Monday Morning Musings:
It seems to rain from moon to sun
rain over and over, never done
and then a break, till it thunders
again and again.
I feel lethargic and dull
and it’s hard to mull
over this or that—
the people who insist the world is flat,
or guns don’t kill, people do,
except there are more dead kids shot through,
and it seems we will never cease
with hate and violence, the human disease.
But in the midst of death we see the love—
yes, pomp and circumstance, uniforms and gloves,
the fascinators, and the meters-long train
(and the sun-filled day with no hint of rain).
It’s storybook fantasy, mixed with Stand By Me,
gospel choir amid the history and pageantry,
but these two appear so much in love,
and if it helps, gets us thinking of
better things, well, I can take a break
in the coverage of hate, it’s not a mistake
to celebrate love, or a wedding day—
a bit of color amidst the world’s gloomy grey.
Still–spring insists on being seen
and here, the world is turning green,
though I don winter clothes because it’s turned cold
and we go through rain, to visit
friends of old.
We eat Chinese food, laugh, talk over the meal
how we can’t understand the hypocrisy of those who feel
the man in the White House is okay
when they were upset at bare arms and a tan suit,
birthers and ape images, just try to dispute
there’s no racism there,
some very fine people on both sides–but I’d beware.
The next day, the clouds break and the temperatures soar,
everyone wants to get out of doors,
I see a hawk atop a weathervane,
perhaps she’s trying to ascertain
the state of this territory, her domain,
which no doubt is full of tasty things
grown and born in rain and light of spring.
We walk city streets, where life beats
in harmony and patterns, under the blue sky
and birds sing and fly,
and there is so much green and flowers in bloom
filling the air with their perfume,
and it is a relief from gloom and rain,
though I know people are in pain
and children are dead, and women are raped
and the world is shaped
by guns, disease, and violence
and we must break the silence—
but for today, just let me feel the sun and say
nothing but “see the hawk there”
and smell the roses over there.
We see a movie about motherhood and coping
with a newborn and others and life,
sometimes mom’s need an extra wife
or helping hands and people to truly see
beyond the façade, the hyperbole
of motherhood’s joys to the cries and sleepless nights
the clutter and exhaustion—along with the delights.
We drink coffee, walk and talk some more
then it’s home to feed the cats, take care of chores.
In the night, my mind wanders and roams
far from home
(Macbeth has murdered sleep)
But in my dreams, I hear the chirps and cheeps,
As the mockingbird sings through the night
and we are fine, it’s all right,
We saw the movie Tully, which we both thought was excellent, but I don’t want to give anything away. I’ve seen it described as a comedy. At least not in the modern sense.
I’m reading Jo Nesbrø’s take on Macbeth, set in a Glasgow-like city in the 1970s.
Sorry about the weird formatting and gaps. WP gremlins are still hanging about.