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About myrnag

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  • Birthday 08/05/1948
  1. May the delicate seasonal beauty take flight, Penetrate window, door, and, with sleight Of hand, carve intricate chimney patterns so rare That they awaken, astonish, their simplicity Bare Truth in Natural cape, a Truth no dictator dare lame, Cast, defeated, underground enchained, Nay through the untold hours of dearth, A piece of peace places thrones on Earth, And scattered thus, vision germinates While curious hare, white peacock circulate. MG
  2. (Better Late Than Never)
  3. A Thanksgiving Meditation I gaze within the soup and find The tough reality and rind Of squash and ginger, onion skin And celery, sliced fine, sliced thin To spice the diced and chronic thoughts That boil and simmer, never lost Within my heart and stomach, mind That search for reasons lawyers bind To depositions to present in court Before the world, which could not abort The catastrophic video played And played and still relayed Around the globe, around the clock As parents, kids on every block Rushed to the scene to lend a hand, A swollen tissue, some gauze, a band Of makeshift toweling, tourniquets That choked off death for some. Still it’s Hard to give our thanks and pray, Though thanks are due in a heavy way, For here we sit and love each other Amidst the plenty, amidst the brother/ Sisterhood our hostess sings, She fills our plates, her eyes have wings To fly around and stroke souls sore, To make us welcome on her shores. No matter where we’re from we’re here Together gripping strength not fear. The planet will survive disgrace For evil deeds need have no place, When each child grows and loves its fate, Feels realized, its talents rate Appreciation, applause and wonder And no one tries to steal its thunder, Then everyone will feel secure, Then peace will reign, I know, I’m sure. Our language lingers a woof, a cry Of happiness, of humble pie. And so United, clasped and bound To our set purpose, this space resounds With hope that ours a better world This day — not hence — will be unfurled. So look into the shiny mirror Your plate’s become, reflect, consider The hand that skillfully drew its shape, That turned it over, signed its nape, That imprint traveled from God-knows-where Yet touches our Thanksgiving fare. So see how we are all connected From clay we come, our breath injected With the power to build, not be inert, But I’ve said enough: Let’s toast dessert! 2003 Winooski, VT From “Sensing Worlds of Worlds” Poem-Songs on Loving & the World ©️2004 Myrna Goldstein Thank you for reading! 🤎
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