Tag Archives: Discovery

the choir of meadowlark hill

2 21 2013 The Tree

It began with a glimmer, a sliver of light.

In a matter of minutes the glow was right.

And the Meadowlark sang its song.

Another Lark………… another, again.

A feathery chorus was now on hand

 

As The Boy mimicked their song .

More Meadowlarks sang along.

And The Boy became a man.

 

The Year was not New. It was warm,

There was dew as the day took form

Like a voice from Heaven

The boy of eleven,

Joined the choir of Meadowlark Hill.

 

This morning was more than a day in the life,

This newborn man

Met the day now rife

With the pleasance of Trill

On The Hill of The Larks.

On The Hill of The Man.

A humble young Man

Said Thank You.

 

Thank You he said again.

Again and again and again.

By Lee Broom

Art Is All There Is and Love Is How It Came To Be

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Art Is All There Is and Love Is How It Came To Be

Everything in the Universe is made from the crumbs of something else.

Surely, this is the first rule of Creativity and Creativity must certainly be the first consideration in defining art.

And for those of us who have lived this Creative Experience, whether it be to suddenly hear the first words in a poem on its way into our reality or becoming aware of a business idea rising to the surface or perhaps caressing a piece of unfettered marble and feeling the sculpture hidden among its veins or Miracle of Miracles, helping to form a new person, whether by fertilizing an egg or stumbling through the agonizing pile of paperwork and interviews to adopt a child, the feeling that accompanies such Creative Endeavors is called Love.

Down in the Dumps by Lee Broom

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 What do you do when there’s nothing to do?

Is this the in-between place?

Are you neither afraid nor even in love;

Is this your Who Am I face?

As you count the tiles on the bathroom wall

Do  you pick your nose and examine your toes?

Is this the way the story goes?

When you take a moment to dump waste?

When you waste a moment to dump?

Are you down in the dumps

Or ready to hump

To kick some butt

Or take your lumps

As you dare to view your past

Can you wipe the crumbs from your lazy ass

And do your bump and grind?

Scoop the melon from the rind?

As you rise from your behind?

Accept the Love and pass it along.

Forget the “buts” you’ve been sitting on.

Rise up my friend, enjoy the Dawn

Ignore your past as The Put-Upon.

“Wake up Jacob. Day’s a breakin’. The cow’s in the barnyard and the rooster’s a crowin’.

© Lee Broom

The Beggar and the Businessman by Lee Broom

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He appears from the darkness in silence; He may have been there for hours.
Like the minute hand on my Omega, I failed to notice him at first.

“Hello”.

I speak; he glares.

“Hello”
The tattered apparition holds his gaze.

“May I pass please?” I attempt to move around him. “May I pass?”

He remains silent. His eyes hold mine. What are they telling me? He’s wearing a badly soiled, well-tailored, senatorially pinstriped suit, crafted apparently for a taller man in a different time, most certainly a better defined neighborhood. His attire assumes a sadness; a life of poverty? Perhaps a recently downgraded lifestyle forced upon him by difficult times?

I step to my right – he steps to his left.

“Please” I implore, “My lunch hour is over. I need to get back to my desk.” neither a minute flick of lash nor hint of furrowed brow.

I breathe deeply and attempt to relax the imagined lines in my forehead. He remains implacable; an immovable stoic with an unknown plan. What does he have on his mind. His left hand is hidden in the left trouser pocket where gentlemen account for their coins. Is he holding a weapon? A switch-blade?
I move to the left – he to the right.

“Are you hungry? There is a warm dinner roll in my doggie bag. I had one of these for lunch; delicious. I think you’ll enjoy it.” I raised the offering; no response.

I deke to the right and quickly left. Had I been wearing a weathered, fifty year-old, hand tailored, poorly fitting suit I might have thought for a moment that I was dancing at a street corner, practicing moves before a mirror.

Mulling momentarily: “How much to cross the street?”

“Fifty Cents”: I offer a dollar; his left hand withdraws from the left trouser pocket and places two quarters into my open palm.
The disheveled entrepreneur steps to his left.
The light turns green.

(Most who have read this describe when requested to do so, the businessman as the man with the expensive watch. In fact, the business man is the fellow in the tattered suit, the beggar being the one who asks permission to cross the city street.)

Art Is All There Is and Love Is How It Came To Be

???????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Art Is All There Is and Love Is How It Came To Be

Everything in the Universe is made from the crumbs of something else.

Surely, this is the first rule of Creativity and Creativity must certainly be the first consideration in defining art.

And for those of us who have lived this Creative Experience, whether it be to suddenly hear the first words in a poem on its way into our reality or becoming aware of a business idea rising to the surface or perhaps caressing a piece of unfettered marble and feeling the sculpture hidden among its veins or Miracle of Miracles, helping to form a new person, whether by fertilizing an egg or stumbling through the agonizing pile of paperwork and interviews to adopt a child, the feeling that accompanies such Creative Endeavors is called Love.