Poem by Dan Stone
Let’s have a moment
sisters, friends,
to contemplate
this bowl of cherries
also known as life.
At times it may seem
mostly pits and strife,
bitter more than sweet,
more acidic than we’d like.
That said, it’s best
we just partake,
relish all its juicy, tart
deliciousness, heed
the message that it sends.
Smiles, we can fake,
but what we choose
to taste—the stuff of art—
is just the real
that we create,
the savory pie
that we can bake.
It’s not a secret recipe
It’s not a buried truth.
It’s what we see,
waiting in our hands
for us to take a bite,
not caring if we get it right.
No rules, demands, or laws
for when or where or how
we pluck it, pop it
in our mouths and chew.
All there is to prove
is that we can
because our mamas
didn’t raise no fools
and it’s no lie
to hold it in our hands
and claim it’s very good,
no foul, no shame
in swallowing the treat
and spitting out the rest.
It’s what the masters do,
the smoke that’s
in their pipes,
so raise a bowl
and grab some ripe
and luscious fruit.
Act as though
it feeds your soul
and it just might
make it all as scrumptious
as you never
thought it would.
Let’s have a moment
sisters, friends,
to contemplate
this bowl of cherries
also known as life.
At times it may seem
mostly pits and strife,
bitter more than sweet,
more acidic than we’d like.
That said, it’s best
we just partake,
relish all its juicy, tart
deliciousness, heed
the message that it sends.
Smiles, we can fake,
but what we choose
to taste—the stuff of art—
is just the real
that we create,
the savory pie
that we can bake.
It’s not a secret recipe
It’s not a buried truth.
It’s what we see,
waiting in our hands
for us to take a bite,
not caring if we get it right.
No rules, demands, or laws
for when or where or how
we pluck it, pop it
in our mouths and chew.
All there is to prove
is that we can
because our mamas
didn’t raise no fools
and it’s no lie
to hold it in our hands
and claim it’s very good,
no foul, no shame
in swallowing the treat
and spitting out the rest.
It’s what the masters do,
the smoke that’s
in their pipes,
so raise a bowl
and grab some ripe
and luscious fruit.
Act as though
it feeds your soul
and it just might
make it all as scrumptious
as you never
thought it would.