I say with a sigh, blood is not nobility
count how oft’ the Red Queen cries
“Off with his head”, she hardly says
anything else– Power ‘tis said
Twists ladies as men turning them quite
Blood’s no guarantee nobles will lead
To better or worse shifting us either way
We favor no crown, no throne, no aristocracy
We got revolution, remember, we can still march to the sea.
Why Transgender People are Dangerous
Nevermind the roller coaster ride
you’re on it now you can’t get off
It’s gravity’s got
a terrible side
got nothing to do
with God at all
God doesn’t really
give a toss
if you die next week from a stupid fall
God damn gravity
that evil threat
Gonna getcha right soon
gonna getcha yet
Not too sure
why I stand at all
If I’m gonna get killed
by a natural law
“Hells bells, tarnation”, say I to my wife
“I’m takin’ to bed for the rest of my life!”
I’m not white, not black, not brown or yellow
not rich or old, poor or dumb
but I do see things in a different way because
Understanding the Transgender Community
A Dangerous Threat? Who is?
What is really Wrong: Violence Against & Murder of Transgender People.
Why Do We Need Science to Approve of Anyone Being Transgender?
The Problem Some Christians Have with Transgender People
Think Transgender People Themselves are in Danger? Well, yeah!
Two monks returning to a monastery in the evening
It had rained
Puddles of water had collected on the road
At one place a beautiful woman
Was unable to cross the road because of a puddle
The elder monk lifted and carried her across
Leaving her on the other side; then went his way
Later that evening, the younger monk approached
“Sir, we cannot touch women.”
The elder said, “Yes, brother.”
“Then why did you carry that woman on the road today?”
The elder smiled
“I left her on the road; why are you are still carrying her?”
Zen Lesson ~ Anon
Edited to Poetic form by Rayn Roberts
What is there in the end but forgiveness
And forgiving one’s self.
What is regret when we cannot go back
To change anything done?
We only move forward
To more change, the slow breakdown
Of the body, aging and death,
There is that, of course, but
The quicker one can do it the better:
Live so the need to forgive is less and less.
It is a gift we give, and when we can, is priceless.
Rayn Roberts 2017
Yoga class at the lake, she catches his eye
An electric charge in the brain…
Not the spring lilac, nor the plum in bloom
Something more unnatural
The odor of perfume, the beauty in surprise.
Waves of the seasons ring the shore
Spirit seeks a form, an afternoon union–
They do not know what
Causes their communion– She invites him
Tilts her head back in abandon to receive him.
Mother of time, days gestate in the womb
Men may spin all to doom, but she is summer
Winter long, spring in December
Meadow of unlived hours
Wildflowers glow in shadows of the moon.
They will say it was not by chance they met
They will claim it no mistake
Birth reveals the truth, was a newborn fate.
(upon a painting by Yumi)
If not for bouquets of summer glory gathered by gentle hands
What reason for gardens by the sea?
The muffled break of waves is not as loud
As the whiff and whirr
Black and yellow bumble bee busy in the bloom,
Each comes to gather gold–
Drawn by sunlight and color,
The ladies in hats and summer gowns, baskets on their arms
Stroll down from the house.
When they return,
Marigold scent in hair, dahlia pollen on hem and sleeve,
They will fill the house with rainbows of stock and zinnia.
Even as Neptune sleeps, the sea a great blanket over him
Deep monsters and storms quiet now,
Everything is Energy,
Ocean air blowing streams of light
Whirling through bush and tree, grasses pushing up
Butterflies afloat, the mind brimming, spilling over
Spilling its delight…
Light as a finch skipping on air!
I have dreamed such days, lived too few, when death
Did not seem final, truth not so rare:
Hours pushing open leaves and petal on petal
Unfolding in fragrance….
…flooded with light, holding form
For what we call a day, but is, one flower each calls their own.
The poem first appeared in “Along the Shore” Lost Tower Publishers, London. April 2017
Paintings are by Odilon Redon.
The promise of the Tree pounding in your breast
Tongue of the snake soft upon your cheek,
You reached for unseen death and gave the fruit to man.
So men have said–
In you all women are
Innocent as a girl in awe of the first dawn
Saying its color over roses
Again and again and softly to herself.
From you a strength bolder than Joan whom men damned
But gods praise, wisdom and power of Elizabeth
Who gave no man her crown, purity of Calcutta’s Mother
Too busy with the poor to stop for more than begging–
Jezebel, Salome, Antoinette
They also fell from you, but what deed compares
To this your greatest gift, the feeble and the weak
Asleep in your arms, you, our highest hope and dream
Bearing both of our sorrow and our joy, Mother of Man
There is nothing, no one so vile, contemptible you cannot love–
Ocean ever rising
O woman we rise in you, each of us a wave rising up,
Rolling in, returning to you.