AND THE BEAT GOES ON…

MUD PIES
Mud-Pies                         Sandra Schou

 

AND THE BEAT GOES ON…

 

When opinions reek of danger and

Outlooks collide,

When bias hisses,

When judgment derides,

When prejudice misses

The mark,

It is the absence of “Hark”,

The dark temptation to seekers of Truth.

“Alle heil der abend,”

As last light fails

And discourse galls

The light of Reason.

And feeds upon

The mindless nod of

A thousand, million heads.

“Shall we do this?”

(cries the headman)

Sure; whatever.

And then arrives

An alternate view

To an optimistic few.

And a rosier future

Prevails.

As autumn brings a withering reminder

Of thoughtless, irretrievable syllables

This new Ship sails

To sites and sounds unknown.

A few have grown

And risen above the moan

Of grieving masses.

Life as must, moves on.

Lee_Broom
Lee Broom

 

A MAN OF FEW WORDS

Lee in Paradise

 

A MAN OF FEW WORDS


He lived Love but never spoke of it.

He was impossibly complex, subtle yet obvious, impossible to describe due to what?

His peculiar sort of mediocrity ?

The aloof quality which was ever-present, whether shopping for a new automobile or when he in his most raggedy attire was on his hands and knees, all brown: I say all brown and dirty, playing marbles with his sons.

But one could always depend on him to use only whatever words were necessary to say whatever it was he had to say.

Oh yes.

His name was Dixie.

He was my Father.

I called him Lovey.

WHEN COWS FLY (DID I GET THAT RIGHT?)

lee_broom

WHEN COWS FLY (DID I GET THAT RIGHT?)

When birds fly, when ants forage, when religions are born, when governments collapse, there is a principle involved; it has nothing to do with education, intelligence, with social history or for that matter, any noticeable measure of sanity. It is present in all group activity. It requires only the most basic instinctual fragment of decision-making. The leader of the pack “says” North, South, East or West. The pack members notice only the constituent to the left or the right and follow the observed movements. With starlings it is called murmeration. With cattle it is hanging out with the herd. With bees it is buzzin’ aroun’with yer buddies and with people it is the nod of a hundred heads to the command “Let’s get’er done.”

MYTHOLOGY IN PROGRESS

lee_broom

All of life is mythology in progress. Twenty observers of any given event would if asked, give varying reports of what they had observed. In fact any individual’s story about such would probably be altered over time. Only in print does a story have an opportunity to remain unchanged. But if a story or a report of an event makes for interesting reading and becomes a part of history, historians are notorious for arguing among themselves over the accuracy of recorded events. And then there are translations to other languages. There may even be translations within the original language as time changes that language into something new.

What is important is not the story but the lesson learned.

 

WHO AM I?

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Who am I,

He wondered at ten

And who will I become

Will I be famous

For what he bethought

Will I still be My Father’s Son,

And why am I here by this bubbly brook

With a squirrel and larks nearby

He mulled and decided

If asked oft enough

That one day

He’d surely know why.

He flew the coop they’ll

One day say

He flew

After

Waving

Goodbye.

We thought we saw him

Up high in the clouds

He flew and

He flew and on

He flew.

He flew

After

Waving

Goodbye,

To return

In the

Nigh and nigh.

By Lee Broom

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