Category Archives: Poem

THE NATURE OF PERFECTION

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Random Thoughts on the Nature of Perfection

Everything in the natural order is perfect.
If you doubt this,
look closely at any flower
or consider the workings
of any animal,
including man.

Each part of nature is so intricately bound up
in the web of it all that its perfection
is only a small part of the whole.
Man makes the mistake of overlooking this
as he pokes and prods and institutes changes
in the natural order.
What man believes is of benefit to himself
is not necessarily of benefit
to the whole cycle of interdependence,
and it may not even be of benefit to himself.

PERFECTION

Potentially,
Every
Reaching
For
Excellence
Contains
This.
It’s
Opposite?
Nadir.

But all perfection is not to be aimed for.
There is perfect evil in the world
as well as perfect beauty
or perfect kindness.

If everything in the natural order is perfect.
In seeking to alter nature, it is man who has created imperfection.
Monsanto is the enemy of perfection.

MONSANTO

Perfect
Evil
Rebounds
From
Every
Can
That
Is
Opened
Now.

Perfection is best observed very close by and very far away.

Here is a printable list of Monsanto owned companies: http://www.realfarmacy.com/printable-list-of-monsanto-owned-food-producers/

https://promptlings.wordpress.com/2015/09/29/the-sandbox-writing-challenge-8-what-is-your-idea-of-perfection/

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Life’s a Candy Store.” You are a 6 year old again How would you plan a perfect day?

Version 2My dad and I at the Deer Huts when I was about 3.

Black Hills Reverie

My dad is coming with us–he doesn’t have to work.
Corn muffins in the oven, and coffee on the perk.
It’s orange juice for sis and me.  I take a little sip.
We woke up really early to start out on a trip.
We’re going to the Black Hills where we will spend the night.
We’ll start out just as soon as we have had a little bite.
We’ll stop to pick up my best friend who will go along
They’ve let me plan the whole long day, so nothing will go wrong.
En route we’ll stop at Wall Drug and have an ice cream cone,
then drive on through the Badlands, as dry as any bone.
My dad will sing a song for us–“Lonesome Mountain Bill”–
and let up on the gas petal as we crest the hill
to give our stomachs all a lurch and a little flutter.
My mom will say “Oh Ben!” and then my older sis will mutter.
But Rita and I love  this trick and we will urge another–
an action nixed first by my sis and then by my mother.

We’ll stop at Petrified Gardens and see the fossils there,
buy rose quartz and mica and other rock chips rare.
Then on to Reptile Gardens where they wrestle crocodiles,
to ride on giant turtles and view other reptiles.
We stop next at the Cosmos where gravity’s gone amuck.
We’re doing everything I wish. I can’t believe my luck!
On to old Rockerville Ghost town where we have our dinner.
If I resisted cherry pie I know I would be thinner,
but with a scoop of ice cream it really is delicious.
Just try to keep it from me–I’m likely to turn vicious!
Next we drive the pigtails, where the road just curls and curls
passing over and over and thrilling three small girls.
We’re going to see Mt. Rushmore–those giant perfect faces.
Perhaps we’ll buy a souvenir if we’re in Dad’s good graces.
Then on to drive Custer State park with the begging burros.
We’ve saved some treats from Rushmore–some peanuts and some churros.

Back to Rockerville we go for supper and a show.
The “Mellerdrammer” (sic) is the place where we’re going to go
to hiss the villain from the crowd, throw peanuts at his back
as he ties the heroine to the railroad track.
Then drive the seven miles to my favorite sleeping place,
though mother doesn’t like it, and she makes a funny face.
“The Deer Huts” are just cabins right up in the trees
and we have to use the outhouse to take our bedtime pees.
We get to walk with flashlights and pick our way with care,
through the ponderosas, where perchance we’ll meet a bear!
I love the moonlit shadows and the night bird calls,
being extra careful to avoid stumbles and falls.
Sometimes we fake the need to pee to take another walk,
and on the way my friend and I walk slowly as we talk
of all the things my parents have let us do today.
We both agree that this has been a perfect sort of day.

 daily life color076 (4)My sister Patti and I in the Black Hills, age 7 and 11.

 In South Dakota, lunch was dinner and dinner was supper.  For the sake of authenticity, I’ve maintained the custom in this description of a child’s perfect day.

Yin and Yang

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                                               Yin and Yang

I wrote about Yin and Yang in a much earlier post that hardly any of my present followers read. Go here to read that poem: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2014/06/21/changing-lines/

*https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/yin-to-my-yang/

Lunar Eclipse #1

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Since we also had a full Lunar Eclipse in 2014, I’m reblogging a poem I wrote for the first one. The photos are also from that eclipse.  I was able to capture the full eclipse last time, but the cloud cover prevented that this time.  I did capture it for most of its cycle, however, and you can view tonight’s pictures HERE.

                                                                     Lunar Eclipse

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Lunar Eclipse

Last night I rose to watch the full eclipse––
a blood orange moon, full in the dark night sky,
around it, scattered stars and tall palm tips.

It was as though in this world, only I
watched the last fingernail of glowing moon,
chewed at by shadow, slowly wane and die.

And then the night birds with their lonely croon
gave timbre to this darkened night soon joined
by lonely burro, braying for the moon

as though they mourned for vision now purloined
or simply sang for joy of adding to
the beauty of this dark moon newly coined.

Then once again the moon’s edge came to view.
Earth moved aside in favor of the sun
and for an hour, I watched as moonlight grew.

Then sought my bed, the pageant not yet done,
as light increased and shadow slowly waned.
Inevitably, once more light had won.

The ending known, no mystery remained.

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Our prompt today was to write a poem in terza rima, a form invented by Dante and used in The Divine Comedy. It consists of three-line stanzas, with a “chained” rhyme scheme. The first stanza is ABA, the second is BCB, the third is CDC, and so on. No particular meter is necessary, but English poets have tended to default to iambic pentameter. One common way of ending a terza rima poem is with a single line standing on its own, rhyming with the middle line of the preceding three-line stanza.

Here is a link to the pictures I took of the lunar eclipse on September 27 & 28 of 2015! https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/09/27/eclipse-of-the-blood-moon-over-mexico/

The Year I Gave Up Childish Things

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The Year I Gave Up Childish Things

At the age of sixty-eight,
I’ve no wish to equivocate.
Is there a time when childhood ends?
When we give up playful friends?
Cease to lie in grass and dream?
Drink our coffee without cream?
Always do what’s reasonable
in order to avoid life’s trouble?
Say no to candy and dessert?
Cease to giggle, joke and flirt?
If so, I can’t remember mine.
Perhaps when I am sixty-nine!

The prompt: Write about a defining moment in your life when you were forced to grow up in an instant (or a series of instants).https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/when-childhood-ends/

Serpentine

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Last night I was talking to okcforgottenman in between posting pictures for the selfies prompt.  He first said it didn’t sound very much like a prompt I would pursue, then advised me on which pictures seemed too staged (Yes, I removed them), and in the end suggested I add the picture of my shadow on a beach studded with jellyfish.  That was a good suggestion and I posted my blog, then noticed that it was 3 a.m.!!!

This chain of events is not unusual, for I rarely try to go to sleep before 2 or 3 and sometimes even later (earlier?) but for some reason, I am always surprised at the hour.  I think I said something like, “How did it get to be 3 a.m.?”  Forgottenman answered, “Time is a snake,” and for once I was the one who said that would make a good prompt.  Of course he agreed and issued the challenge, so here is my poem on the subject, which is not at all as original as his, which I have read.  He’s now polishing it.  Well, actually, he’s now out mowing his lawn but thinking about polishing it.  I’ll give him 24 hours and then I’m posting with or without him.  It is 3:30 p.m., September 12, 2015.  I’m giving you fair warning, okcforgottenman!!!!

YaxchilanDivineSerpent
Yaxchilan Divine Serpent

Serpentine

Time is a snake coiled in the dark–
ready to strike, eyes on its mark.
In the sun of youth, the snake may laze
in torpor from the day’s long rays.

If it moves slowly you may not see
time progressing from A to Z,
but as you grow older, it builds up speed,
spurred onward by the urge to feed.

The snake uncoils and starts its race.
Sensing this, you join the chase.
Your goal is what you’re meant to do,
while the serpent’s goal is only you.

With luck, you are still in your prime
when you run your race pursued by time.
For later, fatigue stakes its coup
and you slow until time catches you.

Then it coils gently around your head
in hammock, easy chair or bed.
Its pulsing gyre steals you away–
that final price that life must pay.

See okcforgottenman’s poem written to this same prompt  HERE.

We invite you all to write to this same prompt.  If you do, please send a link to both of us!

Unclear Agenda

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This poem is set in California, U.S.A. and the initial character is American, as are the protesters. The men standing outside the lumber yard are Mexicans looking for work. 

Unclear Agenda

His denims worn and torn, his hair unshorn,
he sat on a fruit crate near a stop sign
on an exit road just off the California interstate.
“Will work for food,” his sign said, so I stopped.
“Jump in,” I said, and he looked confused.
“I have a city lot taken over by castor beans,” I told him.
“I’ll give you a meal and ten bucks an hour to clear them.”
“Lady, that would take me a day or more,” he said.
“I can make more than that in a few hours, just sitting here.”

A week later I see him in a line of toughs
who line the street, holding signs and now and then
crossing the street to harass the Mexican laborers
in the parking lot outside the lumberyard.
“Illegals steal the  jobs of good Americans,” their placards say,
while the littler, more brawny men stand silent,
not answering their jostlings and their shouts.
Once more, I pull up in front of him.
“So you’re ready to work?” I ask. “Jump in.”

I direct the question to the lot, and not one answers.
“So no one wants the job of cutting castor beans?” I ask.
This sparks a recognition, and he shifts and turns,
his attention suddenly captured by the man lighting a joint
behind, in the shadows of a shrub.
Still, not one answers, so I drive on to the parking lot.
When I ask the question again, thirteen hands shoot up.
I leave with a full back seat and when I turn into the street
not one picket sign is lifted. Every eye avoids my own.

This poem, based on a real incident, was inspired by the prompt, “Wandering Revenue” that was suggested to me by the Topic Generator. https://topicgenerator.wordpress.com/submit/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/daily-ritual/

 

Science and Politics at the Redneck Bar : Quotation Challenge #5

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I’m going to do one more poem based on the quote that Lourdes Mint sent me.

“Never express yourself more clearly than you are able to think.”
–Niels Bohr

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Science and Politics at the Redneck Bar

It’s easier to talk than think,
especially when you’ve had a drink
or two or three or six or seven.
That’s when you’re sure you’re going to heaven.

And anyone more liberal
is surely going to go to hell
along with those who worship God
with rituals that you find odd.

And even worse is all of those
in turbans, robes or hippie clothes
who don’t believe in God at all.
They’re destined for the biggest fall.

Transsexuals and the profusion
of folks with sexual confusion
need to get their heads on right.
or be removed from good folk’s sight.

Those who pontificate in bars
sport redneck slogans on their cars
and are so sure that them and thars
will live with God up in the stars.

Creationism is a fact
and scientists have made a pact
with one below who waits for them.
to come and make their home with him.

and they don’t even need to think
beyond what they next want to drink,
They’re so securely in the know
because the Bible told them so.

They do not need to feed their brothers,
or provide health care for the others.
Planned Parenthood’s the devil’s scheme
and Right To Life’s the savior’s team.

Woman should bear what she has sown
and raise the product all alone.
It is her punishment for sex
this guilt for children she neglects.

Society should never pay
for lowlife children such as they.
Society should close its doors
to the progeny of faithless whores.

Retribution is the thing
Obamacare neglects to bring.
Cutting welfare’s the best way
to insure they pay and pay.

If you were smart like them, you’d know
this scheme is how the world should go.
First remove birth control and then
make sure she has her spawn of sin.

Do not provide for them at all.
Then you’ll begin to see Eve’s fall.
What she brought Adam to she’ll see
and be punished endlessly.

 

 At Fourteen

There is a whole world out there and you’ll see it soon enough.
It is the world inside of you you’ll find especially rough.
Try to write about it, and try to tell the truth
about the things that happen that you find uncouth.

Write about what hurts you, and hurts that you have done–
all those shadows in you brought into the sun.
Ask those around you why they act in ways that might seem cruel
and try to live your own life by the golden rule.

Take chances and do not be cowed when you achieve less
than what you might have hoped for, and when you’re wrong, confess.
Don’t just do what your friends do. Don’t act before you think.
However strange the ones around you, try to find a link.

The world has enough meanness. Try not to add to it.
Try harder in environments where you seem not to fit.
People who are petty will cut you like a knife,
but the chances that you take will be what will make your life.

Other people’s rules pinch like a too-small shoe,
so don’t let other people dictate what you do.
Do not fear to step aside and go out on your own.
The fields that yield the sweetest crop are those that you have sown.

Post this advice up on your wall and read it now and then.
Use it as a means to reassess where you have been.
Then when you are older, and your life grows thin,
do what I am doing now. Consider it again.

 

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “From You to You.” Write a letter to your 14-year-old self. Tomorrow, write a letter to yourself in 20 years.

Back Window

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Back Window

I take a break from my last chore
to peer through glass, ceiling to floor.
For though a view I never lack,
my house’s eyes are all in back.
I watch the gardener cut and trim,
the locksmith to the right of him.

One scrubs the algae from the pool—
a craftsman polishing his jewel.
A man on ladder repairs the wall,
the tree-trimmer the highest of all.
See how we tend her outer skin–
they without and we within?

Yolanda sweeps the terrace floor,
then comes inside to sweep some more.
Inside I watch and labor, too,
for there are many tasks to do.
I dust and gather detritus,
smooth out wrinkles, straighten muss.

Three days a week we labor so
until I wonder if I know
which is the owner and which the thing
that luxury and comfort brings?
Dear house, is it you that harbors me,
or am I here to maintain thee?

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          The Boss:
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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Lookin’ Out My Back Door.”
Look out your back window or door — describe what you see.