play counterpoint to my heart’s beating drum. 

The traffic is noisy, but I can hear distant singing.

My nose is running, but I can still breathe; 

it is mid-October, and I can smell the air.

The days grow shorter, but I am nearly home; 

the nights are long, but my books and bed await me.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 13 October 2019

​

Reaching

Look with awe upon that you cannot imagine;

overwhelmed by the brightness of staring directly into the sun.

You may think that you are focused on the darkening eclipse,

but the luminosity of that which you cannot see is overwhelming.

Dazzling jewels and the shimmer of molten gold,

colours too intensely saturated and brilliant to comprehend;

the actual sight of which would burn you into coal and ash.

Inside the core of yourself, stretch out your mind, 

reaching with intention toward the least part;

what would your fingertips touch, that foot,

which is closest to your illusory goal?

It is in the reaching, not the touching that encompasses the reward;

the desire for the worldly prize that obscures the divine.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 24 September 2019

Tick

Just a second,
Minute by minute;
Life happens in its own time.
I’ll do it later,
Second by second;
Suspense swells and deflates.
As soon as I’m done,
Hour by Hour;
Substance crumbles to dust.
In a moment,
Day in and day out;
Infinity expands… and I wait.
The Thief of Time is Time

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 18 March 2013 

Autumnal Equinox

Is the Day half Light or is it Night that’s half Dark?
In whose realm do we find the grey?
Divided by time and spectrum, cockcrow and nightingale’s song;
with fall comes the ebbing of Radiance and the rising of Shadow.
The wind changing from balmy breezes to polar gusts tell the future of the leaves.
The Brilliance of sunlit leaves fade and become the Gloom of nature’s yearly sleep;
leaving empty nests and branches in the muted autumn days.
Overnight the temperatures sudden drop from summer heat to autumn crisp presages winter ice.
Does the Day recede like falling tides,
or does the Night encroach like the rising tides?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 22 September 2016

Stardust and Seas

with thanks to Liz Keifer for the thought.

We are formed of particles, of stars long forgotten.

We are made of clay and dust;
atoms formed of small things that rode the light of the Firmament.

We descend from fossils of lives beyond memory and Time;
birthed here, of the Big Bang, we crawled out of the ashes of Earth,
tempered by Air and Fire, the vast expanse of Waters.

We are flesh and fluids, both soft and hard, animal and mineral;
and we are made of oceans as our tears, and the sweat of our brows are salt.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©11 November 2019

Breathe of the Divine

Not animal, vegetable, or mineral; neither liquid nor solid, you can’t touch it,
but it can push you forward or back.

Air in motion, spinning, leaping, shoving, lifting, agitating;
when still it seems non-existent, it just is.

It has no hands or mouth, yet it can tear, bite, pummel or caress.
It can burn or chill; lightly touching with warmth or a cooling sensation

It lifts, pulls, rustles, and blows;
invisible, it is always there except when it travels elsewhere,
leaving silence and stillness behind.

The wind is unseen except by its shadow; it carries scents of far away,
of home, of good memories, of freshness and youth, or the stench of illness, battle and. death.

From all the cardinal points, it brings distance closer;
the green growing things of new life in spring,
the odour of summer streets — festival foods and refuse
the brittle and pungent smell of autumn and the frozen, piney rasp of Winter.

Wind is felt, it is heard, it is smelled, it can be tasted,
it can be ridden by insects and birds;
it touches us inside and out, but it is invisible to the human eye, as invisible as the sight of infinity.
It makes us huddle together and step apart.

It is both a blessing and a curse, but it is neither an ill wind nor a tailwind; it is endless and always.

It calms or in its absence becalms; seen by its effects alone.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 11 September 2019

Kol

כל האבות ואמהות

We are attached by threads of history;
sacred covenants and cultural memories

Our connection to a place: out of time, beyond recollection—
keeps us joined even in disagreement.

We are separate and linked, we were there and never there;
born or affirmed, throughout millennia
always bound in both the then and the now.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 3 September 2019

Passages

Our lives are our paths
Crawled and walked throughout the years;
Some run straight, and some are maze-like, some dead ends and some seem endless.
Downhill, uphill, divided or twisted back to where you began.
Walk your life’s path:
amble slowly and feel the breeze; scamper quickly to run towards home.
Gather flowers at the side of the road;
Plant a tree from the pinecones at your feet.
Walk forward among the twigs and grasses; climb the boulders and cross the sands
carrying the pebbles in your shoes and the wildflowers in your hair.
Collect your found dreams in your pockets and strew blessings along your way.
Know that you blazed a trail; lead the way forward for others following.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 24 August 2019

Countdown

I never thought the world would end in my lifetime.

I never thought the skies would darken with fire and ash, the waters dry up or flood the lands, polluted with chemicals, plastic, and dying beasts.

I never thought the poles would melt; the shorelines disappear, the earth would quake itself into giant cracks and fissures or open gaping sinkholes swallowing cars and houses whole.

I never thought we’d stand by, drowning in conspicuous consumption, greed, disposables, and more and more new stuff while marine life choked on plastics and fish and birds are poisoned by drug and chemical run-off.
I never thought we’d murder the bees.

I never thought the people would cheer a return to lawlessness, misogyny, racial hatred and oppression, virulent antisemitism, class warfare, embracing the repudiation of science, forced common religion, denigration of education and the Arts, and denial of rationality and reason.

I never thought the world would burn; ignited by hatred, invective, and intolerance; fed by greed, desire, and narcissism, drunk on empire, power and derision.

I never thought life as we knew it would crumble around us, murdered by self-interest and disinterest.

I never thought I would be afraid humanity’s death knell would happen before my eyes; I thought we’d learned.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 24 August 2019

Chorus

Today is a day like every other day
but like no other day.
This morning the sun rose as it always does
but it is not yesterday’s sun.

Tonight the sun will set, the stars will shine
but the glow will be younger than yesterday’s light.

Today the World awakens
but its inhabitants have all changed.

Tomorrow…
Ah, tomorrow will be just the same, but different;
‘It’s always a day away’.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 14 September 2017

Centre

Breathe in golden light
Life’s  candle flames; draw it in
Exhale; tinted rose.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 9 August 2019

Renaissance

Crocus peeks from ‘neath the snow
Snowdrop growing toward the dawn
Green life signals from below
New life’s here, the old one’s done

Blossoms ripen on their stems
Leaves unfurl their nascent shoots
March blown seeds sow precious gems
Earth and field give forth bouquets

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 25 March 2014

Ravell’d Sleave of Care

(with thanks to the Thane of the Unnamed Play)

Let me be able to fight for my life while awake;
not spend the night in tangled covers and tattered sleep.

Random dreams scattered like pollen or moondust;
dry tears spattering my pillow.

Tossing and turning, shaking loose fear and doubt;
like a broken mirror in the dawn reflecting my past
as I try to focus my mind and reflect on my future.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 3 August 2019

A ’Mazing

(Dedicated to Tina Sloan-Mcpherson
who always knows when to change her shoes)

Walking to or walking from
on fresh, mowed lawns or rough terrain;
sand might warm your toes or squish wet footprints in the damp.
Lush grass may tickle your feet, or stain your shoes sap green;
hopping across stepping stones or wading through tidal surf,
crunching through gravel lanes or a run over sticky asphalt roads,
spiked shoes in the scrum, or warm pebbles under bare feet,
rough wood in a sauna, cold ice under skates,
hot coals in a challenge, broken glass glittering underfoot.

We stroll through our memories on tippy toes and our futures in running shoes.

We tread many labyrinths throughout our lives;
some within and some without.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 3 March 2016

“and go ‘Round and ‘Round and ‘Round in the Circle Game.”

(with thanks to Joni Mitchell)

I feel as if my whole life has been a labyrinth leading into a maze; going back and forth from childhood to adult, innocence to reality, silliness to sophistication like a sailing ship on a peculiar tack.

One never knows when the next turn will come or what direction life will go; 
head the wrong way, and you might come to a wall, take the right path, and you might stumble. There will always be unexpected obstacles; starts, stops, bridges, or subways impeding your forward momentum.

We are all children, all ages; we go forth expecting joy, play, protection, security, and summer vacations full of long days under blue skies with the promise of frozen treats to come. No matter how old we grow, we react to the bell of the ice cream truck, the scent of roasting marshmallows, the feel of sun and wind in our hair.

We forget that we are older, with responsibilities, with creaks and groans in our joints instead of from the swing-set, squinting to read instead of from the sun, our skinned knees from tripping and falling down instead of falling off a bike.

One day we look at the night sky and wonder where the stars went; the constant twilight of neon signs and streetlights have stolen the constellations and shooting stars; there is no longer a meteor to wish upon, only the niggling fear that the rock will hit with deadly force.

One day we become aware that the trees under which we played, climbed upon, within its canopies, where we hid to read, or beneath where we collected acorns, leaves, and cones, have started to die turning yellow not from autumn but from climate change.

One day the buds and spring flowers enthral us with the hope of growth, but the next, we wake up to the news and the loss of another life; the ruin of a day of potential wonder.

I walk my path through the turns and switchbacks, focusing on the steps ahead while remembering those I’ve already trod. I use my remembrance of things past to colour my way forward; tingeing the memories like a hand-coloured photograph of my more naive thoughts, plans, and dreams.

I still have my dreams, but my plans have changed against my will. The winding circle of intention has turned into the prickly maze of adulthood, where each movable, blocked pathway was the means to an opportunity to reach my goals.

I am once more stuck in a clearing, with no map, but only a bench and my memories.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 7 August 2019

Knot

I internalise,
I look at myself and hide;
Keeping pain within

I bury my hurt
Like a wounded animal
Showing no weakness

Never verbalise
Only within my own mind do I allow truth. 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 25 July 2019

At Arms... length

Brusque hiding softness
Biting muzzling kindness
Belligerence burying acceptance
Caustic concealing sweetness
Coarse stifling politeness
Cold quashing thankfulness
Spite defeating thoughtfulness
Sharp veiling gentleness
Silence suppressing tenderness


Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 31 March 2015

True Lies

”I really wanna know.”
(with thanks to The Who)
Do true believers ever flinch when they hear uncomfortable or unacceptable things about their idols?

Do they, like other minorities, hear bad news and hope it was not perpetrated by one of theirs? How long can they hear and see no evil; refuse to acknowledge that they might have been wrong in their assessments?

How do they justify their blanket belief that their heroes are infallible when stone-hard evidence can demonstrably prove them wrong over and over again?

How do they live with themselves day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute; lie after lie, cruelty after cruelty, indifference after indifference?

What does it take to get them to cringe instead of only shrug their shoulders and look away; speak out and against instead of only for; to remove their blindfolds and finally feel true, honest disgust, shame and culpability?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©18 October 2017

Rosemary, Lavender and Sage

I want to close my eyes and fall asleep listening to birdsong and the music of waters.

I want to sleep until I wake on my own; plush, fur-like fleece against my skin.

I want my heavy eyelids to close to dream-free rest instead of restless waking dreams.

I want cool breezes to brush against my skin instead of fevered, nightmare damp.

I want to wake to the sounds of dawn: lapping waves, happily chirping songbirds, and the scents of dew-dropped herbs and rose.

I want to greet the morning with freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon toast; sun dappling across worn linens, cats and dogs resting chins against my limbs:
grateful for each new hour.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 06 July 2019

Blended, Separate, and Unique

We are all but different parts of a whole; woven like cloth; many threads pulled into diverse patterns and the fabric of a specific time and place.

Dark and light, reds, yellows, and browns, greens, blues, and hazel; multi-coloured skin, hair, and eyes: each thread picked up, intermingled into check, stripe, tweed, or tartan, amalgamations becoming their own distinct and recognisable identities.

Fibres have strength when bound together, intertwined, plaited tightly and loosely, in and out, over and beneath. 

So are people; all sentient things need to be part of a greater tapestry: each thread in the weave holding up the next. Why do some insist on being the scissors?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 22 June 2019

Are we the Authors of our Lives, or its Editors?

If we are the questions, where should we place the commas?
If we are the answers, are our stories cited, complete with footnotes and quote marks?
Do our lives have set margins or page breaks?

Are our adventures, just paragraphs and chapters rather than completely fleshed-out books of Life?

Who draws the frontispiece, or writes the dedication and prologue, who the summary, index, or the end-notes?

Do we choose our own table of contents and outline? Is our ending written, a foregone conclusion of someone else’s plot, or is the Finis unexpected, upended alteration from the draft?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 14 June 2019

L’Heure Bleue

Breath before the Dawn

Between Darkness and Light’s glow

Total Silence reigns. 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 6 June 2019

Arriving

With thanks to Carrie Newcomer for the inspiration while walking in the sunshine
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkT23oJ0rLE

Is death a void, a step into all-encompassing darkness,
a never-ending walk across black sands;
or is it a lightness of being, an infinite, openness of thought,
a return to the aether, back to Stardust?

Is death a gathering of family and love, a step towards a glowing hearth
and brightly lit windows;
or the all-embracing warmth of returning to the Mother,
back to the dust, to the Earth?

Is death silent with dark foreboding or spectral peace,
a blanket smothering of senses;
or is it a panoply of colour, softness, and delight
accompanied by the voices we love, and the music of the Galaxies?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 5 June 2019

Expressionism

(For Ann on her birthday)

I savour the taste of words
the shape of them in my mouth,
the colour of them in my mind, and the varied textures of meaning in each choice.

I love the clarity of each syllable
the hues and shades of meaning;
the plush or brittle sensation of idiom and phrase as it moves from mind to tongue.

I pick and choose each word and phrase
by habit, by convention, by usage;
each cadence, each weight and meter for its significance of its description and overtone.

I paint with words and meaning
instead of pigment and brush;
the hues and shades of each phrase, each placement of sound and thought is by design.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 30 May 2019

Quicken

Sap green leaves feather sepia branches
Willow green fronds reach out towards the sun
White apple blossoms form cottony haloes
Blushing magnolias landscape the vista
Lilacs and forsythias vividly flower’ng
Dogwoods and redbuds brighten the sky
Ev’rywhere trees and shrubs fill one’s vision; 
the air scented purple, coral, and pink
Newly minted green’ry… tender, and leafy
speckle the branches in recent repose

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 7 May 2015

Mother’s Day

No matter the difficulties one faces,
no matter the complications of one’s life;
it matters not to the spirits of the Earth.
Terra is ancient and feels her age;
She is fractured and sere, swollen and sodden,
She is abused, consumed, drained, and spent.
She has been infected, polluted, fouled, and corrupted by those she has nursed.
She, as is a mother’s wont, has exhausted herself in feeding and sheltering her charges.
She has provided food, water, fuel for warmth and cooking,
air to breathe, and clean breezes for cooling and sails.
She has allowed man to torture her, rip her open to take her minerals, destroy her hills and valleys.
She has accepted that her denizens care only to grasp more and more from her,
ignoring her screams, groans, spasms, eruptions, and gasps;
her outbursts only a concern for their own safety.
What do we owe our Mother?
Do we not owe her at least the respect she deserves for her aeons of nurture?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 8 May 2016

Everything is Simple, but Nothing is Easy

You don’t have to believe in something bigger, more powerful, something divine to pray.
You only need to believe in yourself, your intentions, the creation of an inner plan;
desire for peace of mind, peace of the heart, unity within the body,  peace in the world.

Prayer is clarity, a meditation, a centring of self with focus and intent.
Our actions are our own, only we can transform our lives, 
only we can help to change and heal the world around and within.

If we pray for others to lose so that we alone can win we turn prayer into a curse.
When our desires for things and not love, calm, health, and gratitude take over our thoughts, 
then our focus is sullied, and our intent spoiled with selfishness and delusion.

To turn intention into prayer is to understand love, to hope for good, 
to truly desire to form unnamed need into words.
To bring forth understanding from chaotic thought  
breathe in joy and breathe out fear; surround yourself with Light and the heartbeat of the universe.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 4 May 2019

Just a Bowl of Rocky Road

Life is like ice cream

Sometimes it’s sweet,

Sometimes it’s rich,

Sometimes it’s messy,

Sometimes it’s soft;

Sometimes desirable, but often it’s bad for you.

Sometimes it brings on a smile.

Sometimes it makes your head ache.

Sometimes it’s tinged pink, and sometimes it’s green.

Sometimes it’s plain white vanilla;
sometimes it’s exotic, and sometimes it’s brown
and often has lumps in the middle.

We lick it, or bite it, or are dosed with a spoon.

Life reflects ice cream,
let’s savour ours soon.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 31 March 1994

exSOLtation – Alleluia

Dawn creeps slowly in
unseen birds sing in rippling trills,
water splashes pitter puddle
upon a shallow stone.

Sky is black, then a pale horizon
emerging into tints of yellow, mauve, and blue;
a watercolour of sun and sea reflects in the sky.

Songbirds whistle chirp a fluting, soaring orchestra of sound;
an overture to day.

Flowers open to the light, petals damp with dew;
leaves sway to the rhythm of the breeze.

Nighttime peace yawns and prepares to sleep away the day.

Noon sun rises like a temple gong
harsh then dulcet;
reverberating waves of heat.

Fish bubble and plop, catching the light with their midday meal.

Playing children giggle, shriek, and run
chase and tag; bats crack on flying balls;
bicycle tyres turn and whoosh against opposing winds.

Sky cerulean bright against a fleet of fleece-white sailing clouds;
trees rustle, hiding thieving squirrels and warbling songbirds.

Drowsy-eyed against the light, Day basks in the sun.

Later, Day starts its journey towards the Night;
sky and sea both flat and darkened blue.

Swallow flit and dart, circle swoop;
hunting their buzzing dinner feast.

Sun swells, descending in a brassy, blazing fanfare
of orange, red, and gold.

Robins whistle the evening in;
russet breast aburst with joy and pride, in rousing finale.

Crescendoes, as day’s purple-streaked curtain, draws closed.

Day is done
moonlight blankets the land, stippling the trees in silver.

Reflected orbs in sea and stream polka dot the darkness.

Whippoorwills flute a descant to the owls.

Midnight shrouded trees shrug their leafy branches;
redistributing the nestled birds their heads under feathered wings.

The world is in silhouette,
colourless against a darker background of blue-black.
Only eyes are visible, nocturnal gold and green matching their eerie light against the moon and stars.

Day snuggles down in the blessed dark and sleeps away the night.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 19 June 1992

GeminI’m not

I am of two minds
I want to live two lives;
productive and busy, using my wits and skills and at the same time leaning back, napping, reading, walking, and discussing.

I don’t want a list of unaccomplished chores hiding under the furniture or in the back of the cupboards.

I want things to look forward to doing without longing to be back home while doing it.

I want a life of no regrets, no fears, and no doubts. I want a life of wonder, of joyful noises, and beautiful experiences.

I want to accomplish and do great things while the other me stays home sittin’ and a’rockin’.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 3 May 2019

Survivor’s Guilt

There is no beginning, there is no end; there is only now.

All of us survive something when others don’t.

Guilt can be negligible, or overwhelming.

The only cure is to make one’s actions a healing balm to Memory.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 10 October 2011

The Dreams of the Chalk Horse

Carved within the chalk
the sleeping horse dreams of fields
Running through the night


Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 25 April 2019

Transparency

I was raised to be kind,
to treat others with a generosity of spirit as well as with open hands; to use compassion and empathy as guides knowledge, reason, doubt, and observation to determine motivation and accountability.

I learned when to laugh when to smile, and when tears were acceptable both my own alone or in sorrow or joy with others.

I discovered that not all smiling faces are kind and not all stern demeanours are cruel; words and faces lie, learn to read eyes, listen to your heart, and instead of hearing words discern meaning.



Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 9 April 2019

This Time

Change my perspective
Far from where I’ve been before
Who should I be next?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 9 April 2019

Benediction

The whole World is sick in mind, body, spirit, and heart.
Our heads ache, our insides churn, our chests pound, our lungs burn,
and our bodies tremble in exhaustion, trepidation, and fear.

My personal space feels shattered, fragmented, out of sync and out of tune.
Feeling hopeless and overwhelmed, debilitated,
both over and underestimated weighs heavily upon my life; dizzy with shifting thoughts.

Many of us are spent; our energy, our bodies, our thoughts, our futures are drained dry.
Some, like many I know, don’t know how to go forward, but even less have the ability to stop moving.
We keep going nowhere; inertia and apathy stealing our future.

I never expected this life, this time and place, this dreamless nightmare.
I fight my way through the days and nights in the hope of anything better;
because something must be and should be better.

Many have less, fewer things, fewer friends and family, fewer possibilities and more anxiety.
Many have everything, and nothing; no hope, no joy, no chances, no love;
I am not there, not yet and hopefully never, but my luck is traditionally bad.

I know though that I have things for which I’m grateful;
I have shelter, some comforts, good and bad memories, the knowledge that I’ve tried.
Mostly, I am grateful to be alive because last week it wasn’t a certainty; give thanks for small blessings.


Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 8 April 2019

Intolerance

Who are we now?

After the shouting, the arguing, the marches, the name calling, the threats, and the lies what remains of the great experiment of the Founders?

What has become of the social activists of the last century?

How many still believe in what we protested against and stood up for;
or have they been reduced to standing and fighting for single issues that only affect their desires?

What have we become?

When did everything we say, believe in, love or hate become imbued with fanaticism?

Why are all things black or white, good or evil, pure or obscene?

How did we become a people who cheer on Fascisti, call generous and empathetic people names,
loathe anyone with whom we aren’t in complete agreement, or that doesn’t look like us;
hate and abhor the “other” so much that innocent passersby have the police called for their arrests?
How did simple disagreements in style, taste, choice, belief become a cause for violence?

Are we broken?

Have the last couple of generations, the last couple of years warped and cracked us beyond repair?

Is courteous and respectful social interaction, discussion and debate dead beyond resuscitation?

Is it still possible to talk to each other without vitriol, expletives, hyperbole, bombast, hatefulness
or computer keyboards?

Have we gone too far?

Is it achievable to return to a place where we can temper our anger, hatred, unrelenting certainties of the rightness of our own opinions that we can again listen and learn?
Is politeness to strangers, rational discourse, informed debate, differing views and opinions,
simple courtesy during disagreements still viable possibilities, or are civility, and tolerance officially dead?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 24 January 2019

Midnight to Dawning

 After the ball drops...

Is the year ending or beginning?

Has the light returned or just passing through to the other side?

Are we looking forward or back; resolving to do or not, or resenting and reflecting on what we have or haven’t done?

Is this a time to plan for the future or a retrospection; to count blessings or sorrows?

Are we grateful for surviving or hoping in vain for a new and better fate?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 1 January 2019