Tag Archives: truth

The Cabinet, or, Better Living Through Chemistry

18 Sep

The Cabinet

or

Better Living Through Chemistry

by L. Stewart Marsden

 

I know I put them in here … somewhere
Underneath the whitening tooth gel;
Crammed beside the fat-burning oil;
Above the No More Wrinkles, My Friend;
Or the Gradual Gray-Away Hair-Coloring Brush;
Between the Sleep Deep Tonight and the Stay-Awake capsules;
Or the Breathe Through the Night Guaranteed nose spray;
And the Psoriasis Cream; or the Pain Go Away hot and cold bags;
Near the Gas-Away tablets, and the Warts-No-More stick-ums;
The Breath-O’-Mint gargle, and the NuHair in the Morning rubbing salve;
The ear-wax drops and the nose-hair plucker;
The Intimate Hair Begone; and the No-Leaks, My Lady underwear pads;
The No Sweat – You Bet underarm roll-on; or the Flab-Away Arm and Leg Lotion.
Where the hell are they?
I know I put them in here … somewhere.

 

 

New Dawning

30 Jul

 

 

 

New dawning

by L. Stewart Marsden

 

Something dawned on me today,
early in the bathroom morn,
while I was brushing, brushing, brushing
my teeth, teeth, teeth:
that I was not as bad as I believed,
which was — I say — hard to conceive,
since throughout my life I was deceived
to think myself
not quite,
less right,
off site,
and leaning just a bit in the wrong direction.

So, by my “erroneous selection” I selected to
decrease the number of those who saw me inept,
those who detected my failings and flaws,
and who “never” and “nahed” me down to my knees,
whom I could never and nahed ever please —
those infinite heights of high expectations,
where I floundered and pawed
with no realization —

Not that I did a single one bad —
but left, with whatever dignity I had
and planted that
carefully
where no one could disturb it,
and it grew
silently
deep rooted to the earth and
now it has sprung to reveal
its sweet flower,
and I,
brushing teeth
in this early morn hour
have discovered
uncovered
a new self-respect
that not very long ago
you would never detect.

There it is: so fragile and gentle,
seeking sunlight and moisture
and rich fertilizer;
I’ll nurture it
tender it
and watch it grow strong;

as I realize the truth of its truth —
and never,
no never
will I be ever that wrong.

 

Copyright © by L. Stewart Marsden, 30 July, 2014

The bill of rites

22 Jun

 

 

 

The bill of rites

by L. Stewart Marsden

 

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with inherent and inalienable rights; that among these, are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

 

These, that had before known evermore the truth;
Or, truths to just a precious few who
happened to be born at just the time and just the place
where they could trace their heritage of privilege back years beyond;

Those, inserted in a world of woe,
disparity and slavery, where nary one could rise
above the other to bother set complexities
irrefutablilities of rank and health and wealth;

Which god, you say, endowed the lot and massive fray
with rights of life and liberty?
Pursuit of happiness? A carrot to be dangled mercilessly
in front of those who’ll never see a day of joy!

And who that rule obtain their power from commoners
who do consent and relent to those precious few
who happened to be born at just the time and just the place
so as to grace the thrones of government and power?

Where is the evidence in that?

 

Copyright © by Lawrence S. Marsden, 22 June, 2014

The Prophet

20 Jul

He
was not
a polite man.
Obnoxious, to some —
rude to still others.

Was
he truthful?
To a painful point.
Was he gentle?
None can attest.

Not
given to a temperament
nor disposed to gentleness,
his words sliced quickly to the bone
and to the marrow, well beyond.

A
driven soul
whose words were weighty
filled with meaning well beyond
the understanding of the hearer
the understanding of the world.

Polite,
political,
he never was
his cause far greater
than nice and order.

Man
was his
target — his only goal
and words his single net —
Yet, he was not a polite man.