Carefully the foundation was laid,
Criss-crossing planks reaching toward a sky
That tantalized with low-strung clouds of hope
And a vast expanse of possibility.
Life took a plank here and there,
That’s how the game is played,
Opening holes into the recesses of mind and heart,
But a Jenga tower is not easily toppled.
Illness came like the petulant child and
Swiped at the blocks, scattering a few to far reaches,
Never to be seen again,
Knocking the tower a little off kilter.
But the tower remained standing,
Shored up by many hands.
Blocks were extracted as
Building materials for towers which were
Themselves under construction
In a reach for that wide expanse of sky
In a never-ending shuffle of finite resources.
Still, the tower held firm.
Then a block was drawn from the bottom,
And the tower groaned.
Players played on,
Wondering why the tower swayed.
Unaware of the laws of physics,
And of equal and opposite reactions,
They poked and prodded at the structural integrity
Of the Jenga tower.
The game is still in progress,
Though the base has become riddled with openings
Where the winds of disillusionment and melancholy
Eddy and swirl.
Mercilessly they came,
Gnashing their teeth,
War whoops televised over broadcast news.
Slyly they came,
With a wink and a nod,
Manipulating words and ideas through the airwaves.
Smugly they came,
Tweeting their way into power,
Lambasting the good and worthy throughout the internet.
Slowly they rose,
Climbing on the willing backs
Of those already bent from daily pressures none of them would ever face.
And a chant rang out,
“Lock her up” and “Build that wall,”
Inoculations activating a hard shell of resistance…
Joyfully they came,
Looting and pillaging their aim,
As the shining city on the hill sat vacuously waiting.
In response to The Daily Post’s prompt: Pillage
A table dressed
In Autumn red and gold,
Flickering tapers beckon –
The feast awaits –
An amber bird, trussed and tied,
Overflowing with succulent stuffing,
Rests in a fragrant cloud of scent,
Next to humble mashed potatoes
And glistening candied yams,
Sensible salad and unassuming rolls.
A hush of appreciation falls
As the finely dressed are seated
Before the best china and crystal,
Spreading linen cloths across their laps.
Hand in hand,
A mumbled prayer of thanks
For goodness given,
Is all too soon
Drowned out by pungent words
As battle lines are drawn.
Determination set in steel.
Decision making – this is real.
The first step is to take the leap.
Your destiny is yours to keep.
In a world of opportunity
Sometimes the road is hard to see.
Second thoughts may hold you back;
Go ahead and choose a path;
You alone can make the choice.
Stake your claim.
Find your voice.
Enter the ring, though you may fail.
Have hope the wind will catch your sail.
Live your passion.
Find your bliss.
Shoot for the moon,
Though you may miss.
The stars are there to break your fall,
So go ahead, give it your all.
I’ll have a burger with mayo and cheese,
Tomatoes and peppers, but no relish please.
Finely chopped pickles create such a mess,
Is it sweet, hot, or dill?
Please don’t make me guess.
A big kosher dill?
Sure. Give me a slice,
And I’ll eat up that burger without thinking twice.
Vivid, vibrant fall –
Low hung sunshine reflected
On a glassy pond.
Is my sincerity
A burden to your beliefs?
Even mighty stone-laden glaciers
Slowly scour down mountains.
In response to The Daily Post’s prompt: Sincere
You are the beaver,
I am the tree.
Little by little
You whittle at me,
One day I’ll topple
And where I once stood,
Will be painful reminders
Of tooth marks on wood.
Smiling face selfies shower the internet –
A tilt of the head,
A coy look to the universe
Always showing our best side.
Sculpted backdrops, but no teardrops;
Paused family gatherings –
A perfect photo for eternity,
Evidence of a life well lived.
Stepping back into the darkness of our solitude,
Behind the closed doors,
We see the better,
And we stash the smartphone in a pocket
As a silent teardrop falls.
Written in response to The Daily Post’s prompt: Artificial