Beautiful World
Alpen Foothills

Alpen massif, towers above Bavarian plateau;
Rugged snowy mountain peaks above,
Rich, green bustling farmland  below,
In peaceful harmony under early summer sun.

Between, above the farms, below the peaks,
In sharp contrast, nestle tree covered foothills
Transitioning civilization from natural wilds,
And snowy winter from idylls of summer.

There, sitting upon the foothill brink
Is as close to heaven as one can be;
Back to a forest stark and primeval,
Face t’ward comfortable civilization below.

In a blink, bidding fond farewell to farmland,
Greeting the dark, silent forest with the joy
Only raw and untrammeled  nature can bring,
Welcoming sweet cool breezes from above.

The air is cool; the sun is warm;
Civilization disappears in the gloom,
With soft silence settling like a blanket,
Bringing a peace beyond understanding.

Where else on earth can such feeling come?
Civilization and nature so close together,
Yet with a step, to leave one and embrace the other.
Truly, a preview of what heaven should be.
American Pride

The US commitment to South Vietnam
Was often not too clear
Especially to Germans
Who wider trouble feared.

There were speeches and demonstrations
And insults shouted loud;
Discontent and argument
Were used to goad the crowds.

Americans were warned away,
Women to stay at home.
But part of being a woman
Is having a will of your own.

She was walking through a central square
During a long-haired speech,
But since it was in German
The meaning was out of reach.

Suddenly for all to hear
These English words rang clear:
“Any Americans would hang their heads,
If they my words could hear.”

Without a thought she loud replied:
“Why, I’m American!
And you won’t see me hang my head!
I’m proud of what I am.”

Silence fell; she continued on.
A listener started to clap.
Another joined and then the rest;
The menacing mood was snapped.

A simple thing  - a modest word
Inspired by feeling strong –
A depth of good old fashioned pride –
My country right or wrong.

It hasn’t disappeared, you know –
Pride in the USA.
A woman alone – without a thought –
Showed them the American way.
Art of Awakening

The art of awakening
Is learned only over time;
It comes with ……maturing.
The word languorous comes to mind;
But words are inadequate.

Time floats by; the clock bongs,
With only the slightest intrusion,
Into a torporous mind.
Thoughts come and go,
Yet slowly the day encroaches;
Sounds intruding from afar
Become more distinct,
Slowly bringing the mind up to speed,
Slowly, slowly – timing is everything;
The process cannot be rushed.

Then suddenly it is time.
That is part of the art,
Knowing when is the time
To arise and move into the day.
Another day is beginning.
Beauty

Beauty is life’s awesome gift.
Skin deep it was once said,
Yet we worship the outward,
Though we know it is not enough;
For shallow beauty fades quickly.
But when not shallow,
It is a wondrous thing.

Surely it is the outward that first attracts us:
Soft, luxuriant, fragrant hair,
Surely hair comes first,
Made to be touched, smoothed, kissed.
But form is not far behind:
Neither slender nor full necessitates;
It is the balance,
The fitting together of the parts.
Nor can symmetry of face be ignored,
Nor smoothness of skin,
Light in the eyes,
And firmness of features.

But as a statue only
Is this beauty beheld;
It comes alive when life is breathed
From within,
When the beauty of lips
Is radiated by warmth of smile;
Where light of eyes
Sparkle with intelligent merriment;
And  movement is sprightly, animated,
Friendly and sincere.

It is the smile, the laugh,
Twinkling eyes,
Bounce, warmth, grace
That add the spark of true beauty
To the already comely statue.
But even that is not the full extent.
For true beauty requires something more:
Truth, honesty, sincerity,
And warm, caring personality;
How can these be seen?
How can they show in beauty?
How indeed?

Beauty comes in many forms;
Some fleeting,
Other is deep and less apparent
In the beginning;
Truly, there are many kinds of beauty;
But complete beauty is a wondrous thing,
Combining all that is meaningful in life.
It is to be worshipped,
Only when it is whole.
Children

So sweet and innocent.
So dependent.
One wonders how they can survive;
But survive they do.
Yet,
Survival is relative.
Since as they grow
They remain fragile,
Longer than we might think,
Though it appears otherwise.

They seem so strong,
Confident and self assured,
And so they are,
So they are, on the surface.
But what is below?
How can one know
What goes on below?

Is their motivation strong?
How is their confidence?
Fiber of their morality?
Timbre of their character?
Are they becoming
Everything they can become?
If they are not,
What can be done?
What is going on in their minds
And their souls?

Life is harsh and becomes early so.
Growing up is a difficult task,
Whether we understand or not.
So many temptations;
So much pressure
From life,
From friends and acquaintances
Whose motives are their own.
So easy to be put down,
Pushed aside, trampled underfoot
In the rush to succeed, be popular
And accepted.

No challenge is so great,
No task so demanding.
These are our children, our future
Our very reason for being.
We care, oh how we care.
But what to do?
How do we carry them on
When they will not be carried?
When they think they know better than we?
Give us the strength to carry on
And to be what we must be
For them.
Commitment of Love

Perfect compatibility
Is rare as identical snowflakes.
How can two people possibly agree
On all that lies between them?
Such myriad idiosyncrasies
Can never be fully reconciled.
Though emotions may overwhelm,
Exploding into lust and affection,
Differences will continue to exist.

And what of those differences?
How can two live together
In blissful conjugal happiness
When there are differences?
There is no other option;
Differences will exist,
And though we admire and adore
There will be what grates and chafes,
Some great, some small.

Love, that illusive and mysterious emotion,
Does not obliterate differences;
It recognizes and understands them;
Knowing them for what they are;
Accepting them without rancor,
Frustration, irritation or derision;
Celebrating positives; minimizing negatives;
Forgiving transgressions; overlooking flaws.
Love is living with differences
Neither embraced nor applauded.

But merely overlooking is not enough,
And pretending perfection is hypocrisy;
While pushing irritation to subconscious
Treats only symptoms and does not cure.
True love is far more:
It is recognizing, understanding,
And accepting,
Without condemnation, without censure.

Such a wonderful concept!
Such a virtuous goal……..
Surely far, far beyond
What most mortals can hope to achieve.
But love need to be achieved
To be wondrous,
For its value as journey
Is almost as great as destination.

Pursuit of love is constant struggle
With differences and irritations
That ebb and flow,
With mysterious dynamics
Of personal relationship.
And though we may not entirely succeed,
The effort yields benefits
Almost as sublime.
But effort must be prodigious,
With differences within limits,
Else all will fail.
To find love
One must want to find love
Enough to make the effort
To truly and honestly respect,
And care for another
More than self.
Empathy

To put one’s self
In the place of another.

The reasoning of man
Is neither exact nor consistent.
People with the same information
Reach different conclusions,
See things in a different light.
To understand other’s logic
One must know from whence they come.

Why is this important?
How else
Can we learn to live
In peace and harmony with others?
Differences are a mark of man,
Have ever been and ever shall be.
We must learn to live with them,
Tolerate them, respect them,
Even celebrate them.
On such depends the harmony
And peace of our world
That must be, if we are to survive.

Understanding one another
Is difficult enough;
Without effort it is impossible.
We need not agree ---------
We will not agree much of the time,
For self interest is too strong.
But we must live together
In a world of differences.

The first step to resolving differences
Is understanding;
The first step to understanding
Is empathy:
To put one’s self
In the place of another,
And know
From whence he comes.
Family Bonds

Family bonds grow –
Strongly, but differently.
Closeness sometimes apparent,
And sometimes less so.
Showy superficial is more the norm;
But often deeper commitment
Comes less from good time show,
And more from pulling together
When times challenge.

Nothing brings a family closer
Than trials that must be shared;
Nothing is more divisive
Than trials that will not be shared.
Those with little, and commitment,
Learn to share, and become strong;
Those more selfish, grow apart,
Losing the warmth that could have been.
The difference is deep and profound.

Family has meaning for those who share.
Those with much may never feel the need,
Until they find their much
Is not enough,
As it is of the wrong kind;
And then it is too late.
Would we could learn earlier
The true meaning of family:
Sharing both good and bad.

There is no stronger bond in mankind than family.
There is no greater pillar of strength
When adversity makes appearance,
And there is need for love and support.
For when the contrary winds blow,
Where else can one turn,
Where love is without question,
And there is no recrimination?
Then is the bond tested; and strength shows through.

Must we wait so long?
Can we not show family love
Before adversity strikes and contrary winds blow?
We assume so much, divulge so little.
Family, after all, is our final bulwark
Against vagaries of an uncaring world,
Our final refuge from a world that is cruel.
Other attachments come and go;
Family is true and forever.
Flowers

Flowers are nature’s tribute
To delicate, exquisite beauty.
Creeping along the ground,
Perching in stately fashion
Upon sturdy stalks of green,
Peeping from the depths of foliage,
Bursting in clumped profusion.
Some bloom briefly
And are suddenly gone.
Some bloom on and on,
Throughout the warmth
Of Spring, Summer and Autumn.
And some appear but for a morning instant,
Day after day after day.

Flowers are fragile,
Perfect monuments
To color, form and natural majesty.
They exude soft aromatic perfumes,
Bringing exotic thoughts,
And soft dreams,
While producing the pollen
To ensure continuance,
Forever and ever.

They are so beautiful
We cannot resist plucking them,
So we might enjoy them more intimately,
Though in so doing they soon wilt and die.
Some say this is waste,
Yet, how can appreciation of beauty
Be waste?

Flowers are nature’s yin
To its violent yang,
Touching the soul
With delicate, fragile beauty,
Softening coarseness,
Courting inspiration,
Jettisoning drabness
That might otherwise overwhelm.
Flowers are icon
To the beauty of life.
Pensive

Truly delicious, the mood pensive;
Thinking not of heroic things,
Nor to change the world;
Just drifting along
In dreamy contemplation,
Easy comfortable reflection,
Gently massaging the mind.

To be pensive is to float,
Void of cloying tensions
And the grasping stress
That so permeates our consciousness.
Minds hunger to be so eased,
Needing peace and tranquility
To nurture the soul.

Pensive
Cleanses cobwebs,
Expunges bleak and dire thoughts
That lurk with their poisons.
Pensive
Gives respite from nagging doubts
And tedious obligations.

Feed the soul with pensive thoughts
Of little import, but great tranquility,
So body and mind
May ease into languorous torpor,
To regenerate, recharge,
And re-kindle the fires of life
That allow us to carry on.
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