Sunday poem: "A Doctrine Born of Fear"

A Doctrine Born of Fear

There is a doctrine born of fear,

one much too deep for man to hear;

but all the same, it is embraced by

the human race to avoid the call

of our essential nature, and it has

put the brakes to the natural process

of individuation; and not until we

see that we are more than what this

doctrine teaches will we transcend

our earthly ego and be what we are

meant to be, like the acorn, apple,

and tomato seeds that grow into

their own identity.

Poem to ponder: "Trapped in a Gilded Prison"

Trapped in a Gilded Prison

There’s a teaching that I know,

from years of personal living, that

opens a door to eternal wisdom and

then closes the door behind you,

locking you in with its teacher; and

everyone I know who lives by this

new age teaching cannot get beyond

its blue box wisdom, truths stolen

from an ancient source but worn so

thin from recycling that it has lost

the integrity of its original meaning,

sadly keeping one’s unwary soul

trapped in a gilded prison.

Poem for the week: "The Wonders of Compassion"

The Wonders of Compassion

Of all the wonders in the world, the one

that awes me the most is compassion;

a simple gesture of kindness—picking

up a lonely hitchhiker stuck for days

in Wawa in Northwestern Ontario; one

small heroic act of grace—patting a

fellow competitor on the shoulder as

he passes him on his way to the finish

line in the Hawaiian triathlon, honoring

the man’s best effort; offering a pregnant

woman a seat on the Go train at Union

Station in Toronto; and little mercies of

understanding, like knowing that you

are right but not making a big fuss over

it because it means more to her (or him)

than it does to you; absolutely nothing

in this world has ever been more awe-

inspiring to me than the wonders

of compassion.

New poem: "Life Fatigue"

Life Fatigue

I wish I could say it was lassitude,

indolence born of boredom, but I cannot

confess to a lie; and it’s not this novel

coronavirus pandemic with all the social

distancing and self-isolation that comes

with it that’s stolen my zest for living,

writing included. I can’t confess to that

either, because that would also be a lie.

It’s something else, much deeper than

I’m willing to confess to. But I don’t

want to go there, because then I would

have to sit down and write the story I’ve

been putting off for fear of getting it done,

and then what would I have to do but

start another project and repeat my life

over again. It’s no wonder Camus

imagined Sisyphus happy.

Poem for the week: "When Thoughts Collide"

When Thoughts Collide

A poem without a title has no place

to go, wandering from thought to thought,

waiting for the magic moment when thoughts

collide and sparks fly; only then do thoughts

jell into a new pathway deeper into the

mystery of self-becoming, which is the

imperative of all poetry and natural process

of individuation, another way taken to its

highest level of aesthetic perfection. But

sometimes, if the poet is lucky, his thoughts

jell into a new perspective long before they

surface to his conscious mind, and he is

called to capture his new insight in a new

poem that explores the unborn way of what

is to come and leave a new trail for the world

to find its own way through life.

New poem: "Equal Justice for All"

Equal Justice for All

All it took was one gesture

of brutal insensitivity triggered

by a white Minneapolis police

officer’s repugnant conviction

that his uniform granted him

immunity for what he did in his

line of duty, but little did he expect

how the global pandemic of

COVID-19 had sensitized society,

and he was charged with second

degree murder for taking the

handcuffed Black man’s life by

kneeling upon his neck for eight

minutes and forty-six seconds

and choking him to death, and

city streets across nations filled

with people demanding equal

justice for all, because Black lives

matter no less than the life of the

Minneapolis police officer who

took the life of the forty-six-year

-old African American father of

five whose terrifying plea “I can’t

breathe” has become symbolic

of centuries of systemic racial

oppression and injustice.

Poem for the week: "The End of the Line"

The End of the Line

It’s the end of the line for me,

no more searching, no more mystery;

and all the living that I do, merely

confirms what I already knew.

It’s a strange place to be, this place

called me; the sum of every part

of who I was, reborn into the whole

of all that I was meant to be.

My journey began long ago, beyond

the concept of space and time, in a place

called there; and it came to an end,

in this place called here.

Oh, what a life it’s been, this quest

for myself; and now that it’s all over

I cannot help but wonder, why

was I so hard to find?