recycling

THE RIGHTNESS OF BROWN

 

Not quite visible on the color spectrum

Rarely discussed in chakra circles

Yet brown is everywhere I gaze:

Brown eyes in a morning ritual mirror

Brown curls, waves

Shading the page

Of my sons bent over

A shared book

Silky brown cheek

Of my laughing granddaughter

Calling for kisses…

Food for the hungry soul

Shiny brown espresso beans

Jumpstarting the day

Star Anise twinkling in tea

Cinnamon sticks in brown apple cider

Warming cold bones

And oh, chocolate

Beckoning from a cream pie…

Walking in the backyard earth

Brown Live Oak leaves weave

A magic carpet interspersed with

Acorns attracting arguing squirrels and dogs

Rough and twisted trees

Offering branches and twigs

For kindling fires on nights needing the flames

To prompt meditation and dreams

Wood recycled for mortar and pestle

Curing the body by herbal means

Wood salvaged lovingly

For music coaxed out of a ukulele

Brown…an unsung color of beauty for me…

 

© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Image:  Some of my brown loves

 

 

 

DON’T WANT TO BE RECYCLED

 

**scroll down for YouTube video**

 

Souls are like glass

Strong at the base

Made to resist slamming

On tables and crates

 

But the body is fragile

Shatters anyway

Bottle bottom useless

Swept away

 

Modern miracle

Allows for recycling of glass

Born anew

Melted in vast vats

 

This time it is born

With a light green hue

Chemical constituents of other broken bottles

Mixed in a glassy stew

 

Are once-alive souls combined

In a recycling purgatory

Only to be confused

Ignorant of a previous story

 

Like other beliefs

Reincarnation requires

A leap of faith with

Rebirth a strong desire

 

What George Harrison says has relatable worth

Give me love, peace but KEEP ME FREE FROM BIRTH…

 

https://youtu.be/s-KAvPbO8JY  George Harrison, Give Me Love

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Image: Colourbox

SALVAGE

 

A joy to recycle to the thrift store

St. Vincent de Paul my favorite

One of the few still selling to the poor

Affordable clothes, household goods

Books, CDs and videos

Did a huge closet clean last year

Split the stuff between

St. Vincent’s and the Red Cross

Lately, my mild case of hoarding

Became a ukulele thing

Who needs four concert size ones

But my first was a mail order

Since no music stores carry them here

Haven’t played it since the Luna, Ibanez

Don’t want to sell the first

Means a lot to me

Learned to play more advanced songs

With its tinny, but wonderful, voice

Ah, must recycle it

None of the thrift stores or pawn shops

Have ukuleles (I’ve checked)

What a great surprise

For someone with limited funds

To find one there

I’ll bet they won’t charge more than $20

Who will buy it?

A young child

An aging woman

A teen boy

I feel excited

I’m writing mind-scenarios

Maybe one day

The buyer will say

I owe my fame

To the thrift store ukulele

That called my name

From the shelf…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: My first concert ukulele