I love this poem, sis! I can feel all the imagery in my bones -- gull tracks like anchors, gulls lifting like a chain from the deep, avocets like pooling paint. The repetition and emphasis in the finish is so powerful.
Oh Rebekah, this poem is priceless and powerful. And it makes me cry. You speak so eloquently and passionately of the flood of ignorance, arrogance, foolishness, uncommon sense and just plain stupidity that is being unleashed on our land. The waters of creation wasted by small minds who never take the time to understand.
“Your prompt + a hefty dose of cynicism made this one flow right out of me.”
Are you a cynic?
Is one a cynic for describing what is right before them that everyone can see if they only looked? How many actually paid attention to the movie Chinatown and didn’t blow it off a just a good movie?
I love the Louis Armstrong version of What a Wonderful World. The song The Impossible Dream still touches me. Yet, I see what is around me and labeled a cynic for it.
So Rebekah, did you write the poem above? It fits better with my vision of the world than wishing for peace on earth. I guess I’m just an incorrigible cynic.
Are you two different people? Looking at your two posts above, if I were a believer in astrology—which I’m not but like to use for metaphor—I’d say you are a Gemini with the twins arguing with each other.
What I’m saying is that I’m seeing a different side of you. Good.
I get this. When I use the word "miracle" or "miraculous" I really just mean miraculous TO ME, as one who does not yet know (and will never fully know) how the universe works. It may well be that there are natural laws to explain absolutely everything. I don't think that takes away from how utterly amazing the whole of this world is. Or as you put it, "perhaps that's the miracle!"
You've wielded language like paints in this poem, friend - it reads like a painting, and an exquisite one at that. Also, "Neinstein" (lol). And the video of the intrepid body-surfing gull. My heart has melted.
Ooooh I'm so glad your heart melted. I know I'm needing some extra heart melting moments myself lately, to counteract all the metaphorical ice. And I can't take credit for Neinstein . . . when I was googling to see whether that quote was actually from him, someone else used that phrase.
"Anxiety is natures response / when walking on cracking ice / over a lake of reality." It sure is! I love this description . . . even though I wish it weren't true and wish we weren't on such a perilous lake.
I don't mean that I wish I didn't experience anxiety or wish I didn't see reality. I mean I wish that reality included less suffering (especially the variety of suffering caused by cruelty and greed). Even as I type that, I realize I don't actually wish my own life included less suffering . . . it's all been part of my growth. But I think I'm luckier than most. When I look around me, it seems like pain is on the rise.
I walked with this one all day, and was reminded of two powerful songs by two favorite artists. "Waiting for a Miracle" by Bruce Cockburn; and "The Age of Miracles" by Mary Chapin Carpenter. with apologies to Bruce, here is my offering:
Waiting for a Miracle
^
Woman with the mangled legs,
stitched and pieced together
with imprecise knowledge and tools,
sits in front of tiny black and white television
and wonders.
^
Slick religious huckster with a silver touch,
yells “walk”
and crutches are laid down,
wheel chairs left behind,
arms raised in prayer and thanksgiving.
Grinning, the huckster holds out his hand
“give to the Lord,” oozes from his lips.
^
All those years Mary Carol,
woman of deep faith and good heart,
prays and wonders “why not me?”
She was waiting for a miracle.
^
Planes fall from the sky,
brown skinned neighbors gathered up,
nonbinary beloveds written out of existence;
Government by temper tantrum and grievance,
the smallness of it all crushing in its absurdity
and so painful in its heartless execution,
leaves me waiting for a miracle.
^
The miracle of faith, hope and peace
returning from exile.
Miracle of compassion leading our movements,
the gift of empathy when so many are crying.
Bridges being built over vast rivers of difference
This is beautiful, Larry! I love the crispness of your language in "slick religious huckster with a silver touch," and contrast you pain between the supposed miracles on TV and the woman sitting, watching, waiting. The repetition of "waiting for a miracle" is really poignant. I feel the aching and waiting in this poem so much, even as I'm trying to do my small part.
What does this word even mean,
And how might I wish for one?
Once I figure out the how,
Then comes the what…
With all the world surrounding me
What would I wish for?
Balm for the Earth,
Instant healing of its wounds?
The disappearance of selfishness?
This takes imagination,
This pondering miracles -
Envisioning something better,
A world more like Heaven!
Should I wish for the lion
To lay with the lamb?
Or for a river of gold to flow?
Perhaps, even better, less
War and infinite peace?
There are too many needed
To wish for just one,
At least it seems so -
Is there one singlular thing
That in my estimation
Would rid our times of evils
And usher in the age of goodness?
Yes, that’s it! A wish for Love
To permeate and change our hearts.
A beautiful wish! And one I share. I like the reflective, stream-of-consciousness vibe you strike here.
This is wonderful Korie! Perhaps our collective environment g of miracles will bring them to life!
Albert:
"we
cannot solve
our problems with
the same thinking
we used
to
create
them".
It
would be
a miracle if we
stopped
doing
that.
Right on Chuck! I am sending this one to the current clown car running our nation!
🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡
More like a clown bus.
Clown caravan!
I love this poem, sis! I can feel all the imagery in my bones -- gull tracks like anchors, gulls lifting like a chain from the deep, avocets like pooling paint. The repetition and emphasis in the finish is so powerful.
.
Your prompt + a hefty dose of cynicism made this one flow right out of me. It's based on some very unusual water releases that are being made from reservoirs in Tulare County, CA. Tulare County is one of California's top agricultural producers and every drop of water there is spoken for, typically for crop irrigation much later in the calendar year. If you're a nerd like I am you can read more about it here: https://www.kvpr.org/environment/2025-01-31/trumps-emergency-water-order-responsible-for-water-dump-from-tulare-county-lakes or here: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/31/us/trump-water-california-central-valley.html.
.
Beautiful Water
.
Once upon a time, it rained
and the river flowed.
It was a simple miracle,
.
but like Peter we doubted its power
and were soon raising walls
to hold back our animal thirst
and were soon growing fat
off your hunger.
.
Now, dusty willows in the channel,
coursing catfish in the ditch,
all ordained by calendar. Water
in board rooms, water
in rows, water
in orange slice watering
your mouth.
.
Dusty bed for the bedless,
a scrubby fold to sleep in,
while just outside the levee
milk overspills.
.
When the U.S. military entered
the Great State of California
it looked suspiciously like the
Corps of Engineers, who were here
from the start. They rolled their eyes
because it was only January
and everything was bound
for the drain, but followed orders
and opened the gates.
.
The river is surprised and dancing.
The river is lapping at tents.
The river will sink into sunken soil
far from any plate or pocket,
let alone Los Angeles.
It is a miracle.
Oh Rebekah, this poem is priceless and powerful. And it makes me cry. You speak so eloquently and passionately of the flood of ignorance, arrogance, foolishness, uncommon sense and just plain stupidity that is being unleashed on our land. The waters of creation wasted by small minds who never take the time to understand.
“Your prompt + a hefty dose of cynicism made this one flow right out of me.”
Are you a cynic?
Is one a cynic for describing what is right before them that everyone can see if they only looked? How many actually paid attention to the movie Chinatown and didn’t blow it off a just a good movie?
I love the Louis Armstrong version of What a Wonderful World. The song The Impossible Dream still touches me. Yet, I see what is around me and labeled a cynic for it.
So Rebekah, did you write the poem above? It fits better with my vision of the world than wishing for peace on earth. I guess I’m just an incorrigible cynic.
Excellent poem, and a great prompt too!
Thank you, Korie! It was such a treat to get to read your response poem.
I love the video, Lisa! As I prepare to go shovel more snow, your poem, prompt and the surfing gull will be in my heart and mind!
Are you two different people? Looking at your two posts above, if I were a believer in astrology—which I’m not but like to use for metaphor—I’d say you are a Gemini with the twins arguing with each other.
What I’m saying is that I’m seeing a different side of you. Good.
So Lisa, look what you riled up. Good job.
I am sure Larry contains multitudes, as we all do! ❤️
In all truth I struggle with ‘miraculous’
I love that the universe is knowable,
that we ponder evidences for a big bang, and use LLMs to abstract the very dna language of life!
Perhaps that’s the miracle…
I get this. When I use the word "miracle" or "miraculous" I really just mean miraculous TO ME, as one who does not yet know (and will never fully know) how the universe works. It may well be that there are natural laws to explain absolutely everything. I don't think that takes away from how utterly amazing the whole of this world is. Or as you put it, "perhaps that's the miracle!"
😊
Wish you were my neighbor, you are remarkable!
You've wielded language like paints in this poem, friend - it reads like a painting, and an exquisite one at that. Also, "Neinstein" (lol). And the video of the intrepid body-surfing gull. My heart has melted.
Ooooh I'm so glad your heart melted. I know I'm needing some extra heart melting moments myself lately, to counteract all the metaphorical ice. And I can't take credit for Neinstein . . . when I was googling to see whether that quote was actually from him, someone else used that phrase.
Thanks for this evocative and beautiful start for a day - two paths diverging and here we are!
Thank you so much, Mark!
Lisa, here are the links to those two songs that I referenced:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCoySndkN1U (Bruce C., "Waiting for a Miracle"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MkyuZ3HuLvs (Mary CC, "The Age of Miracles)
Thank you, Larry! They will be the background music to my breakfast.
Waiting for Beckett
Shall we meet?
Will I need some Irish whiskey
Or maybe binaural beats?
No
You recognize don’t you
Anxiety is natures response
When walking on cracking ice
Over a lake of reality.
"Anxiety is natures response / when walking on cracking ice / over a lake of reality." It sure is! I love this description . . . even though I wish it weren't true and wish we weren't on such a perilous lake.
Why Lisa? I find comfort knowing I’m walking on a path to see reality even though I acknowledge that all I see could be a deception of my mind.
This makes my life very interesting and comforting to me.
I don't mean that I wish I didn't experience anxiety or wish I didn't see reality. I mean I wish that reality included less suffering (especially the variety of suffering caused by cruelty and greed). Even as I type that, I realize I don't actually wish my own life included less suffering . . . it's all been part of my growth. But I think I'm luckier than most. When I look around me, it seems like pain is on the rise.
👍🤗
I hear you Lisa! You are one of the repairers of the breach!
I walked with this one all day, and was reminded of two powerful songs by two favorite artists. "Waiting for a Miracle" by Bruce Cockburn; and "The Age of Miracles" by Mary Chapin Carpenter. with apologies to Bruce, here is my offering:
Waiting for a Miracle
^
Woman with the mangled legs,
stitched and pieced together
with imprecise knowledge and tools,
sits in front of tiny black and white television
and wonders.
^
Slick religious huckster with a silver touch,
yells “walk”
and crutches are laid down,
wheel chairs left behind,
arms raised in prayer and thanksgiving.
Grinning, the huckster holds out his hand
“give to the Lord,” oozes from his lips.
^
All those years Mary Carol,
woman of deep faith and good heart,
prays and wonders “why not me?”
She was waiting for a miracle.
^
Planes fall from the sky,
brown skinned neighbors gathered up,
nonbinary beloveds written out of existence;
Government by temper tantrum and grievance,
the smallness of it all crushing in its absurdity
and so painful in its heartless execution,
leaves me waiting for a miracle.
^
The miracle of faith, hope and peace
returning from exile.
Miracle of compassion leading our movements,
the gift of empathy when so many are crying.
Bridges being built over vast rivers of difference
Healing hands ready to piece us back together.
The resurrection of love when hate has no other
hearts to plunder.
Growing in a field is a single bright flower.
Miracles so tiny only the heart can see them.
^
Late at night Candace sits,
her eyes no longer the windows of her soul.
Learning to live in darkness,
waking in the night to the screams of fear…
She’s Waiting for a miracle.
Not that sight will be restored,
but that hope will find a home
In her again.
This is beautiful, Larry! I love the crispness of your language in "slick religious huckster with a silver touch," and contrast you pain between the supposed miracles on TV and the woman sitting, watching, waiting. The repetition of "waiting for a miracle" is really poignant. I feel the aching and waiting in this poem so much, even as I'm trying to do my small part.
You are doing your part, Lisa. The woman at the beginning was my Mom.
“Waiting for a Miracle”
Hmmmm. Reminds me of a play.
i swear, i am that gull. 😁
If Jesus made a blind man see, then surely
he could fix this broken world.
What is he waiting for?
.
What are we waiting for?
Godot.