Unresolved Chord

A Nomad in No-Man’s Land;
A walker in a warzone, paddling through Life’s puddles.

A Rider on the rainstorm;
A Flier over barren fields, or at sail atop an empty sea.

What happens next is on the tip of the tongue;
Seeking…

Discord or Harmony?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 5 January 2021

Box of Wonders — Box of Love

(dedicated to Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee)

When the leaves are gone,

there is still a tree beneath with the beauty of the silhouette

and the variegated textures and colour of the bark.

Under the grey and stormy clouds,

the sky is a canvas of blue; hues soft, bright, tinted by sunrises or sunsets

or dark, midnight blue with the glimmer of distant lights.

Below the water, the sand and rocky sea-beds expose treasures with each low tide; 
a colourful mosaic of scattered shells, aquatic lifeforms, rocks, driftwood, seaweed, 

and wave-polished glass.

Inside a rough, misshapen orb of characterless stone, a crack reveals a glittering rainbow;

a hollow displaying a geode of gemlike beauty within.

We animals have minds and souls

of wit, love, beauty and strength within our flesh, fur, feathers, and skin.

Our bones are strong, our brains brilliantly control our hearts, nerves, senses, and breath;

no matter how our exteriors appear, we are individually beauty and love.

We know when we open a package that the container might be prettier than the contents. We might not find the hoped-for answer to our desires within the gift-wrapped box, or the anticipated joy when opening the item just delivered at our door.

That doesn’t mean that there isn’t a treasure to be found within each living thing, each experience, each sight, sound, fragrance, touch, each new flavour experienced, every new stranger met, or lessons learned.

Open each “Box of Love” with love; Life is full of wonders to be opened and savoured.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 12 December 2020

Solstice

 

Holly and Ivy, Comfort and Joy

Mistletoe, wassail, a shiny new toy

Carolling, harmony, Yule log aflame

Letters all written, does His list have your name?

Rime on the windowpanes, ice on the eaves

Hoar frost on tree branches naked of leaves.

Bonfires on hilltops cajoling the Sun,
Candles in windows guiding the One.

A wren for the Lady, a stag for the Lord,
Morris Men leaping with bells and wood sword.

Hobbyhorse in the nursery, Hobby Horse on the Green
Rocking the little ones, bowing down to the Queen;

Green boughs and berries, shoes by the door
Harvest’s last bounty, Winter winds roar.

Warm crackling hearth fires, bright twinkling lights,
Protecting our dreams through the long Winter’s nights.

Peace for a Blessing, For a Prayer, Gods’ speed

Dark Winter to Spring’s thaw, strong growth from the Seed.

Ivy and Holly, our lives a wreath-wheel

The Seasons a Circle, each New Year the Seal.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 11 November 1999

Uplifted and Grounded

(for Karyn Kedar)

Life is an Alchemy of Spirit;
We are created, and there is a vessel that transforms us.

We ascend, reaching out to ourselves;
Reaching back in reflected wholeness.

Even when our physical selves have returned to stardust
We remain: our thoughts, our deeds, our actions, our creation transformed

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 10 October 2020

Chloro(ful)phylled

Trees abloom from green to sunlit hues

Vivid saffron, orange, red
hide beneath the verdant camouflage.

Sunrise, Sunset dye the leafy crowns with vivid paint, imbuing withering facades and veins with gilded pigments.

Woodlands giving up their greenery coats for Autumn; showing off their Summer brights beneath 

Before nestling under their Wintry cloaks ‘til Spring.

 

 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 7 October 2014

 

Elul 1, 5780

 

Gratitude
not incriminations

Insight
not pretence

Pride
not vanity

Spirit
not contempt

Breath
not bluster

Centred
not scattered

Lightness
not weightlessness

Depth
not superficiality

Strength
not brittleness

Kindness
not smothering

Understanding
not presumption

Love
not vainglory

Everything matters
not optional or exclusionary

 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 22 August 2020

Timeless

 

(With thanks to all the "Torahettes" for the triggered prompt)

Our cultural memories are often older than we have lived;
human, inherent, lifesaving in-the-DNA memories even older.

History is only partially memory, the rest is made up of influence, opinion, and desire;
to the winner goes the narrative and the spoils

Word-of-Mouth family and national histories; Generation to Generation, L’dor V’dor, whether by repeated family tales or patrilineage and matrilineage
by the recitation of names back through unwritten records

Our individual chronicles of nation, family, or sect are how we teach and learn.

History is not precise, memory is fallible; words and meanings transform;
narrations alter; so, must then the conversation.

History is an amalgam of misremembered observations;
it is a retrospective, even if written from accounts inscribed during an event

History, even if derived from multiple factions is mutable

Knowledge changes, information adapts, understanding and awareness rarely keep up.

Opinions are not fact, people are not without fault, and today’s certainty is tomorrow’s doubt.

The only demonstrable fact is change is constant and timeless.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 11 August 2020