Easier it is to lift
a ten ton boulder
on a mountain
than to calmly sit
and put a collar
on an unruly mind.
Rayn Roberts 2017
Category: Motivation
JOY
There is only blue above, sky so deep I feel it
Untouched by cloud, fog, lightning, rain
Time cannot enter, age cannot alter
The memory of doors flying open, children
Racing from the party, red, yellow, green
Bright balloons trailing on strings
Wild mustard on skin and hair as we run under
The endless sky of childhood we are
All the energy of summer, mind free of birth
Work, war, fear, death, darkness
A dream in slow motion, a feeling of the heart
Moving from despair to hope, ignorance
To knowing, then deeper, a wellspring of peace
Where one drinks and drinks to the fullness of joy.
Rayn Roberts 2012
Lullaby
Star stalker light walker
Night dissolves you dream talker
Speaking the colors of symbols in time
Grow quiet
and small myth balker
Your mind lifts like fog over water
Like mist over land
Imagination is creation–
Countless ways open to wisdom
Follow one, woman, go on man
There is one road to take
The one you’re on
You are who you make: Religion
Rayn Roberts 2017
It’s all Right ma….
WE
WE
Greater has one who gives the little he has
Than one who gives from plenty
For one gives from abundance and has more, while the other
Has nothing, yet gives–
This isn’t the widow’s mite, giving to a temple or church
But living the Light of Life, healing
The sick and poor–
We, the rich, need heed a call to love and give them more.
From this Side of the River
I invented this river, dreamed it up
Been dreaming it wider and wider,
I stand on this bank and the other side
Is lost to me, even as I am lost, each day
What I think I am, is less and less
What is all about me, more and more
And yes the river is deep and wide
Who or what’s on the other side, hidden:
Dreaming is a hard skill to master—
I toss my hat the length of the river
But cannot see the other side
Dreaming it wider, wider (a statement
worth consideration and not
profound at all) I stand and fish,
Catch my limit most often, dinner
For friends as well, yet questions
On the nature of dreaming rivers ways
Are as many as the colors of fish, answers
Fewer than seem far somehow—
But the river is my own dream
If I don’t mind where it takes me
The river can break me in the deep.
Crossings are hard task to master.
The river is my own invention.
Christmas Morning
Christmas Morning
There was a sidewalk troubadour, twelve-string in hand
He said, “Come hear me warm up my guitar man …”
A vagabond in rainbow poncho pushed a shopping cart
Decorated with snowman, reindeer, garland and a sign that read,
“Happy Xmas, I’m homeless, please help.”
A red, white and blue wolf visible only to me,
Moved him down the street nipping at his heels.
A group jammin’ to a jazz trumpet and drum called out,
“That guy’s a taco short of a combination plate!
Their laugher filled the sky… The full moon floated
Like an empty plate– I wanted to walk into the desert
Find the place where heaven split apart and fell to earth…
I wanted the earth to open and swallow me up, but
The troubadour sang a song of three ships in a harbor
He sang, “And all the bells on earth did ring on Christmas day
…in the morning…”
An angel, audible only to me, sang into my ear,
“And who will ring the bells for the poor on Christmas day
… in the morning?”
The singer he was warming up, He sang for me
He sang for the bum, Christmas morning:
Monday night, December 15th.
Revisions here by Rayn Roberts 2016
Published in different form December 2005 in Turbula
(originally published in “Jazz Cocktails and Soapbox Songs,” 2003)
