poetryArc2

Maggie

There was a young gal I used to know.

"Back to the earth"

was her chosen path

combined with a heavy dose

of "harmless" drugs and "Born Again"

Christian words.

She always looked so be-draggled,

in that kerchief she wore,

covering her tangled hair.

So very pregnant

in her long worn out and dirty

pioneer-style dress.

She'd drop by our cabin

for a visit, biscuits and tea

(she was so ravenously hungry)

and she was always sure

to mention something to me

about the importance

of my salvation.

She had a way about her...

a kind of blissed-out smile

and a distant glassy-ness

about her eyes.

Her whole focus, you see,

was to "act naturally"...

And to prove her point, one day,

she just lifted her skirts

and pee'd (!)

right in front of me,

carrying on all the while

with her blissful conversation

regarding my salvation.

Laughing to myself...

I thought she must be nuts

or had a lot of guts..

no if's and's or but's!

Still, she didn't mean any harm..

she was just a lost city creature

living on a farm...

and she was so very, very warm.

So, I was always pleased to meet her

as she strode up our garden path....

and listening

to her proselytizations

did bring me

to a whole set of my own

realizations.

One day, she

and her live-in man came by

to lend us a helping hand

with some hard "back to the land"

back breakin' work.

Shifting her baby to her other hip,

she eased down the sleeve of her shirt

to expose her shoulder....

then showed me a terrible, ugly,

swollen looking sore ..much like a boil

that just had to be

causing her a whole lot of pain.

Oh, Maggie!", I gasped,

"have you seen a doctor?"

Amazed by her candor,

she replied, "Yeah, it's cancer."

She informed me she had no better plan

than to withstand the pain

and pray- because,

"God", she said,

"will make it all go away".

Looking into her glassy eyes, I saw

it would not be long until the end.

She left that day

with a hug, a kiss and smile-

Waving and repeating

her customary departing prayer,

as she disappeared

down our garden path

forever.

Martha Meshberg

Dual Edge

Some experiences

will haunt me forever-

like Maggie's eyes,

innocent child, that she was,

caught up in unrealistic dreams,

betting on her life,

that Jesus would save her

from a world of pain.

Those over-focused blissful eyes

did not foresee her own martyrdom

was at hand.

Was reality the cross she chose to bear?

Was denial a word with a dual edge?

Faith raw and bleeding...

faith, taking the form of cancer

carried her fearlessly, triumphantly, and victoriously far

from the rationalizing words of earth.

Nothing else would have quenched her thirst.

What I saw was not a fragile or ignorant mind

but one who laid her head

upon the sacred threshold of life

through death.

Martha Meshberg

Waters

An inevitable reality

unfolds fate

from the hand

of balanced forces.

The water

of growth's movement

continues along

it's precarious,

but tender course

filling thirsty hearts,

with replenished

and sustaining life.

Love's nutrients

kept alive

from the self-same source

as the tears

which fill our eyes.

Martha Meshberg

The Mason Jar

I keep a stash of stones

in an old fashioned canning jar

perched on my window sill.

I often sit starring at it...

waiting for a mystic verity

to suddenly emerge from it's contents.

Magic stones selected from obscure outings...

Gleaned by vision quest

along roadsides,

in meadows and on mountain tops.

Some, from my own back yard...(funny, how clues may rest close to home).

Having discerned messages and signs,

I stash reminders of lessons learned

where they may be continually reviewed

while starring at the glass jar

perched on my window sill...

Martha Meshberg

Fat Cats

(For A Beloved Fat Cat)

Fat cats at crossroads of fate.

Sitting on the garden fence,

yowling and sleepless.

From darkness, mice emerge, scurring among

myriad back yard networks and pathways.

Tense and rapt, yellow, glowing eyes

pierce the shadowed night,

searching for prey.

Fat cats (with watermelon bellies)

find it difficult to move.

And gracelessly fall from the fence

giving ample notice to those who would flee.

Fiegning un-ruffled ease,

Fat Cats groom themselves and stretch.

Ignoring fortune, they saunter silently

amid tall grass.

Tails held proud and high....

fading into the moonlit night.

Martha Meshberg

Spiritual Warrior

(A Runic Poem)

Seeing The Self within her,

she knows the human race.

She is an issue and source

of Utterance

cast upon the shores

of the Divine rivermouth.

She swims ashore embarking upon

an unending journey of the soul,

traversing from the earth into death

utterly and helplessly charmed.

Opening gateways, her mystic words,

will slay both demons and giants.

For she is a Spiritual Warrior

who shall be victorious in every battle.

Setting her course for the stars,

her quest and destiny will lead her

again to The Unknowable.

There,once more,

seeing The Self within her,

She will sit beneath The Sacred Tree.

Carving magic bows and arrows

from Sacred Divine Words,

she will mark

the primestaves of planetary time.

Yes, she is a Daughter of the Sun.

Tried by fire, she journeys

"charmed" through

hail, sleet and the natural

forces of damage,

transforming herself into the fertile soil

of growth, rebirth and new life

For she is of the sacred Tree of Life.

Defending All, she journeys

out of need and necessity.

Entailing great disruption and hardship

along her way,she has learned

the lessons of constraint-

for she knows

the causes of human sorrow well.

Martha Meshberg

Pure Heart

Tears flow, but

she has not

fallen from grace...

though her mind

may be swayed

by a poor character.

The cruel darkness

invades the light

of her heart,

overwhelming her

by the contagion

and illnesses of others.

Shall she be blamed

for her weakness

and succeptibility?

Nay,

having known the enemy

many times over,

she sweeps shadowed cobwebs

into nothingness

from whense they came,

then claims the reward

of goodness, right and light,

For she possesses

" a heart pure, kind and radiant".

Martha Meshberg

Babushka

The fragrance of lilacs

made her swoon

casting a dreamy smile

across her aged face

and a moist twinkle

into her eyes...

taking her back

somewhere

inside a mesmerizing memory

to the loving days

of youth.

There, in her kitchen,

she carefully set the

fluffy , full, fragrant branches

into her finest crystal vase..

and with a beaming flourish,

clasped her hands, smacked her lips,

and threw us

a perfect Jewish mamma kiss-

then boisterously belly laughed

and belted out

in her stoutest five foot magnitude

a beloved Russian folk song

while preparing

her famous meal of

chopped liver and cabbage rolls

with lucshen and cheese.

Having stuffed ourselves

into a painfully drowsy

and overfed stupor, we made

one last brave attempt at her

raisin-apple pie ala mode,

while she packed the rest

"to take for the road...!"

Oh, so bitter sweet

the memories of that day...

For now, cherished Leah,

you've gone away

...home to your beloved man,

into the arms of love

and lilacs

once again.

Martha Meshberg

Dining Table

Challenged

by the thought

that I could lose love,

that I may hurt you,

I wear down my own

resistance's to run...

I will not

turn my back

in indifference or anger.

I will not

slam the door shut.

I will not

find a reason to leave you

standing alone in the cold

burdened and in pain.

I will not

lock myself in

or retreat into "my work".

There will be no excuses...

For you will always find

before you

in fullness and honesty

ready and willing

to lay every last detail

upon our dining table.

Eat with me. Share the food.

Be nourished by what is offered

and real.

Maybe, just maybe...

we will find

some hidden flavor

we've never before

understood

or savored!

Martha Meshberg

Dearest Mother

She is now ill...

weakened and wearied

by the replayed sorrows

of time

which have led her

innocently

down a re-paved road

of wars

nearly forgotten.

Her deeply sorrowful eyes

gaze moistly and fearfully

into mine- knowingly,

framed by her beautiful

silver-white hair

of history

and calamitous times.

As I grasp

delicate and aging hands,

her helpless tears brim

and seep into

my bleeding heart.

Mother, my dearest Mother-

These "Rumors of Wars"

shall never tear our grateful,

luminous and loving

Baha'i spirits apart.

Martha Meshberg

The Catch

Having drawn

those illusive

moments

within the net...

I pull the strings

taut

gathering ruffled edges

to a close...

capturing jumbled

words...

like so many

wriggling fish.

Heaving the net

aboard, the catch

falls free

spreading itself

in slippery profusion

at my eager feet.

These few

golden coins emerge

as precious words

among the silvered,

quaking throng...

and Emerald stones,

the treasured poems

from 'neath the Sea's

ancient and Sacred Hold.

Martha Meshberg

Consciousness

Anguished voices crying out...

longing to be heard, beseeching God,

beseeching each other.

A trillion competing messages

demanding to be heard, we

Crying, dying children waiting

to be nourished, loved and understood.

All this grappling

for a little sacred space in time

to call our own,

all of us feeling our complete

and mystified aloneness.

How big we seem as we flaunt

our fortunes and fame...

and how small we seem

as we lose at our own games, then glimpse

a mere grain of sand miraculously here

being conscious of being conscious

Will we glean who we really are?

Will we make a loud enough wail?

Will we rise above

this cacophonous, clamoring

long enough to actualize ourselves,

recognizing the greatness and nobility

of who and what we are?

Martha Meshberg

Evolution?

Humans love to

announce their arrival

with loud cymbals

and beating, crashing drums-

not having evolved or changed much

since ancient times.

Neanderthals threw rocks

at each other from the doorways

of their caves

and crept up from behind...

same as today.

Marauding troops

of early man

pillaged and plundered

entire villages, killing the offspring

of the women they raped...

same as today.

Even the thieving monkeys

knew better than to die

fighting over

the last banana.

Mocking us, they covered

their ears, mouths and eyes....

same as today.

Martha Meshberg

Untitled Stew

I am not prone to

dwelling

on gruesome

circumstance....

the horror of

the vision offered

repells , frightens

and disappoints

this tender, loving

heart.

These things

I do not

wish to own:

the raging, angry

nightmare sickness

of the netherworld

of a maladjusted

soul.

Whether the saber

is wielded by

the hand of another

or is brandished by

your own...

you both end up

among the "living dead".

Martha Meshberg

Talk to Me...

Suspended words

fumble

averting our emotions,

rocking our trust.

Each raw moment

disappearing into staring eyes

of silence.

Shifting and changing chairs,

we know

what has

Not

been said.

Can love be just

or deeply savored

if we do not embark upon

mutual fortune

with trusting and honest eyes?

Time looks favorably

upon those who exercise

their will toward

open and true

communication.

Martha Meshberg

I Just Make Me Laugh

I reside here

in ridiculous heavy headed-ness

laughing at my own

pitiful attempts

to understand...when

I just wanna scream

and laugh away

this sense of over-whelming blues

walking like a shadow

inside these ill-fitting shoes.

Just when I think

I've got it all down

I find myself crying outoud,

kicking, scruffling-

and making confused,

fussing sounds.

God knows my head is too soon

in the clouds-

so, He throws me right back

here

wriggling like a half drowned worm

on wet, soggy ground.

(Sigh) Tsk.

Hahahahahahaha....

It's enough to really make me laugh!

Thank God for that.

Martha Meshberg

Search

Beloved, blessed and happy

be the lowly and searching!

For, from ashes

does the Phoenix rise

toward the Eternal Sun,

and the moth

from the shadowed night

flutter nearer

the illumined flame!

Martha Meshberg

Spring Son

Oh, hear me!

There are lilies

in the field

nourished by

the new spring Son !

Listen...

The wing of the moth

whispers knowledge

as life expands.

But still,

A babe's salt tears

fill the sea

as a world

of "wise men" shout.

Martha Meshberg

Terraces

Ministering

at the gate of love,

They've sacrificed their lives

emboldened

by the crimson stained robes

of God's righteous Cause.

They offer mankind

the long sought after

golden grailed Cup of Wine

and

the Arc of The Covenant

intertwined.

All nations shall approach

the Kingdom's golden, sacred

Threshold of Promise-

and the light

of the New Dawning Era

shall shine

from the illumined Terraces

of Mt.Carmel.

Martha Meshberg

These Principles of Joy

A great sadness envelopes me

as I witness so many

deadened and joyless eyes.

I cannot but share

the depth and certitude

of my HOPE

for the coming of a healed

and enlightened world...

in which the Peoples of the world

will share One God,

recognizing His many Messengers

as having come from

One Common Foundation and

Ultimate Source.

When humankind will truly

comprehend

the Oneness of Mankind

and see itself as

the Race of Man-

looking upon the varied colors

and likening them

to flowers

within a colorful, diversified

and magnificent garden.

When the

Independent Investigation of Truth

will distinguish truth from error-

leaving spiritual realization

in the hands of the individual

and not in the hands another-

making belief

a self realized privilege

rather than a passed down obligation

through generations of ancestry

without thoughtful, conscious

investigation...

When Religion will be a Source of Unity

rather than a source of disharmony,

discord and war.

When mankind will realize,

investigate

and put into practice

the Essential Harmony of Science and Religion.

When the battling of the sexes will cease

and the minds and capacities of all

will be nourished

and recognized as equal

and positively known as

the Equality of Men and Women.

When the seas of hatred, despair

and oppression will end

through

the Elimination of Prejudices of All Kinds.

When

EVERY child on our planet

will benefit

from Universal Compulsory Education.

When Economic Problems will be

remedied by Spiritual Solutions.

When communications

among the peoples of the world

will be upheld by

A Common Language and Script.

When the affairs of the world

will be guided by an

International Parliament of Man

and All

will truly believe in and uphold

Universal Peace.

Martha Meshberg

Oh, Precious Love...

Is hatred

so deep a pain

that it will never

know love again?

Where are

the bright innocent,

loving and trusting eyes,

of the dear nappy headed child

I once knew?

How you push me

scornfully and remotely

away-

what can I ever say or do

that you will not receive

as just another form

of targeted bigotry?

So disgusting

am I

to your cynical

outraged and angry eyes.

I am helplessly at a loss.

There is nothing I can do...

to satisfy the rage

flamingwithin you, save

allowing you

to pull the wings off

this broken hearted fly, then

squish me and my

"patronizing love"

into nothing

but a moist spot

on the pavement...

Save, laying down my life

in nothingness before you...

which would be in your view,

"much too easy".

All I know is that

we once loved each other,

here, in our colorless hearts.

Here, where once

mutual tears blended

in a compassionate and human

life-giving, salty surging sea...

Is it so wrong of me

to continue longing

for your precious

lost love

and racial unity?

Martha Meshberg

Spirit of Ignorance

Who is afraid of the Specter

that comes

from the dark night of the soul?

What veil obscures the vision

of the ones who look upon evil

with blinded eyes?

What spirit possesses minds

and drowns tender hearts?

What wicked entity is it

that tears this world apart?

Every man fears his own

reckoning; his darkest reflection

staring back at him

from the mirror of his soul...

veiled blind

by those material conquests

for power and gold

which hold hostage

as pawns

our poor and unfortunate brothers

to the spirit of greed

and power hungry nations.

It is the Spirit of Ignorance

which animates and gives life

to the wickedness of prejudice

and all hostilities steming from

race, class, religion and gender.

Is it no wonder

that we find fear

in our own faces?

That we are challenged each day

by what is held deep and hidden within-

inside

the eyes and soul who we are?

That we are indeed the

idividually responsible guardians

for the outcome of the world?

Searching my heart

at the end of each day,

I call myself

strictly and consciously

to account.

Martha Meshberg

For R.H.

Sometimes truths

(like answers), descend

in an overwhelming moment

of light...

like that "flash" of comprehension which shines so brightly over

your "aha" head.

Sometimes the answers

like scattered bits and pieces

(of truth), descend in

a sequenced, jig-saw puzzle

over years

of struggling, contemplating time...and

You piece most of it

together... sometime

before you die.

You may believe those irretrievable

bits of wisdom lie hidden,

that somehow, you have lost

the determining key

to the outcome

of the "Big Picture".

Yet, really,

NOTHING

has been misplaced...

Those answers are to be found

on the other side...

('cause it doesn't end here...!)

You will digest

the questions of the journey

once you've completed

the goal's course.

Martha Meshberg

Dear Girl

Don't you understand

that YOU are

angry with me?

I am waiting for you

to share with me truthfully.

Must I be made responsible

for dragging it out of you?

I am not your enemy,

but the mirror by which

you may discern and free yourself.

I would be happy to reflect upon and

wipe away your misgivings

if you'd give me a fair chance.

Instead, you cirlce around me

like a sniffing, moody dog...

Only hinting at your mistrust...

growling

in between the lines inaudibly.

I'm waiting for you to take responsibility

for your pain

and your anger.

When I reach out to you

it's through bars

in which you are imprisoned.

I want to free you

from your self imposed cell,

but you must first

GIVE ME THE KEY!

Martha Meshberg

Awake and Striving

Oh God! Forgive Me.

I remember each mistrusting face,

each synical gesture,

Every unkind word

and misguided judgement.

And I try not

to "take it personally."

Deep wounds refuse to relinquish me

and I remain enslaved

to powerful scripts from the past.

Slowly dying here, I grope

for ownership of a new and reborn

empowerment not dependant upon

others' reward or rebuff.

Oh Lord,

Let me not judge those who judge me.

Nor let me be blinded by my own refusal

to take in the manifest lights and attributes

in front of my face!

We are all so small

in our self orientated worlds.

In this I am surely not alone.

For this, I might take it upon myself

to bestow mercy

where none may be returned.

Martha Meshberg

Chi

Drawing in the breath

of Chi

I am transported to

the unfolding petals of a rose,

alive with fragrance, and

more real than real...

I navigate this single

universe graced and awed

by the splendor

of an all-seeing eye.

Joy envelops my being

in a warm liquid rush

leading me still further

into the absolute

where suddenly

I recognize,

with much laughter and delight,

I am not alone!

There, upon meeting

eye to eye

with a precious jewel-like ant,

We observe each other

upon our mutual journeys

in complete acceptance...

with the most exquisite love

and happiest regard!

This glimpse of Paradise

I was allowed so briefly

to witness... Oh, how rarefied

and bright!

A fleeting kiss of bliss,

All wrapped

within

the Universe of Chi

Martha Meshberg

The Sunlight Cafe

There is a Sunlight Cafe

on my neighborhood corner,

where I meet with deepened,

philosophical thoughts

written upon the worldly faces

of magnificent strangers...

and hear warm, laughing truths

echoing among afternoon patron's

beneath boldly stripped green canopies.....

There, one may hearken to

the tinkling crystal-light

of tipped glasses ringing amid

splashes of brilliant color, as

fragrant flower baskets hover

above the heads of young lovers

lowered and blushing eyes.

Melodeous tones, sweet and hushed

brush electrified, sensuous knees

beneath loves trembling

quaint and checkered

table skirts.

Magnificent, spiritual paintings

grace the interior walls of those

worldly hearts and minds...

While sidewalk easels gather

eager portraits of the changing times...

Capturing the voices of camaraderie

amid Spirit's and Poet's,

Painter's and Thinker's and

the "essence" of all that is

Philosophical and Ethical,

and Spiritual versus the paths of

"Bohemian" life.

Oh, to the Sunlight Cafe

which is very much alive

and exists

on the neighborhood corner

of my wishful, dreaming mind!

Martha Meshberg

Witness

The little girl in the soft pink dress circles

around and around with joyful abandon,

gliding on a two wheel scooter.

Her dress flutters and flaps like a sail in the wind

as she skims by-

boasting the most carefee, beautiful

and ecstatic grin!

The other little girls watch, enviously,

but patiently- awaiting "a turn "

while some jump "rope rhymes"...

Laughing breathlessly and giddily,

the whole time.

An older, more mature girl, carefully plaits

her sisters golden hair

into a l-o-n-g braid

which hangs

neatly and temptingly down

her equestrian-like back.

Sigh.... all's right with the world!

Suddenly, the boys emerge in a flash

from the bushes-

snickering among themselves ,

they leap to fulfill their plot!

They rush right over

and give the little girl in the soft pink dress

quite a substantial knock!

Pushing her down and making her skin her knee

while they laugh and chortle and mock...

Then, noisily and triumphantly,

they "make off" with the scooter,

YANKING on that tempting l-o-n-g golden braid

as they rabble rouse along on their "get-a- way".

The mother's heard the girls outraged screams

and angry hurt and cries.

Of similar times they'd witnessed

with both saddened and innocent eyes

Those playful crimes and naughty, mean boys

that made life both bitter and sweet

Who disappeared without penalty

or "losing face"

down the neighborhood street.

Martha Meshberg

The Gypsy

Up and down the street sashays

a vision of independent defiance.

In rain or shine, sleet or snow.

Her long ringlets of black hair

frame an earthy, aging, wisdom .

A countenance of mystery and courage

...at 58 or so.

Boldly exposing her bosom

and still remarkably sharp figure,

she wears a clinging red silk polk-a-dot dress

to the annoyance of the "decent",

more "respectable"

neighborhood wives.

(How they scorn her so!)

She kicks off her matching red sandals

and sprints bare legged and barefooted

down the HOT asphalt street

as though life depends

on catching the last approaching bus.

She gallops like a wild horse,

her untamed mane tossing in the wind.

(Oh my, the husbands desire her so!)

She does not belong here

in this quiet, conservative place.

Her careless freedoms

worry the others so.

As she crosses by the wild fruit trees,

quick, cunning painted fingers

gather red, ripe, and j-u-i-c-y apples.

There, plucking random fortunes

and life's secret knowledge for free,

she captures, then ties them

in the billows of that red silk polk-a-dot dress.

Knotting her deed

for all to see.

In awe, I wonder who'll taste

of her wild apple'd quisine

and envy this magnificent women

and her Gypsy soul!

Martha Meshberg