Liberty’s Lament

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

liberty back

I stand alone agape in horror, my heart beat racing as voices o’er the sea and land decry in throes, “Liar! Temptress!” sustained echoes that bend their eyes upon my stead, recounting words I’ve loved and said, “Give me your tired, your poor, your tost”, meant in truth but somehow lost.

immigrants

Their eyes on me in deep mistrust, regardless of these words in rust, as families weep and children cry, my God, compassion, somehow denied. I feel their struggles’ burdened weight. I know their pains but not their fate. I sense their road, their oppressive trail. I long to save their lost, their frail.

But something’s wrong, some truth’s misplaced, their hopes are dashed upon my gate. Their jeers come forth, their hopes are lost, as here they find again they’re tossed at threshold of the golden door, as burgeoned hopes fall flat once more, as children weep and mothers cry, my heart’s compassion cast as lie!

My God! Why???

I stand in hope that good prevail, that men of courage will rise to tell the story of our history in terms of truth and liberty. I pray our strength in spirit grows against our selfish interests’ blows, and welcomes to our golden door, the burdened hopeful, the tired and poor.

In every ounce of who we are, in every grain of soul collective, we stand united states as one, as through our history we’re reflective images of those suffering now, for we were they with hopes in how our lives could gain a freedom’s breath. We sacrificed through life and death, became collective, many, one, that through our love and faith we’ve summed the vey best in all of us. We fought oppression, we fought the lust, we stood for truth and knew what must be done to keep a free man free, to stand against the tyranny. We wear compassion on our sleeve, yet stand with strength in values, these, that all men are created equal, we’re born with God’s unalienable rights, our truths are life and liberty, pursuing happiness in our sight.

For not a single one of us can in truth claim or deny that we are something different, that we claim solely, that we’re the “high”. We, collective brethren, who, traversed the sea to come here, true, to wear our values, born in creed, to live an honest life in deed, to show the past our strength is summed in compassion, love, for all bar none, have built this shining star of hope, where others come to work and cope, to use their values truest song, building unity and history long. We are the products of immigrants, we the children of other lands, have come to stand united, compassion dealt with strength in hand.

Liberty crying

So I weep, I mourn this time. I bleed in colors that are not mine. I beg forgiveness to those who trust, and pray our better angels must but rise to mend this broken day, and from it form collective clay to forge anew these values, ours, heal these wretched wounds of scars. I pray we come to rise above, to show compassioned strength in love.

I stand in truth as this!

liberty front

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

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Filed under History, LIberty, Perspective, Poetry

The Circus

Trepidation tempered only by our anxious gait, as scent of cotton candy pulsed within the Oompa’s drifting plait. Down the leading path we walked, skipped and ran in anxious talk, giggling nervous hopes out loud until we spied the circus’ crowd!

Oh my! In exultation’s cry! Oh my!

Enormous posters on display, camels spitting, the grass and clay punished flat ‘neath giant feet of elephants who kindly greet the droves of folks that came from town to see the biggest show go down!

Once beyond the ticket booth and through the hallowed gate of truth, we donned our widest gaping jaws as through the side show alley saw three legged men and thumb sized girls, strong men juggling pigs in pearls, dancing bears and lions caged, pointing, gaping at every stage. Magicians sawing girls in two, sword swallowing flame breathing artists who defied the laws of man and earth, tickling us pink in circus mirth!

But as our curious peeling eyes turned forth to follow distant cries of “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!”, we spied the Big Top tent in swirls of colored flags and banners pitch, defining now our growing itch!

“The Big Top!” was all that we exclaimed as running toward its giant frame, imbibing in the musky scent exuding from the glowing tent, we swam through ether’s welcome call of dust made sweet through hay and all, in ancient canvas on tree sized rails held by ropes and enormous nails!

Oh my! Oh my! Or sole decry.

Inside this monolithic world parading horses and riders swirled, jugglers riding one wheeled bikes while clowns spat fire ‘pon tiny trikes. We spied some seats down toward the front, and running there like dogs in hunt, the band pronounced the dimming lights as we scooched in for more delights.

Spotlights on the magic ring, while rolling drums announced the scene upon the tall red coated man, top hat and beard, cane in his hand, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to our Circus world!”, on cue the band flared loud, Ring Master standing pleased and proud.

At perilous heights above us all, trapeze artists flew and called, till proudly elephants paraded in, danced and balanced balls and men, then lion tamers with whips and chairs scared us stiff in ogled stares, the jugglers came, the strong man too, accompanied by the band all through.

Then all came out to dance, perform, wowing us within the warm and savory scent that only breathes in circus tents that come and leave through smallest towns midst farmers’ fields, that only for one day reveal a whisper of the circus dream, casting memories, stupendous scenes.

Could it be that time stood still amid the musky scent and thrill that held us captive, glued in seats, with salty foods and colored sweets? For as we laughed our way back home, recalling every moment thrown, we felt we’d lived another time beneath the Big Top’s magic rhyme, and tho’ the spell was slowly cast, the moments spent went quickly past, and back into the day… each of us thinking, “one day we’ll run away, to the Circus!”

Circusa
Courtesy of Circus World Museum, Baraboo, Wisconsin, and Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus

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Filed under Circus, Memory, Poetry

Recollection – First Days of School

Bright, this morning’s fatal point,
as down the lane I walk,
edges brilliant, sharply lined,
denying summer’s lazy stalk.

Midst starch and press just oversized,
welcoming spurts of growth,
my awkward steps approach the fields
where friends resound in languished mope.

Through squinting eyes I find the lines
attached to every open door,
searching through the lists of names,
hoping for a little more…
Mrs. Leatherman’s heavy hand,
Mr. Peck’s muppet scowl,
as circling birds in buddied groups,
watching,
hoping,
closing now…

Through scent of bleach, assigned to seats,
giant maps upon the wall,
musky books of history,
handed out through sighs from all.

This day of firsts, in echoed throes,
pretends to know what no one knew,
yet blends in temporal fragment’s points,
each year’s angst recalled and true.

Till now, uniquely drifting,
lost in slipstream’s melting cast,
still drives these August senses blue,
when “back to school” comes too darn fast.

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Filed under Memory, Perspective, Poetry

The Hours Between

Until We Meet Again

The hours in between the seconds freeze a life in coy suspense,
drifting softly heaps of heart and soul across the present tense,
passing in a standstill,
bowing to the better wind,
denying temporal whispers spinning dreams of time and space again…

What of the halted fabric there of which upon the image holds?
Caught tween seconds’ forest plaits along the fence and hint of road.
Expectations,
memories,
race as runners o’er the lea,
leaping rill and brae content in slumber’s memory.

Yet paused in exultation’s drift,
time in purposed parting goes,
unsealing seconds’ casual grasp of all the hours left in tow.
Until the summer’s hush awakes,
before the dark of night sets in,
between the tasking seconds,
until we meet again…

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Filed under Dreams, Perspective, Poetry

Brevity

Time slips in sips of passing vibrant life
as age bends to tend this quiet immortal wife,
yet waits escape in poignant water’s cool relief
drawn to shallows hallowed shore, counting out the brief
spent lives, resting on the oars.

photo courtesy of public domain20104146_40_920_1380

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Distant Rain

distant-rain-2

Sensual lines above the plain,
seductive curves of coming rain,
poised o’er sweetened fields of corn
whose tassels, golden, so adorn the jasmine jade and green.

Stretching long in verdant scent,
musk of summer’s soaking lent
whispers hope beneath its blush,
silenced, calm, poised in hush, steeping in a rain drop’s dream.

Low and steady, broken lines,
rolling, thrumming drums unwind,
summer’s man-of-war released,
yet held in time’s anticipation,
lightning strikes, no hesitation,
ionizing heaven’s crease.

Tis here I pause to count the beat,
retrieve the distance senses meet,
study past the bruised sky blue,
strain an ocher hope or two, as warm July plays on.

Hushing silk, brushing husks,
decry the rhythm in each of us,
capture breath at lightening’s twain,
count, wait, breathe the rain, before the moment’s gone.

 

“Distant Rain” photograph by Sharon Knight
© Sharon Knight
© Sunearthsky.com
https://sunearthsky.com/2017/07/06/distant-rain/

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Filed under Nature, Photography, Poetry

Change

Eternal spiral feeding,
soul and life returned,
drifting through the ashes,
another year so aptly burned.

Changing only morsels,
mixed amongst the grandest sweeps
of what it was, how it was,
and where it haunts the things it keeps.

Change, renounced reflection,
pronounced in halls of history’s fade,
twisted through accepting winds,
echoed life in all that’s made.

Subtle twists of fabric,
deep and rich in all that’s turned,
drifting whispered ashes
upon the hint of what was learned.

Eternal spiral lift me,
friend, as such, through aging’s hold,
coil my spirit around me,
drift with me as days grow old.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul