canopy conceals the stars and moon darkness shrouds the source of sounds in a veil of fear sounds come from all directions none louder than the boy’s pounding heart as shallow breaths join the chorus of fear suddenly strong scents fill his nostrils it’s like an approaching death pulse quickens he lowers his body to the ground becoming one with the earth then a torch is lite he is encircled by his elders bapa dola speaks saying each hunter must have empathy for their prey the taking of life for survival means the end of survival for another so should be done with respect and understanding of the prey’s fear a fire was lit and the elders brought forth nature’s offerings for a boy was now a man
moving to beats embedded by society the world’s people arise and begin the prescribed rituals coffee tea polluted water walking dogs feeding cats rousing children from pretend sleep a state of sleep designed to postpone the participation in the rituals how quickly children learn to dislike the rituals an innate awareness of where conformity leads they’d rather dance to their own beat but that’s not possible ford assembly line education assures their ultimate participation in the rituals no off cadence beats or steps are allowed you must think of your credit rating don’t you ever want to a home rebels all those lovely uniformly unique tattoos which unknowingly declares participation in the rituals tribal markings like man’s early years on this planet tribal markings and cave paintings along the roadways where one can hear tribal drums calling out to all join the ritual dance of life
During the next few days, I will be on holiday…yes again…so I will be posting very few comments on your blogs…however I shall continue to post new poems here and hope that you will enjoy them. Until then, cheers!
fingers
trace
her lips
floating
across
surfaces
as if feeling
the velvet love
within
oh how spring
brings forth from poets
a multitude of verses
a never-ending array
of love lost
and then regained
friendship betrayed
and then forgiven
like an army of prodigal sons
birth and rebirth
more flowers than in a monet painting
colorful rituals of every sort
say but one
removal of the christmas training wheels
although not practiced everywhere
it is one which these poets have forgotten
and like all rituals it has its steps
first to ride upon the softest grass
assuring no injury to the child
leaving only injured ants in its wake
no unexploded ordinances here
unlike the fields in vietnam
next moving to the cruel street
father racing beside his child
legs pumping and out of breath
protecting his child from his past pain
like a parent in beirut, afghanistan, iran
or east la
where learning to ride is not an option
finally at the child’s insistence
the father is banned to the bay window
watching his child challenge the world alone
with coffee cup in hand
still running beside his child
and with his first fall
the first scars upon his heart
as the child continues to confront the world
the father cannot end his virtual race
and with each fall
another scar
Read Between the Minds 