Daily Archives: September 13, 2018

Poems by Sal–and more.

I always feel a little sad each month when the 13th rolls around, and I realize that Sal is no longer with us.

But this time I have good news. First, A Slice of Orange is pleased to publish two of Sal’s poems. Next, members of the Bethlehem Writers Group have volunteered to write columns for the 13th.

Here is the schedule so far:

October: Diane Sismour

November: A. E. Decker 

December: Carol L. Wright

January: Jodi Bogert

February: Christopher D. Ochs

March: DT Krippene

Sal was one of the founding members of Bethlehem Writers Group, and I think she would be over the moon that her fellow members are filling her spot.

Marianne

Poems by Sal

ANCIENT RITUALS

Sally Paradysz

Next, I heard some named penance an ancient tradition.  A struggle between senses and sense.

Lash marks bled on bare backs.  Knees on scarred hardwood, calloused and worn, bent until they screamed for relief.

Men seek to give lessons, but silence was the teacher.  Then, we are swept clean and told to go forward in purity.

Penitent, but longing still.

SILENT PAIN, SILENT LOVE

Sally Paradysz

In this world where personal

commitment, with all of its

delicate forms, seems

to be shattering apart,

And unconditional and

undying love has become

nothing more than a

matter of convenience,

There are some of us still,

who find the intelligence

and passion born of living…

In some who approach their

life without analysis,

which can destroy the Whole,

There is some magic in this life,

you know, where if

you only consistently

look at the pieces,

They will just as surely

blow away in the wind

and demolish the All…

Are we becoming obsolete

within a world of

organization, rules, regulations,

in “Bud” we trust,

to borrow a phrase…

Will this magic disappear

with stick-on name tags and

clothes that make us

all look alike…

It is with this passion and

controlled arrow-like intensity,

mixed with warmth,

That I will approach the time

of day when white months

are on the wing,

And in the heat of that

summer’s evening, will let

myself be taken away,

To transcend and merge in

the Light, where such certainty

comes only once, no matter how

many lifetimes you live…

In this dance with the

universe, my eagerness gives way

to shaman-like silence,

Discarding all sense of

anything linear and spiraling toward

millions of candles,

Where my constant companion

of loneliness disappears for

the last time,

And I become consumed and out

of a world that seems

to be God-abandoned…

Never again will I live with dust

on my heart, or feel

trapped by foggy mornings,

Instead I am forever grateful

for the four billion years

Of love,

Which will help me with my

systems of balance and order

in the lifetime I have left…

I have ceased being separate

and now feel free to continue

the dance of integration…