A Pennyworth

A pennyworth of loving for the pauper that you meet,

A word of love for homeless man or woman on the street,

A gesture and a greeting, small love as something else,

A token worth of loving for ourselves.

A pennyworth of loving, from the many, mounts to pounds,

A word or two of love, when spread, might really go the rounds,

A simple love, in simple ways, that amounts to something else,

A touch of loving kindness for ourselves.

A penny and a word or two, a smile, love pebble thrown,

A drop of loving added to the oceans, simply sown,

A little bit of something, love grown to something else,

A world of fuller loving for ourselves.

 

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Carrying Perceptions And Other Stuff

The Daily Post invites see yourself through a different set of eyes.

I know I won’t be the only person who has ever been described in conflicting terms by different people depending on the circumstances of acquaintance. It amuses me that there can be such wide discrepancy in appraisal born of just those circumstances. I know I have done it of others.

When I read the Daily Post’s invitation it got me to thinking about some recent remarks and some older ones that people have made of me and how they have viewed me. There is a bit of my own appraisal in this too.

I would encourage anyone to think along the lines described in the link above. It raised a smile with me and challenged how to express their thoughts in my own words. Albeit only a few of the perceptions and appraisals freely given.

What does she carry in that bag

As hands describe the air or a fish,

Dangled earrings keeping time with her hair.

Is there someone inside the weight of that bag,

Rummaging through for everything anyone might need,

Though always at the bottom,

Necessitating constant search,

Blind hands feel, find best.

Why do her hands move when her lips are open

Yet slow with silence,

Uncommunicative, if hurt

Or laid back.

Only to rummage again,

Feeling, finding pens, paper.

Always pens, paper,

Words

And hands.

Earrings.

And that bag.

 

 

Know What I Mean

If I felt it and thought it,

Sensed it or saw it,

I wrote it.

If I wrote it I meant it,

(At least at the time of writing.)

If I meant it then I still do

(Unless I’ve written something else

That supercedes all previous.)

And I mean that too.

Know what I mean?