Gathering

 

—Poetry by Linda Klein, Playa Vista, CA

—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

TO CATCH A POEM

It floats in the air around me,
illusive, nearly invisible,
leaving me confused
as to whether it is real.
Fluttering for attention,
it teases, charms,
comes in close, dares me
to reach for it, to get a sense of it.
I scribble what I feel.
Then like a child playing
hide and seek, it flees,
compels me to play along,
search for its essence,
the truth it reveals.
It is the confident one,
while I am the follower.
This it knows for certain.

 

 

 

 

BIRDS OF PREY

They're never content.
They must continually feed,
not just on the crusts
of stale bread you throw to them.

They scramble and scratch.
You watch them tear at each other,
wishing you never sought after them,
wishing they would fly away,

not only to achieve distance,
not just physically, but far
from mind and memory.
Stubbornly, they stay,

pecking at you, picking at you.
Your suffering pleases them.
Their pattern persists, to annoy
you and to destroy you.  Why?

It's their way, to spread the disease
of hate, to disarm, and harm.
Your cries of pain are, to them,
sweet strains of a songbird's refrain.

 

 

 

 


TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY

On a small farm in Monjarama, near Madrid, Spain,
we watched a farmer, who held a knife in one hand,
and a little, round, squealing pig under his other arm.
The pig slipped from the farmer's grasp with ease,
plunked to the ground, and ran down a dirt road
faster than I've seen anything run before.

The farmer spit on the ground in anger, and
took off after him, but was unable to move as fast
as a pig with purpose.  Frustrated, the farmer
threw his knife into the dirt, nearly stabbing his own foot.
We cheered as the pig waddled off toward town
to live another day.

 

 

 

 

AWAKENING

At the end, I didn't know it was the end.
I had learned it is a new beginning.
All my ghosts and angels gathered
to comfort and explain, not rage nor rend,
that passing over is an awakening.

We celebrated, for, once more, we were together.
The weight of pain and sorrow soon was shattered
by the knowledge of being a spoke in the wheel of forever.

 

 

 

Two Lambs

 

LET US GATHER

What dreams we dream, be they our own or common,
when borne within our purest souls, are precious.
We must strive for them with all our might,
but never fail to honor and to recognize
that each of us has dreams we hope to realize.
To minimize the efforts of another diminishes our own.
In a world where everyone achieves—everyone succeeds.
Let us gather together and be thankful.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Without gratitude, the heart slowly becomes sour and the soul turns dark. And if we permit these to go their full course, we will reach a point where we will no longer know enough of gratitude to revive either of them.

―Craig D. Lounsbrough

_____________________

—Medusa, giving thanks for Linda Klein's poetry today, and for poets everywhere!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!

 

LittleSnake sleeps it off...