Ed Sense writes, Bonnie Savage shoots

Ed Sense writes

I am enough! 

She was from the Western Meadow
where, as a young child, she ran and played
and frolicked through the tall grasses,
the bordering trees, played tag with butterflies,
enjoying the freedom of being,
and it was enough.
Too soon, though, her young womanhood filled with
responsibilities of household, school, jobs, so
those far away childhood days only emerged 

in occasional reminiscences as
she worked hard to build a productive life,
exerting herself to improve every aspect.

But by championing such desire,
relationships tended to evaporate
as the young men could not live without testing
her self-assessment of “I am enough!”
None resisted their temptations
to test her boundaries, to have her give in,
to defeat her code, to dominate her.
Yet she cherished her values,
and she would not waiver, even though
deep inside herself a silent, hidden hope
lay locked away for the one day
there would be no testing,
only acceptance of: “I am enough!”

 

I was lucky to know her, to have her in my life.
I held her in high regard
for the self-worth she exhibited
and would not amend.
She must be herself, always,
and those who disagree, don’t matter,
since those who matter, accept her.
Her dedication to her ground rules,
her devotion to her spirit,
all formed in meadow play,
soon made me wonder
am I enough?    

      (Dedicated to Weslye, with much affection and fondness)

 

Ed Sense writes

Complementary

It is the time of begging from the day,

Begging for night

to shoulder the burdens

that daylight has not lessened.

Down below the eaves,

out of craggy corners,

up from between stepping stones,

through the stacks of rock fence walls,

shadows, briefly looking as if come to roost,

quickly gather strength

and density to spread themselves

into and around plants, shrubs, trees,

along walls, wagons, and yard equipment,

in an effort to reach indoors.

As light bulbs and candles burn,

the searching dark flexing fingers

Peer into windows and keyholes,

hover around the sills and door edges,

waiting to rush and darken the interior

if a bulb should fail

or a candle flicker out

and vanish into darkness.

The grasping at any light

to dim or extinguish continues

until it becomes the begging time of night,

when the tired shadows beseech

the coming paleness to free them once again

from the disappointment of unfulfilled

and stifled duties.

 

 kuggspel, Vårljusskymning (Shadows, twilight) -- CAN (Gosta Adrian-Nisso)