Abundance knows no limits
to its gratitude, to its praise.
They have not forgotten
when things were otherwise.
Their faces shine.
With all this, their eyes are bright;
Here, now.
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Yesterday was Tuesday.
Happy Jerry Hughes Day, One and All.Celebrate it.Read his poems.Read them one and all.
Did Jesus, as a baby, cry?
Or were His tears from God’s own holy font,knowing, what He was here for?The story speaks of onewho’s seldom seen in Christmas cribs –one of the first of animals to make praise:the inn’s pet tabby cat, who, woken strangelyby the faintest sound – yet, not a mouse who stirred –yawned, stretched, strolled slowly down to…
It has to be; one day, perhaps,
and yet, and yet… I’m just a little sad,not to meet my self in previous embodimentand say, thanks for the baton that you passedin this relay race of self to selfthrough millions of forms of life, they say;you played your part; worked through your destiny,gave cradle-gifts; withheld some too,to test me further on the path…
A poet, far from his beloved,
and, calling a carrier-pigeon from his loft,sent it as a white dove to his belovedIt was a long flightand by the time his beloved read the poemunder the lamplight in her roomits meaning had changed for herwith the course of time and the human heartIf the pigeon, midway on its flight,had rested in our loftto…
All is in the mind and in the heart:
nought can be owned and nought possessed,in mind nor heart; our parents, partners, kith and kinare but changing shadow puppets inthe self-constructed drama of our life –and this the humbling truth, which in our mind we knowyet in our heart, wish that it were not so;loving the flight of free and graceful birdsyet wishing all…
Not a true poem, to former minds;
not a good poem, to former minds;but a poem that remembers goodness;not a beautiful poem, to former minds;but a poem that remembers beauty;myself, as blissfulas a stretching cat.