Could writing poems

be our antidepressant 

of choice when the times are rough?

~

That, and our downers

when euphoria erupts!

 Like lyrical lithium.

Must we seek meaning

in the eyes of that Divine

lest we find despair?

~

 Where love is present,

the eyes of the Divine shine

and banish despair. 

Why do we mistake

 human interpretations

for divine exhortations?

~

“Made in God’s image”

leads us to believe we see

through the Divine’s eyes.

Can we not wake up,

after all the gluttony ,

to some human compassion?

~

Perhaps we should start

with one simple intent – to

give as well as get.

What should the little

piggy who has roast beef do

when some little piggies have none?

~

Invite them over!

Roast beef tastes much better with

a little bacon garnish.

When fear and hunger

bring out the worst in us all,

how can we find harmony?

~

Harmony may be

a stretch, but we can begin,

as others have, with a song.

 Do we want to be

governed by love or fear –

A choice for all seasons?

~

Love’s warm governance

steadies the terrorized heart 

when fear’s icy grasp returns.

What can poets do

to soften blows and mend wounds

when disaster strikes?

~

Poets remind us

of eternal verities

and the depths within.

Is it true you’ve been

designing cups of reason 

for the holiday season?

~

Reason, being scarce,

did not need designer cups

so I sought absurd instead.

Since some things remain

eternal and unchanging,

must we be more flexible?

~

Openness serves us

when dealing with certainties

of whatever kind.

On the darkest nights

do you know where the moon goes

or where the stars are hiding?

~

They’re still shining bright

even on the darkest night,

only hidden from our sight.

Where can we find light

enough to brighten the night

during our darkest hours?

~

Love, recollected

or present, casts light enough

to see us through such darkness.

What can each of us

do to insure hate does not

have the final victory?

~

Final victory

can only be assured when

each of us surrenders hate.

If now’s the winter

of our discontent, how can

we welcome a new springtime?

~

From the compost of

our discontent, new life can

take root, grow, and bloom.

How many right-wing

ideologues does it take

to design a Christmas cup?

~

Ideologies,

are a lot like Christmas Cups:

of dubious origins.

Does the old horse find

the longer blinders are off,

there’s much more out there to see?

~

From one old horse to

an old horse in training –  I’ll

simply say this –  “Wait and see.”

As you leave fifty

behind, my son, what will you

be taking with you?

~

Honorable scars;

tokens of well fought defeats

and banners of victories won.

Does the foreknowledge

that coming grimness will pass,

relieve or deepen the dread?

~

It all depends on

where we put our emphasis –

the coming or the going.

As the season turns

and the days grow cold, what will

keep you snug and warm?

~

Snug in the knowledge

winter’s a fleeting season

warms the cockles of my heart.

Does this universe

thrill and gush in its perverse

slowing when we feel most rushed?

~

Is the universe 

perverse or are we being

given a nudge to reverse?

Is it possible

that our dogs know more than we

about love and loyalty?

~

Have we not molded

them in our twisted image

to serve many purposes?

As another week

Draws to its whimpering close,

Do weekends bring peace or more pain?

~

Ah, my poet friend,

’tis we and we alone who

bring peace or pain to week’s end.

Time and again we’ve

been told love is the answer.

Did we forget the question?

~

Is this just pablum,

or could love be the answer

to more than just one question?

If it’s beyond us

to change the whole wide world,

can we affect any change?

~

Debra Engle says

miracles come when we ask for

our fear-based thoughts to be healed.

With so many folks

stirring the pot, what kind of

brew are they making?

~

With a dash of hate

and just a pinch discord,

somebody’s brewing trouble.

Do those deeper chords

persist even without fish

to dance about their rhythms?

~

Creation’s deep chords

persist whether fish or fowl

or we, hearing music, dance.