This morning as always I switched on the car radio.  It was tuned to NPR.  The host was in the midst of an interview with someone opining on the antics of the President.  I reached for the dashboard and turned it off.  I felt my psyche bend under the additional weight of hearing more of this man’s cruel, ignorant behavior  and of his acolytes in the White House. Better  to drive silently, listening to the rise and falling rhythm of the motor, while a riot of mid summer green passes by.

I spoke with a ballet dancer yesterday.  A young female barista at Starbucks mentioned to me that she will return to school soon, and that she is a ballet dancer.  I was delighted to be speaking with someone who has worked at this esoteric art form since childhood.  She mentioned working for various ballet companies and hoped to continue upon completion of school.  I wished her well, god-speed upon the pursuit of such excellence!

A good poem is the equivalent of a ballet dance, but in words.  Words are chosen, each does its part, with exactitude, to say with integrity what the poet has to say.  The work is a combination of form, and improvisation to convey the artists sense of the world, of his or her time and place.  A poem is an invitation to dance.

I offer for your enjoyment a poem by a friend with whom I often speak at Starbucks….

The Wish

By John Hutsebaut

Were I granted just one wish,
Upon a falling star,
Burning through the nighttime sky,
Coming from afar

I’d wish not for riches,
Nor great wealth, nor material gains,
For riches promise freedom,
But deliver only chains

Nor would I wish for lost youth,
To drink youth’s heady rush,
For no heart knows a deeper pain
Then a youthful heart that’s crushed

Nor would I wish to live
Forever and a day,
For Hell lives in the thought
Of all my loved ones passed away

If I could make a single wish
Upon that dying star,
I’d ask contentment for the way I am,
And the way things already are.