ROSARY

"Rosary" Ann april 2010 (For Joe)

The rounded form that tells of times 

many counted prayers,

the clink of wooden beads,

long chains, 

the amoeba of religions many claims, 

its calming meditation, 

concentration, 

as each breath is weighed and judged

each thought, each wish, 

to plead for resurrection 

in another form of life

where all is good, no strife, no fear,

no hardships wear us thin,

each bead a key to let you into heaven, 

the dream,

illusion of a trance-like world, 

giving up our own, for other days to come,

while now the spirit seeks release 

from mundane drudge,

from pain, 

from sorrow, 

hang and swing into tomorrow,

where the sun is always shining; 

what a hoax, yes what a hoax, 

when what we have is what we know,

and see in front of us, the house, the tree, 

the flower

and whatever name they have 

they create a wondrous shower

of beauty, joy and happiness

just waiting to be picked, 

not clicked in pearls of man's conclusions 

falsely rainbow'd 

landed Lords and Gods,

for our conscious minds are here and now,

no longer relevant 

when our hair departs, 

then all the arts of man cannot raise you up again 

another day, 

another way, 

and yet they sway, those balls in the wizened hands 

of those in black,

who lack the vision to decline their measured charm

it does no harm, 

and yet,

who knows they may regret their choice,

so listen to the tiny little voice of choirs of birds, 

just there to hear 

singing the litanies of life 

so beautiful, so clear,

right here. 

And yet when we take this rosary 

in our palms,

the memories flood back to me

I see and hear and feel a presence

potently beside, 

that stirs my heart, my reminiscences, 

it is they that still abide, 

within the mirror of perception in our thoughts,

found in the archives of those days of strong import

when an object still contains its history

and conjures up your smile to me,

your speech, your frame,

almost now made holy;

and I run to your embrace,

as if I'm blessed again by you, 

my mother 

so few could ever come to take your place,

you are established as the zenith of my love, 

and no one, 

not a god, a man, 

a woman,

can then claim that sanctuary 

deep down in my heart,

I shall die in your arms, 

no other face will wrinkle my brow,

you are my love, 

my lover, 

dear mother, 

my all

my goddess, 

grace.