Current Events and a Basket of Apples
A few apples in a well-worn basket.
A Victorian lamp.
A tablecloth beneath them both.
Close up, slightly blurred, red flowers.
A vignette. Still life.
A place for the eye to pause,
and the mind to follow, and briefly
dismiss the rest of the world.
to grow still, on demand,
when you need it most.
And need it, you do.
Your life is a battlefield hiding
under a calm exterior.
There is too much to absorb,
fireworks and cannons,
snipers and newsmakers.
The wounded surround you.
Junkies surround you,
anger, their drug of choice,
mind-altering, adrenaline producing,
swallowed alive by the things they fear,
even as they eat those around them.
It is a disease, this anger, this fear.
Curable, but only to the conscious,
the listeners, the wise, the ones
who slow down, breathe deeply,
and understand; who create
a still life within,
making room at last,
for the truth,
that all are worthy
About this poem.
We have become a nation of fear and anger, rather than aspiration and hope. That saddens me and scares me, but I refuse to let it infect me.
Psalm 46:10 is my touchstone.