Confluence

The three amigos (2)
She grew up in the bush of Alberta
I grew up in the sticks of Pennsylvania
With a very unlikely chance of ever meeting;
But, we merged at a confluence of lives;
Education in Virginia brought us together.
Moved to North Carolina to create a new life…
Flowing through time // working // raising children
Traveling back and forth like an ebb and flow;
Visiting our families separated by time and space.
All this the result of an educational confluence
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He grew up in a small village in Barbados
She grew up poor nearby… washing clothes on a washboard
They moved to London // then to New York City.
He lost his sight later in life due to diabetes
She lost sight in one eye as well
Now we and they live down the street from each other
Where another confluence of lives and friendship emerged
The girl from Alberta // the boy from Pennsylvania
The girl from Barbados // the boy from Barbados
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What are the odds of this unlikely friendship…
After fifty years of ebb and flow?
I now teach him guitar lessons each week;
Along with the young boy next door…
Whose mother is from Puerto Rico.
At age seventy-two we both have much to gain
In this rhythm we call life.

Teaching guitar to Danny and David (2)

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Amaya, at d’Verse asked us to think about the ebb and flow of the earth as a living thing. The people and organisms are constantly flowing from one place to another. The migrants on our southern boarder are an example of this. Most of us in the US have families that came here from somewhere else. Today, I looked at my life over the years, and the places where the flow has come together in the most unlikely confluences.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

 

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The Making of Me

IMG_2440 (2)

Not sugar and spice;
Sometimes not even so nice;
Flesh and blood I am…
a body that will not last.
Just like the junk we buy…
I too am disposable.
Dust to dust and ashes to ashes
has me covered from beginning to end.
Maybe the evolutionists got it wrong?
We all came from dust and ashes;
Water just facilitates our staying alive.
God must have had fun
making mud pies…
Ending up with me!
What we can’t explain
Is that elusive Spirit
living part time
in my dust and ashes;
Quietly slipping back to its origins
As this body reaches its end…
The image of God // the soul-spirit
lives on… returning to the
handler of dust and ashes

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Photo taken at the Muttart Conservatory in Edmonton, Alberta Canada

Amaya, at d’Verse, talked about the different views of the origins of matter and of you and me. Essential elements and forms of matter have been recognized by different people, cultures and religions all the way through the centuries. People looked at the stars and developed astrological explanations of matter.  Instead of looking at the astrological aspects, I decided to go straight to the heart of matter… Me!

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

 

Little Grain of Sand

Sand

Little Grain of Sand

What were you when time began…

Before you washed up on this beach

Were you part of a molten lava flow

Spewed and cooling exuding a red glow

Or maybe dust from a continent bust

Leaving the plates washing into the sea

Were you tossed and turned for a million years

Shrinking in time granulated and seared

Perhaps you were a diamond bounced and chipped

Losing all your carats churning grinding into bort

Tossing in the storms carried far away

Only to be brought back once again to lay another day

Little grain of sand you found your place for now

Joining with so many others to bring comfort to bare feet

And joy to laughing children building sand castles

Only to be washed smooth at high tide

You have such talent in your insignificance

Holding sky scrapers together

Or become a walkway for many feet

A foundation of a house or bricks stacked neat

And in extreme heat you become most exquisite crystal

None of which you can do alone

But together joining with others like you

Your potential is unlimited

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Photo Dwight L. Roth