Songs I Sing. B. Germain Reynolds
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picture,
Pretty colors captured in a square
Telling a story, capturing a mood
A still moment caught in a shot
An expression, movement, frozen
In time
In pose
Serious subjects, playful pets
Cute babies, awed parents
Tall men, curvy women
Wise elders keeping watch
The secret of wisdom
Rheumy in their eyes.
In counterpoint
Energetic youth darting by
Their focus on the object
Of social access
At their fingertips
Addictive in their gaze
Senses blocked
Another device
Carried in their ear
Bringing the continuous music
Of the day
Outlawed in a year
Its constant stream
Competing with dreams
Framed in context
A culture hallowing
Personality
Opinion
Trends
Sound bites
Sowing seeds each pixel
Of doubt
Of despair
Of competition
Of discontent
With the next big thing
Coming at us fast
Telling us insidiously
We are not who God made
Creatures of praise
Poise and beauty
Intelligent by design
And so it goes.
A purse,
My signature piece
All my essentials in one place
Odds and ends
For writing, for reading
For paying, or using credit
For keeping in touch
A handkerchief
Tissues
Candy and gum
The sour kind, sugarless
A snack or two
No peanuts
Or ketchup
No sharp objects
Or open pens
One will irritate
My allergies grave
The other aggravate
My cravings
One causes pain
The others stain.
Hygiene items
Tucked in discretely
Personal pieces
Hidden in the seam
Placed there
Deliberately
To protect
From instant view
Ready access
In case my partner
Needs a check-in
To my psyche
That day.
If I change them
With the outfit
To mix and match
With my mood
To facilitate
The errand
The event
The season.
Their pastime
Parading past prime
Applauding the brave
Watching
Time disappears
Into a long-ass day
Featuring
Panic
Anxiety
Accomplishment
Checked boxes
Merging and mingling
My sense of style
Somewhat traditional
Leery of the fad
Choosing the classic
Yielding to comfort
Going big
Opting for tiny
Making a statement
It’s just a thing
Not my truth;
Judge me
If you must
On the merits
Of my mantras
On the heat in my tone
At the outrage du jour
Sitting on the fence
Or standing for right
Or closing my mind
To another way
To skin the cat
To view the world
Walking the tightrope
Of an era
In history
When facts are fluid
And fiction is currency
Yesterday’s norms
Today’s modes
Compete for my grip
Against my heart
Across my body
Over my shoulder
Around my waist
Bouncing with each step
Secure on my person
Hiding my stuff
As I stride through life
Holding my peace
And so it goes.
Firesome
Where was the forest for the fire; wild
Smoke climbing up to heaven
Like the cries of the weary; black
Putrid, devoid of form
Spelling nothing, hiding life; thick
Clouding man’s vision
Leaving in its path
Waste
Wonder
Woe.
If the trees had refused to grow; tall
Their