ripe fruit

1 Sep

We are such easy pickins’ – humans.

We wear our desires on our faces.

We project our imagined weakness

from a bullhorn.

We tell everything we know from our eyes,

and we hardly

ever blink.

Occasionally, a man wears disdain

and distances himself like a toddler

full of no, but even that

is a challenge as cute as stomping feet.

We sit behind desks and ask to be taught

that which we can easily teach ourselves.

We prostrate at the feet of the famous

and

the physically pretty.

We fawn at the hem of the fashions

and yet

there is something so powerful in our surrendering.

We sign contracts pledging  our loyalty without asking to see proof.

We give and lose and give again.

One leg up, one leg down, one leg up again.

The power of the human

lies in the soft soft underbelly

of vulnerability.

There is power in our foolish ways of trusting,

in our back resting, belly up offering we give

in our hopes for a gentle rub.

The hidden rulers, which seem separate but are not,

We are thee, too,

with their/our painful daggers

to cut into that soft flesh – we

don’t understand the strength in the weakness.

They/we shun the trust and the beauty

of the stupid creators that we are – yet

They too are in a type of sleep –

a dream of forgetting –

delighting in a puppet play where they pull all the strings

yet leap from their own shadows.

The mystery of the humans will never make sense.

How can a swaddled baby be more powerful than a corporate Titan

towering in his empire built on human backs?

Yet it is.

And we are all expressions of the same

same same…what?

creator?

god?

impulse?

I don’t know – obviously

I’m stretching.

This I do know, but I don’t know how…

The helpless, clueless,

trusting

newborn idiot

has only to beckon

and

he can reign down blessings.

When the sleeping infants wake,

what wonders will  unfold.

(I keep tinkering with these words – they are driving me crazy.  I want to delete but I will let them stand now – I witness in myself the learning that comes through words, reflection, edits, flow, letting go.  words scribbled with the end of a stick into the sand just before the tide comes in taking the words out to sea:)

12 Responses to “ripe fruit”

  1. prewitt1970 September 1, 2013 at 11:51 am #

    Truly a intersting social political metaphor but unfortunately true a distraction technique to qweull the masses.
    Cheers
    Benjamin

    • marga t. September 1, 2013 at 12:10 pm #

      cheery, good morning my friend.

      • prewitt1970 September 1, 2013 at 1:00 pm #

        Good morning 🙂

  2. seeingm September 1, 2013 at 6:59 pm #


    ;;
    🙂 -x.M

  3. Erik Andrulis September 2, 2013 at 12:16 pm #

    And so poems, written in the sand, slip into the sea, eventually. (Hat-tip to Jimi Hendrix)

    • marga t. September 2, 2013 at 4:05 pm #

      well, now, Jimi and Ik are throwing seashells back up on the shore –

      what a variety of expressions we play out in all these forms – 🙂

      • Erik Andrulis September 2, 2013 at 4:11 pm #

        The infinite flow of eternal form, formless in its fluidity.
        Peace, Ik

  4. lauriesnotes September 2, 2013 at 1:12 pm #

    Love this. Glad you let it stand ♡
    I was just thinking..Can we hold all of this ?
    I guess that’s why we can observe from outside of ourselves.
    Much love ~

    • marga t. September 2, 2013 at 4:07 pm #

      I love the voice that asks from this infinite space: Can we hold all of this? Sitting still even in motion together – we know! Much much much love!

  5. TheArahant September 4, 2013 at 7:21 am #

    Thanks for liking our blog, I like yours too. We are working on something you might like, an improvisational drama presented as a reality video series. It’s called Recursion, and will be on rue YouTube channel soon. Hope to hear from you again.

    • marga t. September 12, 2013 at 1:30 pm #

      Sounds interesting. I will look forward to exploring when you put it up. Thank you!

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