My two cents

The Slope We Slide Down

It's not enough to quote Micah 4:4.

It takes more than a phrase 

We seek harm to none

to erase the harm that is done— 

being done—in the name of justice.

Words don't cut it. It's a fact. It just is.

How can we hope for the Light

when we delight in staring at our own reflection

thinking, "It might not be perfection, but it's close,

and those—the others—if only they could be

like us – righteous..."? How can we see

we are about to fall

when all we care for is mirrors?

Careful – humans make errors.

When you set forth ill-equipped with pride,

watch your step – it's slippery outside.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

prompted by the inaugural poem

image: Pixabay

"Old & New" (Poem)

Old & New

When standing at the threshold of

The vastness of another year 

Wishing for happiness and love –

Would we not drop a single tear 

Upon the moments come and gone,

The promise that once brightly shone?

The vastness of another year  –

Chance x 365.

Would we not hold to what was dear—

For worse or better—in our lives

In 2020? Would we fail

At lifting the misfortune's veil?

Wishing for happiness and love,

Would—with a steady hand—we cast

Into the fire the treasure trove

Of love and happiness, the past 

"Cursed" year has brought us? Would we see

Nothing but dread and misery?

Would we not drop a single tear,

Would we not bid a kind farewell

To the unchartered surreal year

Humanity could not foretell?

Would we reject the gift, neglect

To pause and quietly reflect

Upon the moments come and gone,

The value, meaning of it all,

Uncertainty and fear, upon

The revelations, big and small, 

Our brokenness, our strength, the way,

The souvenirs of yesterday?

The promise that once brightly shone  –

Would we not let it shine anew

As we keep calm and carry on—

Rich with the old year, pulling through—

Pick ourselves up and turn the page,

As thankfulness takes center stage?

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

prompted by WD Trenta-Sei Poetic Form Challenge

A Nod to "Metamorphoses": Poem "Medusa"

My poem "Medusa" based on Ovid's version of this monster's (?) story is published! 

Check out issue 885 of Bewildering Stories.

This is my first work in BwS literary webzine, more coming up!

Live for the love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

image credit: Pixabay

Christmas

 

No angels, no trumpets

No marvelous light

A flickering candle

Amidst the cold night 

A rickety shelter

A mind not at rest

A weary mother

A babe at her breast

A desperate whisper

Be it unto me

The wood of the manger

The wood of the tree

Live for the Love of it, 

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Image: Adoration of the Shepherds, by Caravaggio (1609)

Thanos (Keatsian sonnet)

Happy dance: my Keatsian sonnet received 

an honorable mention in a Bout-rimés competition of The Spectator magazine!

 THANOS

You know not thirst or hunger, once you’re dead,

No more you’re blinded by the scorching sun

When tilling barren fields, no need to run

From friends turned foes. Death is the sweetest mead,

While life is bitter. Too much life will lead

To ruin. Believe, I dread what must be done,

I am no brute. I do not find it fun

To kill the wretched folk, I do not weed

The weak, imperfect ones. No, I would never

Play God, I know my place. When morning frost

Kills budding blooms, I cry. And when the shrills

Of half the universe subside, then ever

So keenly I will feel all I have lost,

   Alone, I’ll watch the sun set o’er the hills.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy) 

"Let us be fools"

Some scientists may know well the Earth’s not flat,

But fail to see an inch before their noses.
What is the use of knowledge, of all that
Extensive studying, when one exposes
Stark ignorance of heart, akin to that

Of folks who say our marble-Earth is flat?

 

Yet, some unlucky chap, who had no chance
To go to school and learn, may just the same
Be wise of heart, for those, who at a glance
Can recognize the pain of others, claim
The prize in knowledge. No, it is not by chance
That fools are kings’ advisors. Lest we glance

Like dragonflies over the pond of life,
Not ever diving in, let us be fools,
Grow wise of heart, for it’s a worthy strife,

And keep on studying, for that there’re schools.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy) 

Image credit: Pixabay  

High Noon (poem in Russian)

Зыбко всё:

сказка

быль

печаль

даль

тёплая пыль

под босыми ногами

Ручейки тропинок в небо впадают

там пропадают

Свет

сквозь прореху в облаке

на землю сочится карамелью тягучей

Под елью

в хвое пахучей

кормит щенка седая волчица

он засыпает с брюшком полным

Стоит полдень

Image credit: Elena Zolotnitsky Landscape/High Noon

reproduced with permission

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Fragile

I am still

present

near

not for long

my song

beats in my throat

hear

seagulls cry

a salt kiss on my lips

summer slips

cobalt blue stings my eyes

sunsets blaze

I am ready

I am a vase

break me now

all you will find

is the sea

Image: Elena Zolotnitsky "Fragile" reproduced with permission


Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Wilted

When you discard a wilted rose,

don’t haste —

ponder her poised surrender

lest you miss

the beauty in her crumbling form,

 don’t waste

the chance to know her soul.

Let her dismiss

your crippling fears,

then, blest with peace of mind,

go cast her petals to the summer wind.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Image: Elena Zolotnitsky "WILTED VALENTINES" 20x20 inches oil on mylar mounted on panel, reproduced with permission  

The hour of soon-be-night

How quickly withers a vivacious flower,

its petals strewn over the ground beneath

that weaves them into one enormous wreath

of things-that-were. How swiftly does the hour

of dawn give way to that of soon-be-night

that might lose recollection of the day

that passed before it, or forever stay

trapped in a single moment…or it might

turn out to be as gentle as the wind

that lifts the fallen petals, takes them far

away, over the rainbow, round the bend —

where things-that-were are swinging on a star.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

In search of pastures green

A case for "cultural appropriation." 

Maksim Troshin, obviously not a Romani, sings Sare Patria:

Our grasslands wither and we travel forth

in search of pastures green. Our wagons full,

the wanderers, the nomads of this Earth,

we roam, submitting to the constant pull

of yet another place, another chance,
a greener valley…When sometimes we spy
what looks like home — we light bonfires and dance,

and sing old songs beneath the dusking sky.


Actress Svetlana Toma (not a Romani) as Rada:

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

A Case for Chirping

If all birds were songbirds, how dull,

 how quiet life would be:

24/7 nightingales,

 maddening tranquility!

We’d find ourselves yearning for that

 noisy mismatched chorale

that echoes our own tune so well,

 makes our existence real.

A seagull’s cry, a peacock’s shriek, 

the cackling of a crow —

we’d want them back where they belong, 

we’d miss their voices so.

Thus if celestial melodies 

fill up your soul today

but all you can produce is chirp!

 — then smile, and chirp away!

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Image credit: Pixabay

On days like this

On days like this all things fall into place:

Hot is the rising sun, dark is the night,

Evil is strong, Good — stronger, life’s embrace

Is sweet but swift, we stumble, all is right

With this imperfect world in which by far 

Mightier men would seek only to find

That we are merely human, that we are

Created by the uncreated Mind

That burns like tongues of fire, that has a face,

That somehow makes all things fall into place.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

The First Eucharist

They gather round Him, Jesus breaks the bread,

They kneel, they close their eyes, they bow their heads

In reverent silence. Do they understand

The meaning of this meal? Does His command

Do this in memory of me make sense

To these imperfect men whose innocence,

The lack of knowledge is profound? The one

Who’s hiding in the shadows, almost gone,

Clutching a bag of coins that burns his hand —

Perhaps he is the one who understands,

Who feels it most. The others, old and young—

When Jesus quietly says, “Extend your tongue,”—

What do they know, but deep unwavering trust,

A firmly held conviction that they must

Obey His will? They ponder not, instead

Like little children one by one they’re fed

With simple food that purges souls of strife —

The bread that tastes like rain, like snow, like life.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Image credit: The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci, public domain

Emily Dickinson's Garden

 

She knew all of her flowers by name.

Her earthly temple, never lacking care—

Her place of worship—perished all the same

And buried underneath many a layer

Of dust it has returned to, sleeps. Alas!

Even her words—they too—someday shall pass.

Yet, there is comfort in the mortal world.

It eases grieving o’er a wilted bloom,

The transience of a poetic word,

Of beauty… There is comfort in the doom.

And maybe He (God knows)—He Who creates—

Recites her poems at the Pearly Gates.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Período Azul

Two seated figures rest atop a hill

bathed in the shades of blue, blue-green, and gray.

The lines are soft, sharp angles smoothed away,

worn round like pebbles in the silver bay

that lies beneath. 

The moment’s standing still,

halfway to go, for now it lingers here,

suspended, shimmers in the glowing light,

the earth and sky between. 

Sweet is the night

the day surrenders to without a fight,

kind is the time of twilight 

burning clear.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Counting Blessings

For wildflowers in bloom

For sweet perfume of June

For the gift of home and family

For the day Thou hast made

For Thy love that won’t fade

For the blessing of life, I thank Thee

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

The Secret of Wildflowers

In the world gone mad

I’m glad

of things that grow

from seeds hand sowed

on the spring earth

that in time gives birth

to tiny sprouts

that flourish without

a care,

bob their heads to

the air, the rain, the sun,

live and give
until gone.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Ghost Town: Lower Susquehanna Trails

There was a town here once

built from granite, stone and brick,

home to folk that tamed fire,

drove water out of white flint,

molded its dust into porcelain pots.

A furnace is all that remains

of the once thriving place.

It stands, cool and composed,

overlooking the now calm river

that runs steady towards the ocean.

Ironically, the one picture I didn't take during our yesterday's Heritage Trail hike was that of the Stafford Flint Furnace. 

White flint quarried nearby was layered with wood in the furnace and set afire. The heat drove the water out of the flint and reduced it to pebbles which were ground into fine powder and eventually made into porcelain pots, pans and china. 

The furnace is all that remains of the once thriving town of Stafford that was founded in 1749 and completely destroyed by Susquehanna's ice gorge in 1904.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

Commonplace, or One for the Ages

I wonder if ages away

I’ll yearn for this commonplace day—

the day of to-do-lists undone

the day long forgotten, long gone—

the day I spent watching the sky

and clouds that kept drifting as I

would sway in the hammock and you

would strum a tune “I lava you,”

play fetch with our pup with a toy…

The day you were still just a boy.

Live for the Love of it,

Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)