Photo: Darwin Bell on Flickr
When farce becomes routine
And drama so outruns minutiae
That reason threatens
To abscond,
One cannot help but
Wonder
What’s beyond.
For The Daily Post
Beyond Farce
Month: May 2017
Precipice
As you stand at the precipice
Of truth
Take heed.
The climb back up
Is steep
If you lose grip
To deceit
Or greed.
For The Daily Post
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Qualm Balm
When you fret in worry,
Field misgivings,
Try to still the shiver
Of concern
Of doubt
Of qualm.
Take a moment
To get grounded
And remember what you know
In soul, in heart, in mind:
Sooth exists.
It
Lives
Between the breaths
Of Love’s
Eternal
Balm.
For The Daily Post
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Collaboration
Photo-Jason Groepper
The earth, the air, the water;
The sun, the sea, the dust of stars;
The times that passed and built the present;
Things nascent now that
Have not yet become –
All intertwined.
We’re none of us alone
Or separate.
Aware or not,
Collaboration
Is and always been
The only way
For life
Aligned.
For The Daily Post
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Welcoming Hearts
For all the mothers, biological and adoptive, temporary or ‘forever,’ immediate and surrogate, spiritual, female and otherwise …
A day of thanks, for open hearts.
A day for those who carry, hold, deliver, care-for;
For those who pat-the-back-of-babies through long nights, who walk a groove into the floors in the new-parent-dance;
For those who wipe the brow of fever, whose arms and hands are never empty, who fill a plate for others before sitting down for theirs;
For those who watch over the children while their parents cannot be there – day in and day out, in emergency, or any needed time;
For those who fret and worry, contemplate and weigh each day, each milestone, each possible advance to a child’s healthy growing;
For those who open every corner of their heart for love far bigger than imagined;
For those who welcome little ones (and sometimes not so little) and parent, guide, teach, hug, steer safe, keep whole, allow, provide;
For those who still raise pieces of themselves even as they are called to raise others;
For those determined to change course from paths that harm, to ones that cradle;
For those who let be known that children matter, who fight to make the world a better place for those unable yet to lead but destined to inherit what we will leave them;
For the hospitality of parenting souls of all kinds;
For the depth of care so many offer;
For the triumphs and the challenges:
Deep thanks.
For The Daily Post
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A Way Out
Clay Tablet Babylon (Ca. 2000-1700 BC); SCHOYENCOLLECTION.com
“I just get lost,” she sighed. Her pre-teen face was creased with dejection.
Schoolwork is hard for her. She tries but often fails to live up not only to the expectations of her school, but also – and harder still – to her own views of perfection. She begins. Gives up. Procrastinates. Misses deadlines. Then needs to make-up what she had delayed as well as keep up with current assignments. School is a merry-go-round of stress and frustration.
“Lost how?” I prompted. Not only did I want to understand more about what she’d meant (rather than assume I knew it), but one of the things we’d been working on is expanding her ability to narrate her feelings and perceptions, explain and communicate her needs.
She glanced at me, not quite in irritation, but almost.
“I’m not being tricky,” I smiled. “I really want to understand.”
“Fine,” she sighed again. Her brow furrowed as she thought, and she reached over to the pad of paper that rested on the desk between us. Doodling can sometimes help make paths for words.
She scribbled for a moment, then her breath deepened and she flipped to a new page on the pad. “It’s like this,” she said.
She drew a labyrinthine squiggle that turned several times onto itself. Added another squiggle that sprouted from it, then another, and another. Sketched a stick figure at one end of the criss-crossed creation and a bulls-eye at the other. Looked up at me to see if I’m still paying attention.
Very much so. I smiled encouragement.
“I have stuff to do and I think I know how, but I start doing it and then I get stuck,” she moved her finger over the squiggle till it ‘hit a wall.’ “So I go back, and I try another way … and I get stuck again,” her finger slid on top of the paper to another dead-end.
She looked up again. Her eyes were bright.
“So I get lost …” she swiveled her finger around the squiggly lines in a half-aimless, half-frantic manner. “It’s too hard. I give up.”
“I hear you. I really do.” I nodded, lifted my pen, and drew another squiggle around hers, connecting the pencil figure with the bulls-eye. “We need to find a better way. A way without a maze.”
For The Daily Post
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Be in the Pink
If your heart groans
Under worry
And your belly
Plays acid songs,
Don’t despair:
Life’s still there.
If your head spins
With confusion
In realities
Beyond compare,
Don’t give up:
There’s repair.
If your muscles
Clench with anger
And anxiety
Sheds your hair,
Don’t give in
To what’s not fair.
If your color
Lost its luster
And your spirit’s
Pale and bare,
Don’t lose heart:
We’ve hope to spare.
If the dark nights
Press your innards
And your lungs
Beg for calm air,
Don’t forget:
Love’s everywhere.
For The Daily Post
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Reflection
Find a moment to reflect
The good
The promising
The delightedly
Delightful:
The you
You knew
And
Perhaps
forgot.
Photo by: Smadar Epstein
For the Photo Challenge
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Temporarily
When angst and woe pass through
In you,
Remember:
Hope and love
May temporarily feel masked
But
Are the only
Permanence.
For The Daily Post
Na'ama Yehuda 
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