J.-Bro, Come In For A Rest
How lusty couples must have been
when living forty to a house.
How long the wait might or must have been
for knowing youngsters to find a spouse.
No wonder French bishops found it rude
when invited to life “a-nude.”
Though life was short it was complete,
chores and wars, ten-hour weeks.
The rest was fun and play and feats:
tragically repeated by new age “freaks.”
Separated by many moons, denied
a chance to live by what’s inside.
Now controlled by each other’s greed,
not following our own true dreams:
anger, sadness, hatred replace Creator’s beams:
never enough means foreign children bleed.
No orator appears to stem the flow,
and if she did, she would get no show.
Who cannot be fascinated by the owl’s call?
Or the trout that jumps from stream in glen?
Who can sit instead of playing ball?
Or ignore their children’s questions when
the answer could direct them, dream come true,
to a life of farming, paddling on the blue?
The unified human soul is stuck and bleeding,
so snared our hearts we don’t know what to do.
Some thrive, though nature is receding,
birds and fish die in our stew.
Connections loosen, gadgets in our hands
answer back with their own demands.
Sunbathing turtle on low-hanging wood
enjoys sun’s warmth through the winter wind.
Even she knows that we have sinned;
would we turn back time even if we could?
Holding hands in unity works in smaller towns,
communal fun smooths economic downs.
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.