English gardens and mown lawns,
Is knowing when to ad-lib
— and when to follow the script.
It is knowing the times to enunciate
— and the best opportunities to scat.
To be able to feel
— the rhythm of the universe,
as well as knowing
— which chart or chord.
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 20 August 2025
Wind gusting sideways
blowing litter widdershins across the paths;
flotsam and jetsam scattered all about
like rubble after adversity.
Doors swinging to and fro
slamming and squeaking in protest with the effort;
branches groaning 'gainst the squall
in opposition to the raging tempest.
Rain driving everything and everyone before it
leaving eddies in its wake;
soaking shoes, pavement and earth
leaking pseudo Spring under the doors.
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 1 February 2016
( A December 13th Tanka)
Melody, rhythm
Andy dancing as he plays
Music with such joy
Mandolin, Bass, Cymbal, Drum
Performance is a prayer
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️21 December 2025
We All Know What We Need —
Health
Less pain
Calm
Less numbness
Peace
Less fear
Abundance
Less need
Security
Less war
Love
Less hate
Life
Less death
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️9 August 2025
I am grateful for my body, even when it fails me,
for my life, even when it’s a misery and doesn’t feel like real living.
I
am grateful for my strength, even when it fades; my wit, even when it flags;
the heartbeat that keeps me alive, even
when it races.
I
am grateful for my sight, both inward and outward, even while it blurs;
the lungs that allow me to breathe, to laugh, to talk, to sing, even when my
voice cracks with exhaustion and emotion.
I
am grateful for feet that bear my weight and move me forward, even when they cramp, and the muscles that keep
me active, even when they ache.
I
give thanks for teeth that allow me to speak, smile and chew, even though they
are both sensitive and chipped; the backbone that keeps me upright, even when
my shoulders hunch in frustration and my neck aches with tension.
I
give thanks for my tears that sometimes pour like rain —
or sometimes dampen like dew, because they show that no matter what,
no matter how I might physically feel—
or the manner in which I might think about
myself or others — I still care.
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 21 April 2018
Black white
blue red
green;
It’s all grey
You can’t fix one without fixing the other.
Tug of war
High tide
Low tide
The water is all the same;
It should all have the same set of rules under the Moon.
Tug of war is normal as long as both sides have equal rope and equal strength.
Tug to war should never be business as usual.
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 21 October 2020
(with thanks to Joni Mitchell)
April skies
Grey palette striae of layered travertine
July skies
Dandelion sails drift in cerulean seas
October skies
Silver-blue moiré backlit with ermine trim
January skies
Downy overcoats and snowy, grizzled beards
Mutable illusions
The ceiling changes light,
textures, hue and chroma
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️31 March 2025
Remove the migrants, the waitstaff and farmers; kick out the gardeners, nannies, and maids. What do you get?
Are you going to do it: grub around in dirt all day, dirty faces, nappies, and houses?
Who is going to clean your resorts, mow your golf course, work your slaughterhouses? You? Your children? Your unemployed, needy retirees?
Or should the low-wage grunt work be passed along to veterans, with no benefit K. P. duty for life, cleaning up after and feeding their lessers and taking orders from bone-spurred millionaires who have never had a non-golf-related callous or injury in their lives?
Are the hiring class going to create jobs for us lesser souls doing the work of serfs, slave labour and wages, taxed their employer’s share and eating the leftovers off their plates or arrested for dumpster-diving?
Are we to eat only what we can plant in rented allotments, unwatered by rain, drowned in floods, burnt by flame or run-off, and unpollinated due to climate change and dead bees? Or do we beg for crumbs from the master race and pray for global annihilation to succeed in wiping humanity out?
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️ 10 January 2025
With thanks to Cosy Sheridan for the mental prompt
Brown Seeds, Bright leaves, Green Boughs, Berries; Shoots and Blossoms, Blooms fruit and swell
Cool winds, snowstorms, fresh’ning breezes;
Grey rains, Ice rinks
Puddles, Swimsuits
Dusk and bonfires,
Dark skies and hearths, Dawn and snowdrops,
Day, Sand and Surf
Spinning, Turning,
dried leaves to snow; Circling, Whirling,
Live, dance and grow
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️ 6 August 2023
Like the Burning Bush,
we burn but are not consumed.
Neither drive nor ire.
I have been considering this week which burns brighter:
Does love or hate, determination or stubborn will, fury or desire flare up and become embers that glow and last?
Do our flares of intention become firestorms that destroy everything in their path or burning bushes that draw others to the flames, warming and fanning our intent while not burning out and flaring to a blinding flash?
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 14 October 2018
How many people actually pay attention, are truly aware of their surroundings, feeling other people’s joy, pain, wonder, and confusion?
How many notice the fragrance of nature’s growth or inhale the stench of human-made refuse;
assuming that ordure is all that there is?
How many well up with tears over a stranger’s sorrow,
smile with pleasure at the sight of a smiling dog or a laughing child;
not too self-absorbed to react viscerally to someone else’s emotion?
How many care about anyone other than themselves,
every other living thing in the world,
accepting the sentience of others unlike themselves?
Who among us worries as much for strangers
on the other side of the world, the other side of the tracks as we do for the things we want for ourselves?
Is empathy a lost art, a word with no longer any valid meaning,
has the reflective bubble in which we now exist replaced the faces behind us in the mirrors of our own egos?
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 11 August 2017
After a year of 2020 Vision
of looking inward with forced introspection,
have we become agoraphobic or socially inept?
If given the choice, will we venture out of doors?
Like a cooped-up dog on the first day of outdoor sniffs after a long winter, will we give a joyous bark to announce our return or doubtfully stand wary on the front stoop?
We have learned to hibernate, to dwell alone, together staring into little boxes and large screens, to live in stasis.
We huddle in our own safe bubbles, longing for the return of our lives, like the Messiah returning us to what was—to the shops, parks, clubs, and the garden—just not that Garden.
It tempts us with its proximity: outside events, work, school, travel, and other people; dressing in real clothes, wearing a watch, wearing lipstick, going bare-faced, and seeing other people’s smiles.
We can’t wait, or are we not so ready?
Time has changed us over the last year; we are set in our new ways, lazy, unfocused, unregimented by the world’s plans for us, the requirement to go, do, and be.
For the many people who felt alone before this “we’re all in this together social bubble”, — they are now on the inside, looking out — and uncertain if they can once again learn to live by being on the outside looking in.
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 13 April 2021
More wars to end war;
definition of despair
death doesn’t halt Death.
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️ 5 August 2017
Why do we always pray for peace but never give thanks for peace when we are lucky enough to find it?
Why are we seemingly incapable of making Peace rather than constantly waging war against each other and ourselves?
Why do we always react in retrospect but never learn from and teach history?
Why aren’t we taught to look backwards so as to be able to think first and move forward with our feet on the ground instead of our heads in our hands?
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️4 May 2024
Grids of gravemarkers
Rows of Flags
21 guns’ boom
Flyovers roar
21 notes hang in the air
Drum taps and bugle soars
Memory of youthful faces
superimposed on ancient miens
Frail but determined, standing or in wheeled chairs
80 years of alliances, pride and sorrow, tears of memories and honour
Never Forget them
Rest easy; we have the Watch
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️6 June 2024
(with thanks to Cosy Sheridan)
Some days, my cup runneth over
Sometimes, the mirror cracks
Every once in a while, I drop everything and accept the jigsawing of my life
A little urushi, a sprinkling of gold dust, and with patience, my broken pieces become once again whole, though changed forever
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©️ 30 April 2024
