Seasons

Friendships in spring are new growth;

green shoots growing and reaching for warmth.

Friendships in summer are bright blossoms;

fragrant bouquets of joined blooms.

Friendships in fall are golden in the waning days;

rich-hued leaves that glow with remembered sun.

Friendships in winter are firelight and berries;

bright jewels and comfort against the increasing cold.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 23 February 2018

Tarnish and Rust

(With thanks to Joan Baez for the title idea)

Today I am tired.

I feel like an old woman;

no longer nimble and full of future plans.

Today I just progress in place
moving step after step, barely awake.

Today my joints are rusty,
my hair tarnished instead of silvered;
my brain creaking slowly as it turns my thoughts into movement.

Today I want to sleep
with warmth in my bed, and rain on the roof.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 13 February 2018

Still, Small Voice

The quiet voice inside me reminds me to be kind,
conscious of my gifts, of my place in humanity’s whole;
I listen, and I want to heal the world, to heal myself.

The louder voices, outside my head, shouting in my ears
are telling me to burn it all down;
the damage too extensive, the rifts too deep,
the enmity too vast and irate.

In my mind, there is an expanse between both shores:
extensive, unfathomable, and full of hazards.

I want to build a path to reason, a bond of human kindness,
a bridge made up of spirit and good intentions.

I know the desire is in me, and I hope it is there in others, 
to join our gifts together to create a place of strength and safety.

The emptiness and cacophony of the outside world though laughs at my intent and echoes it back;
the Still, Small Voice of Soul and Spirit cannot be heard above the din of Babel.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 7 February 2018

Wrinkle in Time

“Twinkle, twinkle little star.”

(With thanks to Jane Taylor)

Pinpoints of light shine within a dark velvet curtain
like peepholes in the night.

Long dead stars twinkle; memories of ancient gases explode.

Night and darkness are older than infinity;
silent winds move across the primaeval skies of living darkness.

We hide from the vastness above;
within the softness of our beds,
we burrow for safety within our heads.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 31 January 2018

Illusion or Delusion

"It's a very, very mad, mad world"

(With thanks to Gary Jules)

Invisible as an echo in an empty room;
we phase through the crowded world
like spectres through solid walls.

We are the many, the unheard voices,
the unseen presence of life between the cracks.

We are darkened stars within the void.

Only we see the warming glow that shines within
as we walk in the disorienting shade of our own shadows.
We are ghosts moving through our own lives alone.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 28 January 2017