A poem depicting the absurdity in comparing ourselves with others

Journey On…
Written by Elizabeth A. Van Cleve

Don’t ever say-
Because I’m here
You shouldn’t be there
or
Because you’re there
I shouldn’t be here
It makes no sense

Would you ever say-
Because I am twenty
You shouldn’t be two
Because I love red
You shouldn’t love blue
or
Because you’re a teacher
It’s not okay I’m a student
Because I’m carefree
It”s not okay that you are prudent
Because I’m in the east
It’s not okay you’re in the west
Because you do it better
It’s not okay I do my best
Because I see the sunset
It’s not okay you see it rise
or
Because I slipped and stumbled
It’s not okay that you were wise?

See how ridiculous
this thinking seems to be?
When I cannot be you
And you cannot be me!

Do you ever say-
Because you’re over there
I should not be here
or
Because I’m over here
You should not be there?
It makes no sense

One should never say-
Because my skin is black
Your skin should not be white
Because I think it’s wrong
You cannot be right
Because my body’s whole
It’s not okay you cannot walk
Because I know the language
It’s not okay you cannot talk
Because I am straight
It’s not okay that you are gay
Because you have to work
It’s not okay that I should play
or
Because you are happy
It’s not okay that I am sad
Because they got it good
It’s not okay I’ve got it bad
Because you are you
It’s not okay that I am me
Because I have a vision
It’s not okay that you do not see

Because I am here
It’s not okay that you are there
or
Because you are there
It’s not okay that I am here
It makes no sense

Here’s what we should say-

I am here, and
It’s okay that you are there
You are there, and
It’s okay that I am here
I see one way
Because I am here
You see another way
Because you are there
Your journeys yours
My journeys mine
I may be twenty
You may be ninety-nine
You may be a woman
I may be a man
Another may be both
By what they understand
You may live in India
I may live in France
I may be very timid
You may love to dance

One thing is for certain
It’s foolish that we fight
And say you must be wrong
Because I think I’m right
It is what it is, and
We are where we are
And from where I started
I’ve come thus far
So journey on my friend
I wish you all the best
As you travel east, and
I travel west

Cheerio!

Trying to Get it Right

A Poem I wrote today about the struggle in trying to get something right!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trying to Get it Right
Written by: Elizabeth A. Van Cleve

I heard you the first time
and tried to get it right
But my memory and my will
Got into a fight
My will it won the battle
and overtook my might

Your earnest plea the next time
Made my memory strong
I made a resolution
Not to get it wrong
But my resolution vanquished
Beneath the pressing throng

The punishment convinced me
N’er let my focus stray
To do my duty faithfully
Let nothing dim my way
But boredom slowed my footsteps
Daydreams set me to play

Your smile was refreshing
As you explained to me
The hows and whats and whys
And then you set me free
Right or wrong or not at all
Was now a choice for me

I heard you the last time
But now I understood
I didn’t have to try this time
I knew I surely would
For my will was now the Master
Of the right way for my good!

Made of Starlight


Made of Starlight
Written by Elizabeth A. Van Cleve

Descending in to an abyss,
I awoke,
and it was dark;
But fireflies flitted about.
I laughed and danced
and chased them,
tried to catch them,
until I tripped and fell
and descended yet deeper,
where it was darker.
The fireflies flitted about
and I cried…
for their light had betrayed me.
I buried my face in sorrow
and when time stood still
I looked up,
and to my joy I beheld
infinite twinkling starlight;
and I leaped and I laughed.
I climbed the highest mountain I could find,
and I stood upon my toes and reached
my clutching fingers.
Then I fell down and wept.
For the starlight moved higher
with each ascending step.
I called out into the night;
“How can I grasp a star? How must I catch a firefly?”
The breezes shifted, and lost their gentle touch.
They whipped me and chided me.
I ran in a flurry;
I stumbled and fell…
deeper, yet deeper still into the abyss.
And so dark was this depth,
I perceived not my own self.
I saw not one firefly.
no stars shared their light.
I must be nothing- I must not exist.
Tears ceased to fall; I was nothing at all.
Then far in the distance,
a lone light
pierced the blackness.
Slowly I crawled
laboriously,
one terrified
step at a time.
The sole flicker
my last hope,
grew brighter with each step.
I wondered at it’s beauty.
No firefly nor star radiated
as brightly, as clearly.
Soon I stood upon my feet.
The shadows slunk away.
In the BRILLIANCE of its blaze,
the night turned into day!
It burnished out a world of wonder and delight.
As I drew closer to the source of this mighty flame,
I leaped and laughed and danced.
But when I reached the place,
from whence this light was glowing
I staggered in a daze
astonished at what I saw
A mirror stood before me- that was all!
In reverent silence I stood staring at myself,
for I now could clearly see
that the starlight I had longed for
had always been in me!

The Last Question

  The Last Question

Written by Elizabeth A. Van Cleve

The bird asks,
Where shall I build my nest?
What shall I make it with?
When shall I rest?
When will these eggs hatch?
When will my peeps flee?
Where will they go
when they’ve parted from me?
What shall I eat next?
Where shall I fly?
How many days do I have till I die?

The tree asks,
When will the rain fall?
Deaths on the brink!
Where can I dig my roots for a drink?
Will this tempest soon pass?
My branches are aching!
When will the winds cease before I start breaking?
Where will these critters that live in me go,
If my days be shortened, I am sure I don’t know.
How many years will I stand in my glory?
Is there no soul who will treasure my story?

The man asks,
Where did I come from?
Where am I going?
How come the oceans and rivers keep flowing?
Why are the stars so far out of reach?
Why do they twinkle, what do they teach?
How deep are the waters?
What lies down below?
How many plants are there?
How do they grow?
What is this flesh and blood that is I?
Why is it breathing and why does it die?
Why can’t I see in the blackness of night?
Why do I tremble, when I feel fright?
What are these tears and this pain I am feeling?
Why do more questions come with revealing?
When will I understand all in perfection?
When will my knowledge exceed my perception?
When will I ask the very last question?
Will there e’er be and end to progression?

Were told,
Doubts generate questions,
Just trust and believe.
Then you’ll be happy,
You’ll find your reprieve.

But answers are living
They’re the ether’s obsession.
And the spark of life dies
In the absence of of questions.

Where did this all start?
And where will it end?
Who is the enemy?
Who is our friend?

How do I hold onto any possession?
What will be found in the very last question?

 

Stupid and Arrogant

path of lifeStupid and Arrogant
Written by Elizabeth A. Van Cleve

I once conversed with Stupid
And found he inherited his name
From a squabble he had with Arrogant
Over politics, love and fame
He came from the family of Ignorance
His mother and father were deaf
His siblings were Temper and Lazy
Glutton, Careless, and Theft
He lived in the city of No-where
Without any roads or paths
He dined on whatever was tossed him
And rarely took any baths
Years later I ran into Stupid
And could hardly believe my eyes
So changed that I barely recognized him
Indeed a pleasant surprise!
He smiled and told me his new name
Was given by Spirit within
And introduced himself as Wisdom
Knowledge was now his best friend
He moved to the city of Challenge
A place where his life is renewed
His neighbors are Enlightened and Courage
Peaceful, Happy, and Shrewd
Arrogant still hangs around him
But argues with Wisdom in vain
For Wisdom now understands
That Stupid is Arrogant’s fame
Wisdom now basks in the Sunshine
Of Spirit’s love and grace
And is journeying on to the city
Where arrogance has no place
For Arrogance never looks in the mirror
His plight will never be changed
He is petrified-stupid
His ignorant mind is deranged
Deflecting his mirrored image
He calls out to those who pass by
And bids them to look at stupid
Not knowing it is his own eye
The honest man works even harder
To ensure that he never will be
So Arrogant that he breeds Stupid
And never knows it is he

Morning Sunrise

Pup and I never tire of the melodic welcoming of the morning sunrise.

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A morning chill nips at me as we walk across the dew-drenched pasture, glistening with rays of laughter.

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The city stirs in the distance, reminiscent of the restless ocean. Even the train whistle travels the seven-plus mile trek mingling with the grandiose symphony.

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The golden light casts hues so warm and inviting, I rush back into the house to grab my camera and attempt to seize a magical moment; chastising my amateur pursuit, I inwardly vow to take a photography class.

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Boots and Rain cry out to us for treats. A lone chartered airplane hurries by, temporarily stealing all the attention.

This outdoor ceremony mingles the songs of roosters, ducks, crows, bluebirds, starlings, meadowlarks, red-winged blackbirds, geese, chickadees and myriad of other unidentified winged creatures.

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Steadily the sun crawls up into the clear-blue autumn expanse, shifting the hues of earth every inch of the way.

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“Ô, Sunlight! The most precious gold to be found on Earth.”
― Roman Payne

Migraine Mystery

No matter how much time and effort you put into elevating your vibrations, life will at times deal you some low-vibes. It is at these times we wait for the storm to pass, accepting and working through it the best we are able. This poem is born out of some severe migraines. I have learned through these times of tormenting pain, that migraines and other forms of pain have a root system that goes way beyond a physical affliction!

The MigraineThe Migraine

Red, orange, red- like lava slowly erupting;

Agonizingly painful, burning everything in its path.

It’s current sweeping over all, leaving nothing untouched.

“Hot” sounds it like ice melting in spring sunshine;

Lava embers sear, and when it cools, only rocks, barrenness and desolation remain.

My eyes pierce the dimly darkened night;

All is still when you can hear the hum of the fan.

Stiffly I crouch at the edge of my bed, while the night’s visions fade away into the fog.

Where is the little white miracle- washed down with water- that takes away all pain?

Will it work tonight?

Or will miracles cease to exist as I writhe under this merciless whip?

Lava burns it’s way through all defenses;

Pacing the four corners of my home, strength becomes a byword.

The judgments of this world show no empathy, as I wrestle to prove my presence in the now…

and my freedom from the relentless images of yesterday’s torture and heartache.

The world is like a vortex full of eyes that stare in wait;

 I hear a voiceless cry in the searing lava of tormenting pain.

“This too shall pass…yes, it will pass” 

But this moment feels eternal- when unbearable pain opens the locks, one by one,

into the heartache so tightly hidden away.