Summers Come, Summers Go

Oh, how we ached in the chill of December
For the sultry swoon of summer’s days,
Where time is a turtle free of his shell
Floating soft on holiday.

And fragrant fields and meadows yield
A sensory boondogglement,
As air stands still upon the hill
And summer rains are heaven-sent.

Away you probing question marks.
Away you wicked doubts and fears.
How dare you bore upon my door
Now that summertime is here?

Tis only playful summer’s guests
Can enter here, can pound their chest
And dance the dance of folly’s fool
Until the sun sleeps in the west.

But even summer runs hers course
As autumn bites upon her nape,
And the turtle waits inside his shell
To taste the wine of summer’s grape.
 
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Fourteen Hundred Ninety Two

In fourteen hundred ninety two…
You know the rest.
Of course, you do.
Three ships upon uncharted seas
Unfurled their sails to venture west
Seeking passage, swift and new,
To fill the Royal treasure chest.
Intrepid souls who knew no fear
Undaunted in their magic quest.
 
Upon the helm, with watchful eye
He glides into the great unknown.
Never seeking alibi
He knows the choice is his alone.
Never asking how or why,
Not a sigh, a moan or groan.
The threat of failure ever nigh,
Enough to chill him to the bone.
 
Alas, the crow’s nest faithful cry.
His quest at last is won.
Where hope walks free and eagles fly
A brand new world is born.

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For Labors Unheralded

Heaven bless the working man,
Or woman, as the case may be,
For labors that have built a nation,
Made it strong,
Kept it free.
 
Day by day endures the trek,
Spaghettied byways
Overflowing.
Ceaseless days of repetition,
Watching with frustration growing.
 
Even while complaints may linger
As the endless hours drone,
Though his ire may peak aplenty,
He will never take it home.
 
Home to where his world makes sense,
A different kind of recompense,
Where labors wear a sweeter flavor
Sheltered by a picket fence.
 
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Dear Dad

White knights are hard to come by these days,
So often blemished or misaligned.
But shortsighted memory
Is always forgiving
And the foresight of hindsight so often is blind.
 
So I never flinched as you donned your armor
And rode out to battle with dragon or beast.
Against famine and foe you defended our castle,
Returning the bounty,
Providing the feast.
 
Relentless, tenacious, untiring in effort,
Your fortress impenetrable, or so it seems.
But I see your heart, taste your will,
Touch your feelings,
See through your eyes as you strive toward your dreams.
 
Often profane,
Ready to ire,
Firm when the situations demand,
Yet soft as a feather
And quick as a heartbeat
When favors have need of a helping hand.
 
When I needed a hero
You took the stand.
 
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Remember

On foreign fields to cast their fate,
Prepared to fight,
If needs, to die,
To keep the evil from our door
And halt the plague of tyranny.
 
No need to question or conspire.
Orders firm.
Duty clear.
Against the devil hoards they stand,
Defenders of the proud and free.
 
And fear is not a luxury,
Though danger stalks with every step,
As bravehearts stand and fight and die
To keep a trust,
To save the dream.
 
So we remember what they did.
With reverence we inscribe their names
In stone and steel
And in our hearts
So they shall never be forgotten.
 
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1776

Seeds of oppression sewn from afar
Germinate slowly when thrown in the mix,
Until growing unrest feeds the fodder of cannons.
It happened in 1776.

A king’s heavy hand sent ire through the land.
“What burden of tyranny next he inflicts.”
The voices cried out. In defiance they shouted
And echoed in 1776.

Merchants and farmers and woodsmen alike
With rifles and sabers, pitchforks and sticks
Assembled as one on Lexington Green.
A prequel to 1776.

From Bunker to Breeds
Through marshes and reeds
Until Cornwallis pleads for an end to their tricks.
Through battle scars torn
A nation is born.
It started in 1776.

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Mother

She was
     And is
My most treasured memory,
Instilling all that is decent and good.
Gentle hands
     Gentle soul.
Gliding through life on gossamer wings.
 
Wise in her measure, she
Spoke without judgment,
Softly, quietly, never in anger,
Unless in defense of those she called
Family,
In which case she fought
With the heart of a lion.
 
Always near
     In spite of the distance,
Always dear
     To those she adored,
Playfully childlike
     Without being childish,
Quick with a smile
     Or a soft-spoken word.
 
Mothers are jewels,
Honored and precious.
Keep them forever.
You only get one.
 
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Survival

Please, Lord, leave this house untroubled,
We who serve you humbly plead.
Knowing well your faithful promise
We shall follow where you lead.

Heralds rise to sound the trumpet,
Blast a warning all must heed.
Close the door and
Light the candle.
Hearts in faith need never bleed.

Safe within this sanctuary,
You are surely all we need.
Nothing to bring shame upon us,
No concessions to concede.

Faith denies all pessimism.
Hope springs forward from her seed.
Onward with determination,
One day soon we shall be freed.

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Easter Sunrise

Sunday sunrise
Always a blessing,
Marvelous message
Of Faith’s revelation.
Harboring hope
As the dawn breaks horizon,
Sowing the seeds
Of a new world creation.

Hearken the herald,
The spirit has risen.
Rise in revival,
His praises to sing.
Pray for the pilgrims
Who seek without finding
The calm and the comfort
Redemption can bring.

Eyes to envision,
Lips to give praise.
Sunrise to sunset
Now and always.

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Valentine Lament

My love is pure,
My love is here,
My love is never far away.
She makes me laugh,
She makes me weep,
She turns my nighttime into day.
 
If I am cold
She gives me warmth.
If I am lost, she knows the way.
If I forget
She will recall,
She brings me back from yesterday.
 
She is my now
And my tomorrow,
To love, respect
And, yes, obey.
And when, at last, this life is o’er
We’ll meet in Heaven,
This I pray.
 

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HAVE YOU SEEN MY BLOG?

Everyone is invited to view my blog. I have been posting since 2005. Please, browse, enjoy and leave your comments (good or bad).

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Another Saint in Kelly Green

Across the spectrum and beyond
There flows a sea of Kelly green
As celebration dances
To a jig for chasing cares away.
The laughing Pub,
The village square,
The shamrock flourish on parade,
And everyone is Irish
If only for a single day.
 
And saints preserve,
As saints may do,
The mystery of miracles,
The goodliness of Godliness,
Of daring deeds empirical.
And may an Irish blessing
Raise a torch on high
To light the way.
A lesson earned,
A lesson learned
On this, Saint Patrick’s day.
 
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All the Presidents, When

To carry the weight of a outspoken nation,
To fearlessly lead with the wisdom of Solomon,
Exalting compassion with gratitude
While viewing the masses
With forthright equality.
Neither extol nor decry their guile.
 
Champion to everyone,
Revered and reviled.
Servant to all,
Servile to none.
Walking the tightrope of gathered opinion
While plotting the course
Of Sweet Liberty’s cause.
 
And we who are witness
Will always remember,
Praise them or carp them,
But give them their due.
And whether the world be friend or foe
Let all be recorded in history’s vault.
 
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The Fools Of April

Oh, you jokester,
Prankster, Fool,
Fearless in
Your pratfall follies.
Do you dare to
Break the rules with
Any tools at your command?

Obvious that you enjoy
The many tactics you employ
With faceless, feckless fortitude,
The masquerade of your decoy.

Never mind the price you pay
Or who your folly may annoy.
As long as you indulge your joy
And swiftly make your getaway.

Expert to economy,
Vanquisher of gloom and doom,
Forlorn frowns are vanquished 
When the fools of April fill the room.

Springtime

Finally, respite form
Bone chills and teeth rattles,
Mittens and snow battles,
Shovels and scrapes.
No longer bundled in
Parka and woolen cap,
Breaking the frigid snap.
Blessed escape.

Nature erupts
In its vibrant illusion,
Precious profusion
Of color and scale.
Crocus and john-o-quill,
Tulips and daffodil,
Lilacs upon the hill,
Senses assailed.

Morning awakens as
Sweet dewdrops glisten
And new lovers listen
For robins to sing.
Time holds no meaning
And space knows no reason
For earth wears no season
More lovely than spring.

When Groundhogs Speak

Daylight breaks
And he awakens
Groggy, stiff and unaware.
Rain or shine
Drought or drizzle,
Bang or fizzle,
Doesn’t care.

Humans watching,
Pert and pensive.
If he knew he’d lose all senses,
Hide behind the tallest fences,
Any respite from their stare.

Will he chance to see his shadow?
Will he forecast winter’s fate?
Can we trust in his prediction?
We will simply have to wait.

A Man of Peaceful Means

Why are those of peaceful means
So often hated and reviled?
To teach and preach for kindness sake
Is hardly breaking any rules.
 
And yet the cruel and hardened fact,
The one that cannot be denied,
When pulpits reach to speak of love
They’re levied with the brand of fools.
 
And hate becomes the child of fear,
Without a tear, his conscience bare,
And lashes out with loss of reason
As the legions seize his fuel.
 
And though the masses sue for peace,
Long for love and fellowship,
Their light cannot outrun the darkness
Cast upon the pristine pool.
 
Heroes rise and legends fall.
Still the banner carries forth.
For always men of peaceful means
Prepare for battle and renewal.
 

 

A New Year/ New Beginning

Patience, Sweet Serenity,
You must learn to pace yourself.
No vacuous rules say
You must rush in fervent quest
To reign the world.
Seek instead that tiny nook
That fills your heart and mind with joy,
Even now as you employ
This new beginning,
One year ending,
Opening a pristine book.

Much that changed
Remains the same.
Must refocus to retain
The object of this seekers dream.
Nothing quite the way it seemed
As Midnight gives with soft caress
The promise of Her silent kiss.

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Kite Flyer

Oh, you fearless high flyer,
          Tree crasher,
                   Nose diver,
                             Loop the looper.
Where is your home,
You homemade wonder?
Who is the hero holding your fate?
 
Yesterday’s newspapers, twigs and twine
Loosely bound with flour paste.
Rag bag tail of red and paisley
Waiting for the wind to
Do its splendid magic
Lifting you so you can dance
Among the clouds,
Making gawkers strain their necks
With careless wonder at your ease.
 
And I, your pilot,
Groundsman, soul mate,
I am the master of your sky.
 
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February Song

Yes, dear friend, her cold runs deep,
Her frozen earth of steely stone.
Even in the sun’s brief glow
Its sharp fangs penetrate the bone.
 
Bitter wind sweeps every corner
Of her tiny village square,
Sweeping from vast  northern tundra
Spreads its pinpricks everywhere.
 
Bundled well in scarf and parka
Venture out into her fray,
Blinded white with falling snowflakes
Stop to watch her children play.
 
Snuggled now beside the fireplace,
Scalding cocoa warms inside.
Let the chill enjoy her conquest.
We have nothing left to hide.
 
And we huddle at her leisure
Watching as the days grow long,
Bound to leap with hope and joy
As February sings her song.

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...And It's Christmas

It’s reindeer on rooftops,

It’s cocoa and cream,

It’s dewdrops and gumdrops

And sugarplum dreams,

It’s carolers caroling

Sounds of the season.

Do-gooders doing good

For no good reason.

…And it’s Christmas

 

It’s Santa and elves

Waiting perched at the mall
With Eddie and Adeline
Watching in awe,
It’s crimson and candy canes,
Emeralds and diamond rings,
Lollypops, presents and
All kind of wondrous things.
…And it’s Christmas.

It’s angels with halos and
Good will toward men,
A grand celebration of
Family and friend,
It’s eggnog and candlelight,
Star-topped trees twinkling bright,
Praises to Heaven that echo the night.
…And it’s Christmas.

 

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In Maryland, the tail is wagging the dog

It is sad to see the Maryland State legislature being manipulated by big money gambling concerns. I suppose we should have seen it coming long ago when the issue of legalizing gambling in Maryland first appeared on our horizon.

For year the legislature fought tooth and nail to keep gambling out of our state. It was a part of an evil empire that would demoralize and destroy the integrity of our beloved homeland. It is amazing how economic downturn can totally change out outlook and even our moral constitution. Once surrounding states began consorting with big business gambling concerns and threatening to take millions of potential dollars from the Maryland treasury, the legislature had a sudden change of heart. After all, in a democratically controlled state such as Maryland the legislature never has enough money to feed its spending habits.

And so it came to pass that the jellyfish legislature left it to the people of Maryland to decide what they couldn’t bring themselves do on their own. But they placed such restrictions on it that even the big gambling concerns flinched at accepting it. Slowly, the original plan began to take shape. Three of the approved venues have, at long last, opened.

But before all of the original slots-only facilities have opened, along comes “Big Gambling Concerns” with an attempt to change everything. They want to open a sixth venue. They want additional tax/revenue concessions. They want to offer table games and Internet gaming in addition to slots. And they want it NOW, before all of the changes can be vetted and thoroughly considered.

They are dangling so many carrots in front of our legislature and spendthrift Governor that it is irresistible for them. They are salivating and chomping at the bit to grab the golden ring so they can feed their growing appetite for programs we taxpayers cannot afford.

Forget that these are the same legislators who once opposed gambling. They are now in bed with the big gambling concerns; concerns that, no doubt, have ties to organized crime. We’re talking big money here. Money needed to carry on a legislative agenda that knows no end.

Talk about the tail wagging the dog….

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For Momma

Softly, her voice can still all of our fears,
Vanquish the tears we’re so desperate to shed.
Gentleness follows her,
Lives all around her,
Spreading her aura to all who surround her,
Even without a word being said.
 
And love is her specialty,
Follows her constantly.
All who she touches are better for knowing.
Inspired by her wisdom, blessed by her presence,
Smiling inside as we cling to her essence,
Our love for her only keeps growing.
 
Now, as her angels come whispering to her,
Urging her softly with sweet words of love,
We who remain will listen intently
As she adds her voice to the choir above.
 
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Sweet Dream Makers is now published.

After more that a year in development, "Sweet Dream Makers", a book of poerty credted by our online poetry group, is available at www.Amazon.com. We are very proud of this piece and are anxious to share it with everyone. Here is the link:
http://www.amazon.com/Sweet-Dream-Makers-Irene-Brodsky/dp/1105424340/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1331907056&sr=1-1

Proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to charity.

Wellsprings of Happiness

Bubbling up,
Trickling down,
Springing from somewhere
Deep underground.

Growing in strength,
Merging in flow,
Gravity dictating
Where you will go.

Soothing the sorrow,
Easing the pain,
Cooling the swelter
Like sweet summer rain.

Endlessly moving,
Cannot be still,
Dreams to fruition,
Fortunes to fill.

Hope to deliver,
Laughter to deal.
Wellsprings of happiness,
Help me to heal.

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We Are But Flesh

We are but flesh,
Muscle and bone
Housing a miracle known as life.
Blood-pulse nourishing every breath
Daylight to midnight,
Winter to fall.

Keen for awareness
Looking for answers
Even before the questions are spoken,
Vaulting a world of trivial madness,
Seeking everlasting peace.

Guidance of angels
Brilliance of aura
Never to dally where substance is void.
Searching the sky
For something beyond
This meager existence
That dwarfs the self.

We are but flesh
Muscle and bone,
Silent in stealth
But never alone.

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Runs with Scissors

Ah, to live with such abandon,
Flaunting rules,
Forsaking care,
Like a child who runs with scissors
Never thinking consequence.

Dashing off to feats of conquest,
Flaring cape and daring-do,
Masked avenger crushing evil,
Grand toastmaster of defense.

Swooping in on wings of stealth,
Rescues maidens,
Saves the day,
Savors victory incognito,
Shuns the spotlight.
That’s his way.

Now years on years (not always kind),
This antique craft no longer flies.
Still that child who runs with scissors
Exists somewhere deep inside.

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