beauty, purpose

fruit falls
flesh rots
seeds bury

many die
others root
struggle through
the soil

push, crack
inhale, exhale

emerge upward
sun, air
reach downward
water, food

storms, wind
ice, fire

survival, strength
night, day
inch, inch
taller, wider

nourishment, life
buds, fruit

fruit falls
flesh rots
seeds bury

i too
am seed


12/19/2017
judithpiper

Numbly

December 2, 2017. 2:00 PM
Starbucks on Robinhood Road
~*~*~

Sitting at a table by the window
View of asphalt and CVS
Planted trees in medians

I feel slight tremors in my body
Non-visible to others
My muscles feel weak
Because they are

A healthy body
With well-functioning communication
Might feel this shakiness and weakness
After a hard workout

All I did was get dressed
Drive to Starbucks
Enter the shop
Order and sit down

Life takes a lot of effort
In the weeks two-away from my epidural

Remember when you used to describe your sensations
As you and John would sit conversing?
Those sensations were really bizarre.
How do you feel at this moment, Carol?
Can you describe the sensations?

Shakiness in my left arm
Because I'm using the muscles
Propping my left elbow on the table
Supporting my head which rests in my left palm
Which is spread across my forehead
As I look down at my journal
In which I write with a pen
Using my right hand
In which my fourth and pinky fingers
Always feel asleep

Why do I have to support my head?
Maybe it too is tired.

While sitting
My legs feel only a little weak
With the non-visible shakiness
But once I stand
I'll feel a very tiny earthquake
In my legs

But when I ride my bike
My legs don't tremble
Except when I mount and dismount
While riding my muscles relax
Yet they are working
Pedaling, propelling me forward
Which sounds contradictory
But that is the way it is

My jaws feel slack
As I sit at this table
My brain is sloppy

Maybe this can be a poem?
Or a poemish

Last night and early this morning
As I lay in bed
I felt the ever-present tenderness
In the soles of my feet
In the palms of my hands
I felt the humm-buzzzz
From my knees to my toes
A touch-of-an-ache
Not an ache-ache

I don't feel much emotion
That's what happens in my rough weeks
I will feel blue, frustrated, fatigued
But little passion

Energy is expended upon survival
As the body-mind goes
From one calculated self-care task
To another
There are no energy reserves
To trade for passion

perhaps an autonomic
energy-conservation
strategy

Will There Be?

Every individual
that ever drew a breath
had someone who loved them.

No matter the committed crime,
no matter any grave atrocity,
no matter which unpardonable sin...
someone, somewhere
loved her, loved him.

As naive as it may be
as childish as it seems
my great hope is
that somehow, someway
even the heinous soul
shall one day be redeemed.

Will there be an hour
with every soul united
to a mother's love?

Will there be a time
with every soul united
to a father's hope?

Whether right or wrong,
I want to believe 'tis so.
For now I'll continue to dream;
for now I'll continue to hope.


september 16, 2oo7
jpiper

Inspired by Tom Talbott, specifically some of his thoughts regarding Hitler.