My Morning Do . . . On a Barren Shore

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Just a Note: by tkbrown

Since we are also looking at the grieving process midst all the suffering from so many different sources, I decided to share with you today this poem. I penned it 4 November 2018, but it covers many concerns in our societal grieving process. It seems, we see a few days of reprieve, and then it starts all over again. As I mentioned a few mornings ago, society addresses the same concerns as individuals, it is just multiplied many times over because individuals, families, communities, regions, economies, countries, and the world are all grieving at the same time. So, I deemed it appropriate to share it this morning because so much grief can make everything and everyplace seem like a Barren Shore.

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. . . On a Barren Shore

~~ by tkbrown
I see your suffering,
understand that your pain is deep
as the ocean and wide as the universe,
that it holds your soul captive
midst the struggles of life.
It stifles your heart song,
makes even small inclines steep;
the best of days stretch forth -- an unending curse
cast with punishing missive,
stuffed with ripples of strife.
Making weakness seem strong,
the waves that powerfully creep
in from some deep untimely soulful immerse
as nauseous retchings that grieve
wounds like a sharp-edged knife.

If my understanding
can lessen the depth of your pain,
gladly will I cover the highest sharpest peak --
my body a shield to ward
off such murk from the moor.
Such inept grappling
I offer as shelter from rain,
saturating clefts of hiding, when dark hours sneak
to sharpen and hone the shard
hacking your inner core.
Still, it's an offering
of my heart, to lessen the stain
wrought by the effort to be strong when weak
due to loss that leaves one marred,
scarred -- on a barren shore.

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Photo Above: by pen_ash at pixabay.com.

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My Morning Do . . . 17 September 2020

The Supernova

~~ by tkbrown
The path to somewhere comes out of nowhere,
curves out of sight up beyond yonder bend.
Perchance twill meet a worthy source out there
with whom to ponder just how we got here
and destination just out past Land's End.

Perhaps there will be a quaint launching pad
from whence to be flung past each orbital
rung, far outpacing mechanical cad
where stars procreate amongst ironclad
components of every known mineral.

Out where the white dwarf stars dance side by side
until one pulls too hard, with a great 'kaboom'--
a new supernova's elemental glide
casts heavy metals in universe-wide
spectacular view--chemical mushroom.

This luminous dispersal from the core
of a massive star in nuclear fusion
or gravitational combustion for
white dwarf collapse with outside forces more
than internal mass--remnant explosion.

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Photo Above: by Alex K 83 @pixabay.com.

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Just a Note: by tkbrown

The cosmos, with all its mystery, is an uncharted frontier yet to be explored. Will man ever truly know all that makes these uncharted spaces, or will it be like studies of the human brain in which we have found: “The more we know–the more we know we don’t know.”

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‘Old Souls’

~~ a Sonnet ~~

~~ by tkbrown
All of us are 'old souls' at heart--sometimes
--when we tire of tuning out mem'ry chimes
from days gone by when hearts and souls were young
with dreams where 'old souls' upon hopes were hung.
Our drift in night mist yields fleeting coup d'oeil.
Fetching rumination: "What is the deal?"
These souls--now old--wafting solo concept
of youthful observance fleetingly kept.
Just when we think we have accepted age,
up canters a grandchild--modern-day sage--
strumming and singing on our private stage;
reviving mem'ries from 'young souls' of yore
as magical wings proffer buoyant core
envisioning dreams, aspirations soar.

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Photo Above: freeimages.com

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Beyond the Black Hole . . .

~~ by tkbrown
Flung away from the earth
too far to converse with any living soul
or being--
far above the blue
where the darkness is you
searching
searching for the gem
hidden from perception--
dark, darker, darker still . . . 
then you feel a tug,
pulling further away
from all you have known.
What is this about--
the beginnings of doubt,
the pulling ever stronger.
Stronger and stronger
the tugging becomes
like a giant magnet
sucking you in.
Suddenly you see
a darkness so bleak
light could never penetrate
the density perplexed
by . . . 
"Sluuuuuuurrrrrrrppppp!"
The darkness pulling you in . . .
further and further
the pull tugs you under
till you begin to wonder
will it ever end?
Suddenly the darkness
gives way to bold color
'round about.
Orange, red and purple
melding to pernurple--
stream of brightness hue.
Further and further,
the journey of surrender
leads beyond the blue.
How many lightyears
has the journey taken
far beyond the blue.
Darkness once more
beyond pernurple nova . . .
the supersonic view.
Turning and looking
back where you have been--
strands of supernova
color the scene
so beautifully serene . . . 
chaotic peace ensued.
Where will the journey take me?
When will it end and return thee . . .
to earth where we live?
This journey beyond the blue,
the inner peace founding hue
with a thoughtfulness imbued.
Then . . . 
the journey back to earth
begins upon rebirth

Of the peaceful, inner truth!

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Photo Above: Autumn by Larisa Koshkina at pixabay.com.

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When ‘Age’ Sets In . . .

~~ by tkbrown
When someone you love gets old
and can't do things they used to do,
especially when it's really hot--or cold,
how does that feel inside of you?
If grandma used to get down on the floor
to play and color and laugh with you,
maybe she walked with you out the door
to see the outside and what others do.
Maybe it hurts to see mom in pain
knowing she will ne'er be the same again.
That should not keep you apart from her--
spending less time will cause memories to blur--
when the time comes you can see her no more
you will wish you had piled up mem'ries before.
So, e'en though it hurts, go knock on that door;
make some good times, do things with her.
Play a card game, cook some food!
Write down her recipes when it's really good.
Talk about things she used to do
When her mom and dad were living too.
Talk about what she did in school.
Did she protest or obey each rule?
Ask how life was different then.
Would she want life to be like that again?
Write down what she says so you won't forget.
Someday you'll read them and won't have to fret
about not remembering things she said
of her young children or the day she wed..
What did mom do when she was young--
her hobbies, talents, and songs they sung.
How did she and her siblings act
when things went bad -- fiction or fact?
How did they learn what had been done--
in order to deal with the one
who was the true perpe'traitor--
leaving others guilty no more.
All memories--both good and bad--'
will, one day, be treasured and spread
forth for perusal tenderly
when mom is no more here to see.
Only then will you know how true
your heart was wrapped in loving hue.
Only then will memories held
be treasured, embraced--with you meld.

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Photo Above: by Cassandra Ortiz at Unsplash.com

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Calendar Quindecims — September 2020

by tkbrown

September is a  time to look ahead
planning completion of special projects,
mapping special meals for the holidays,
budgeting gifts, shopping, buying no rejects
while looking at winter travel options.
Safety, facemasks, verifying inspects
upon arrival; social distancing guides
for compliance, and monitor prefect,
fees for each fractured crime come into play.
Each will effect memory time collects,
trying to normalize every aspect.
Ads for Christmas appear early this year,
already here as if adding some cheer,
and carols will play when the day draws near.

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Image Above: by Lena Helfinger @ pixabay.com.

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Calendar Quindecims ~~ August 2020

~~ by tkbrown
Icicle memories. . . . long forgotten,
reappear to form a fave smoothie slush.
Hmmm. What flavor is your preference, then?
Mango-Peach is mine, fruit fresh from the bush.
Temperatures rising -- higher, higher:
Will relief ne'er wind itself down a spell?
A dip in the pool would be fun favor
but for the numbers of spiking unwell.
Back to school for children has been the rule
'ere COVID-19 called, gave us a stutter.
Now, Christmas may visit 'ere back to school
gets off the ground midst inclement weather.
"The Best Laid Plans . . ." John made to go awry
with choice visiting far beyond the sky.
We here on earth are afraid to ask, "Why?"

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Photo above by: Alexander Mils @ Unsplash.com.

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Summertime 2020

~~ a quindecim
by tkbrown
Summertime! Summertime! So glad you're here!
Apricity, grilling, picnics galore
help us appreciate you soooo much more
as Covid-19 has brought most everyone fear.
Warm weather activities all around
entice forbidden choice which does abound--
water sports, basking in alluring sun--
have beaches packed along gulf, bay, ocean.
Rivers and lakes add boating, fishing too;
camping, floating, rafting, a gumbo roux
and not a few more add to the allure--
such a tempting lot most do adore.
Social distancing does not fit the scheme,
nor does the nightmarish midnight dream
of sickness and death, the 'wakening scream.'

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Image Above: Seascape, Sailboating by Francine Sreca @pixabay.com.

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Calendar Quindecims July

by tkbrown
Summer heat melts most ev'ry day
and seems to give erotic sway
as opportunity surmounts
all thought in those special moments
of delightful, hot arousal.
Then, sudden, shrill silence doth stall
as the heat sets in, shimmering
the sky, passersby in faux bling
seem to be seeking summer breeze
that pushes out upon the seas.
'Twas lost upon the desert sands
drifting in from faraway lands.
The virus again takes a toll
amongst reveling protestor's roll
and partygoers on a stroll.

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Image Above: Fourth of July Fireworks @depositphotos.com/vector-images/
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