You toss me watercolor daisies,

when my hands would conjure you a garden

of blazing bouquets, if you hint just the least.

For one minute, if you’d care at all.


You sing me listless tunes you’ve worn,

when my fingers would line out such symphonies

of sounds never heard, if you join just the least.

For one minute, if you’d sing along.


You press crumpled paper into my fist,

when my purse bursts seams wide with gold-full,

of riches never seen, if you’d open just the least.

For one minute, if you’d only let go.

The Feast

You and I entered the party. A huge mahogany Table rose up from the middle of the room piled with rich food: including the most delectable cakes, and sugared confections. The Feast dazzled the eyes with so much wonder. And you marveled,

‘Surely, this Feast brings comfort and rest. We will never find happier and richer life elsewhere .. Look at the generous fare!!’

We moved into the Hall filled with so many Satisfied Ones. Everyone here labored willingly, creating Beautiful Offerings within each of their Little Homes. They shared these at Table with one another. We wondered too. No disturbance nor upset came between Husband or Wife, nor Children. All appeared remarkably cheerful. We set ourselves to learn to lead such a Happy Life… which began at Feast. After every single grand meal, they inspired us to prepare our own delectable Offerings for the next weekly Table. And at first, we presented many such treats, received with much Joy and Thanks.

One day, instead of exercising Delight, dishes were set side-by-side on the Table. The Self-Appointed compared them for suitability and banished some out of sight. Poor food rotted Under-Table. We deemed it a Well-Meaning Thing, so both of us cheerfully re-doubled our expense and time at the Home Fires.  With effort, our food would escape such Waste. Thus, the Feast grew more sumptuous day by day…

After a time, we suffered sickness. So… we sought help.

The Great Physician advised you and I to choose wisely from Table. We examined each bite of it. We added basic fare of our own and engaged our hearts in more exercise too. A body, kept in proper order, withstands some indulgence. Such advice from the Physician countered conditions at Table. So discipline payed off… but slowly.

We approached our Hosts with the concerns of the GP.

They extolled the Table’s Virtues above all our questions. They admonished us not to wastefully avoid, nor dissent, but to eat without question their Provender. Some, they countered, grew Well and Good on this Diet. They recommended seeking physicians to dispense some Magic Remedy for certain Inherited Tendencies. It stopped ill effects, and allowed a Ten-Fold consumption. Surely a Ten-Fold-Table would draw Outsiders seeking greater culinary capacity. The Improved Feast might be deemed Best in The Village….

Quietly, we noted other things too…

Table-folk’s sweet Complacency seemed a side-effect of both Remedy and Fullness. Some managed The Diet unaided. Others took up Helpful Exercise. But the Unwitting, lacking in constitution, required treatment. The Hosts praised such compliance. They even favored a few with better Seats. All extolled more loudly the Ten-Fold-Table.

A few poor ones missed Table and were pronounced Truant.  The plain Under-Table fare nourished us, so we lingered below. Our Hosts did not mind if we stayed quietly out of their way. But they shrugged off our fresh fruit, honey, milk and eggs as Common.  Gaining health, we grew in our silence, to avoid begrudging our Hosts any satisfaction. Living Table-Top suited us less and less.

Now and then a token apple, or carrot, might appear on the corner of the big table. Longing to sit upright, some apologetically crawled up for these. Others grew tired, and left. We wondered where they found food and rest.

Wearily, we looked at one another. And you spoke the Sudden Truth.

Never once did This Table belong to us…

A few handfuls….

Let go your two-fisted man-handle; the grasping.

Waken complacent stumps; set aside your famine.

Take straight view of what remains ahead:

When things work for one;  they work for none.


Please take hold of my hand. Once young,

and now being old, I will tell you stories.

Choice tales make simple children wise;

and shape better princes from mere men.

We’ll gather threads, and twine them

Walk the road;  lean in, take hold together.

Frequent falling, fear, and callous cold,

 on shared path,  fade forgotten behind us.

Taste one sweet handful of quietness;

Its richness dangles just within our reach

Rouse stumbling feet; waken fumbling fingers;

Let go all blustering, noisy, empty wind.

And rest…