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