There lived on a idyllic peninsula, a man who possessed of many things, and so was possessed by them. From his opulent home above the vineyards he would look down through the great windows of glass, and see the city far beneath his hillside. His wealth was much, and most of it was an inheritance from his father, who worked hard to provide for his son. Yet the son was of the mind he was a great man, because of his wealth and because the city was so far below him. Seeing that the day was good, the man decided to go to the city and sit for a fine meal and fine wine. So he put on his finest clothes and drove his finest car down the long winding path of his vineyards to the city below.
On this same day, a young woman woke in her single room apartment and whispered a silent prayer that the tips would be good. She looked out her only window and saw through the buildings the smallest glimpse of the idyllic peninsula and its vineyards. Seeing that the day was good, the young woman prepared to go to work in the city serving fine meals and fine wine. So she put on her worn out uniform and walked in her flat shoes down the sidewalks to the restaurant nearby.
Later that same day she came upon the man at his table and tried her best to smile to him, in his great repose. He did not smile in return, but told her to refill his wine. Obliging the man, she lifted the wine bottle and began to pour. As the wine glass filled she heard another patron behind her call out impatiently. Turning her head to beg their patience, she bumped the glass with the wine bottle, sending all of its ruby red contents splashing upon the man and his finest clothes. The man in his rage cursed the young woman for her incompetence, called for the chef and cursed him as well, before taking to his feet and leaving.
That night, the young woman went home with few tips, and tears upon her face as she was no longer welcome to serve at that restaurant anymore. She returned to her small apartment and crumpled into her bed, sobbing as the moonlight shone through the lonely window.
Upon the idyllic peninsula, the man quite forgot the incident as he sipped his wine in his favorite chair. He was perturbed that he had one of his favorite shirts ruined, but resolved to go down to the city tomorrow to buy two more.
Life will be kind in it’s cruelty
and cruel in it’s kindness.
It will give heightened touch
and the mask of blindness.
and sharpest thorns.
and sharpest horns.
Life will draw blood,
but only to leave us scars.
Memories of where we have been,
and memories of who we are.
Memories of dreams
and memories of dreams lost.
Of hopes that are fragile
and then recklessly tossed.
Life will draw tears
and challenge our fears.
With nights of sadness,
where shadows bring madness,
and the pallor of night
takes all from our sight.
Life will give beauty,
and wither it before our eyes.
It will take purity and kindness,
and fill it with lies.
It make a smile
twist into a frown.
Life will be kind,
in it’s cruelty.
in it’s kindness.
Life will leave scars
to remind us,
of those things behind us.
The ‘greening rain’ comes each May
and the delicate grass blades push upward
toward the light.
It is during this time each year, I walk the paths
laid out some years ago.
I wander the mossy carpets
which sponge beneath my feet.
I peek at the buds
slowly opening their eyes,
leaves unfurling at the sky.
And I breathe in the the earthy air,
The rebirth all around
Each year in May
you will find me this way:
the earthy air.
Sometimes when I am busy with mundane things,
I let my heart ride in a blue convertible
with the top down and the wind blowing through my hair.
That is my happy place, no matter where.
I could be standing in the grocery store line
and my mind will travel down mountain roads,
where the sun shines dappled through alpine trees
and the breeze hangs with the smell of the forest and living things.
It is said that life
is the journey not the destination,
that the path is the goal, not some designation.
So I smile as store clerk beams my way,
and I beam right back, as if to say,
“I am cruising along this mountain road,
and I’m glad you came by this way.”
And then the mundane things seem far less so,
there are meaningful moments that we all can know.
With a smile and a nod, I cause a smile,
and their journey is made better, at least, for awhile.
Please join me in my convertible blue,
and we’ll laugh loudly into the wind,
both me and you.
I see you there, mortal man,
raging against the wind, tide and sea
and slicing at the vine, brush and tree,
to make of the world what you will.
And such beauty and horrors you have made!
From my window in the sky
I wonder at the living you do, with such mortal life.
But it seems so futile.
It will be, you see?
No mortal man
may change the rhythm of the tides,
or the comings and goings of the moon.
No mortal man
may freeze the hourglass,
or warm the unloving heart.
And so, mortal I ask you to say:
What is, will be.
Say it to me!
To which the mortal man replied:
“My Goddess, I am on bended knee
and pray you see, my life’s gift cherished.
I raged against the wind, tide and sea, to taste freedom.
I sliced the vine, brush and tree to build my home.
I have sailed with the tide,
and followed the moon,
I have treasured time
and lost love too.
But all these, are my bounty, oh Goddess.
For as I see approaching night
I must rage against
the dying light.”
What is a companion?
Is it a man, woman, or simply the one,
or someone who always makes things fun?
Or is it a person who’s feet touch the ground,
who’s wisdom and insight joyously abound?
Or the one who has a tender smile,
a glance and grin that makes us stay awhile?
For me, I think a companion is this:
A person who’s presence you always miss,
who always gives a gentle kiss.
Someone who hugs when you’re scared or sad,
and are always patient — even when they are mad.
A companion is the one who lights the way,
down every path, on every day.
A dandelion lay tucked in the corner of my garden
but it was at last found by me.
It was pretty and puffed in fluffy white stuff
and my eyes took in the singular beauty,
Wanting to marvel closer, I kneeled and peeled
that delicate white stuff all puffed and pretty
straight out —
and to my dismay
fluff set afloat and upon its way.
And now that singular beauty is tossed,
Some beauties when held are quickly lost.
Mere babe, so tender and unknowing.
who were you?
Before thoughts were taught,
and curses and blows bound your heart in rigid fiber,
Were you trusting?
Before the door was empty,
and disappointment stole the hopeful breath within,
Were you innocent?
Before the love was lost,
and all your goodness was thrown and broken like shards of glass,
Did you love?
Dear babe, where have you gone?
Sweet tender babe, I search for you,
but find the cradle empty,
and blackened by the shadow of that man in the door.
The sun always rises, beyond the reach of ordinary men. And yet they teach, the ordinaries, how extraordinary we may be. And they preach, the ordinaries, of God within. Promises of resurrection dance in my mind but not in my heart. The sun will always rise again but not for me, nor we. The dance begins in my chest , knowing my place in this eternal mystery is small, that death I may not forestall. So I take a stone and toss it into the still lake, and the ripples grow and glimmer in the sun. And this, I know, is all I shall ever be, and all God needs.
Several years ago, I had a blog here at http://www.benwonders.com. It was a great little place where I could explore new ideas, write substandard poetry, and share a little bit about my writing. Then the unthinkable happened, I forgot to renew the domain and it was quickly snatched up by a domain squatter, much to my chagrin.
The years between then and now have not always been kind. Somewhere in that adversity, I grew a little older and a little wiser. Some beautiful moments of joy were peppered in there. So that brings us to the present, where I offer you a front row seat to my mid-life crisis. I am now at a moment of reckoning, where I have chosen to stop wishing my days away, waiting to retire, waiting to write, waiting to LIVE.
And yet for all my impatience to begin, it would seem patience is a virtue; after several years I was able to snatch my domain back. I look forward to exploring my muse, and wondering with you all.