No(t)stalgia

Was it really easier when we were young?

Were people kinder, or just less blatant about their malice?

Did people really communicate with each other;
neighbours have friendly conversations, families not battle over line-drawn viewpoints?

Were religious beliefs, or the lack thereof less vitriolic, intolerant, or demanding of others?

Did children have time for play, unscheduled by parental desires or extramural activities?

Was it really safer then, allowing us to run, bike, participate in games outside of the house
and away from parents’ constant gaze on weekends, holidays, and after school?

Was living without fear of being shot, having one’s environment vandalised,
being able to go to work or school without anything more alarming than an occasional fire drill
just a whitewashed memory?

Did children really not expect to be handed every toy, device, or pricy item of clothing on demand?

Did we actually not walk around in clothing more suitable for burlesque than school or work?

Did we really wear actual hats, not ballcaps, for something other than warmth?

Were sparkly jewellery and clothing only allowed after five in the evening?

Did we ever anticipate that people would think wearing torn clothing was fashionable,
or that t-shirts and jeans were suitable attire for formal religious services, weddings, or funerals?

Did we really work only forty hour weeks, and take two-week vacations at the shore;
did families live on one parent’s income that paid for a decent life, college, and retirement savings?

Did doctors really make house calls, did customer service mean businesses serving their customers,
and no one had to self-serve themselves everywhere?

Did people once write in complete sentences and speak without swearing and slang?

Was there always this much hate, division, oversight, and undervaluing?

Was this our definition of freedom and greatness?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 7 March 2018

Yih’yu L’ratzon

May there be the Other within the emptiness.
Let there be all life within this secure space outside of time.
May there always be room for my thoughts within the silence of the Void.
Let there be morning birds.
Let there be evening calm.
Let there be mid-night quiet and mid-day song.
Let there be peaceful dreams and grateful hearts.
Let there always be Light to break the Darkness.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 4 March 2018

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