The Perfect Family

Dazzling reflections of the perfect family hand-crafted
by dentist and surgeon, set like a fine jewel within a façade
planned to the nth degree, clothed in the latest, greatest
designer favored of the gossip-trade set, residing within

an Architectural Digest McMansion complete
with backyard pool for lounging, manicured
grounds well-groomed by the hard work of those
who later depart for their smaller, mean pie-piece;

helpers paid to scale as determined by those who never
knew, or don’t remember dining on ketchup soup
so that the electric remains on. A collection of plasticized
ornaments interacting via electronics, never connecting

face-to-face, striving to uphold the perfection; binging
and purging, nip and tuck, inject and buff, all to maintain
the body, highlight and weave, perfecting a flowing mane,
five-fingered discounting just because; lubricating, medicating

to make it through the day; money in, money gushing out,
got to have the best, the finest everything, keep on keeping up,
never realize, don’t comprehend, don't care that many people,
most people survive very well on their clothing budget alone

Those outside peering in find only the façade, the charade, crafted
so carefully to impress, missing, overlooking the wormy interior,
the failing in the heart and soul that keeps them seeking, pursuing
sensation, excitement, anything to prove they’re still here, amongst

the living. Proof of life showing in the magazine covers and the news
headlines, extending the fascination of the not-so-rich with the fantasy
world of the ‘perfect family’. Enabled and enabler. And then, the cycle
begins again – News at Six.

(from Poetic Asides prompt - to look beneath the surface)

Hello Everyone

Looks like I'm in.

So, is this the secure blog site?  I'll spend the next few days figuring how to navigate this and talk to everyone soon.

Thanks,

Scott

Oklahoma Spring

Stark gray skies interrupted by strands of forsythia bursting
into streams of yellow herald winters end. Skies clear, shaded

cerulean, hazed with cottony billows of cloud-shaped dreams.
Nature’s budding, greening trees and grass, flowers erupting

from darkened soil, new spears knifing upward, flower faces basking
in the warm spring sun. Birds returning from winter vacations, now

building nests, raising their young, filling air with trilling
songs. Animal babes call to their mothers, gamboling in waving

emerald pastures. Morning creeps over the horizon earlier and earlier,
days lengthen, nights grow shorter, blaze with sparkling constellations

strewn across blue-black midnight. Gardens bursting alive, developing
into plump orange tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, spicy mache, burgundy

radishes, farm-fresh eating. Crisp mornings flow into soft evenings scented
sweetly, unmatchable by even the best perfumer. Purple twilights explode

with sparkling fireflies searching for another to make their own. Sudden
storms scud, drenching the land, overflowing ponds and creeks, creating

sodden earth, and muddy footprints tracked across just cleaned floors. Winds
wail, whipping cyclones create havoc. Just another Oklahoma springtime.

Blinders

Who is more blind, one who can not see, or one who chooses not to see?
The one no longer sighted because of accident, or birth? Or the one

who willfully, and willingly places blinders between themselves and what
occurs before their own eyes? Those who choose not to see, that turn unseeing

eyes, unhearing ears, unknowing heart, failing to acknowledge blackened eyes
from those who habitually walk into doors, or the bruised-plum skin

on the self-acknowledged klutz. Their eyes skitter away from the evidence,
overlook the fathomless sorrow blazing from the soul’s window of adult

and child alike, the walking wounded, terrorized in word and deed. Words
spew outward in ever increasing rounds of denial, “It can’t happen here;

it doesn’t happen in good families, abuse occurs only to the poor, to
someone else; or, remember, sparing the rod, spoils the child”. How

visionless are those who refuse to see that love is not a smack to the face,
a hand raised in anger that bounces the body off the wall, or fists and feet

breaking bones; nor is it vicious, biting words that demolish the soul,
and shred hope leaving only hollow places inside, a dark abyss that festers.

Those who don’t feel the ever-widening sphere of impact of each hit
on every family and all of society? How unseeing, how horrible-feeling

are those who deceive themselves with endless games of “they deserved it,
they made me do it,” or alternately, “I made them angry, it’s not their fault?”

Always denying, playing out the ultimate self-bluff that one day, someday,
the pain will cease, will vanish, and all will be well. More often, too often,

when that day arrives, it ends in more violence. A gun, a knife, or fists
that bring the terror to its ultimate resolution. No more hate. No more

violence. No more anything. Just dead. An unsighted person may not know
the white-glare shades of sunlight in the summer, the purple-black hue

of twilight, nor the crystalline brilliance of stars strewn across a cloudless
night, but they can determine the intensity of heat in that bright sun

indicating day or afternoon; they can feel the deep cool of evening shade
across their skin, dream of sky-bound pinpoints of light twinkling

overhead. But those who choose blindness, that ignore the knowledge,
hide from the sunlight that illuminates the marks of truth on skin;

they cower in the twilight fearing the sound of footsteps heading their way.
They overlook the light of Creation in the stars, and within themselves,

and no longer dream of beauty, peace, or happiness. They deceive
themselves about the impact, the viewers who learn by watching,

experiencing, and then began the endless game once more as abuser
and abused. Those who destroy do not care for other than themselves.

Those who make themselves feel better through making others feel bad,
don’t show love, merely dominance. No one is able to change another;

we are only responsible for our own change. Love doesn’t hit, nor hate,
nor diminish. So love yourself as a child of Creation, and escape the dark.

Walk into the light, out of the maze of blackness and despair. End
the never-ending cycle of punching bag and excuse. Remove the blinders.

Reclaim yourself; redeem yourself. Love and honor yourself
and your family, protect all from a never-ending void,
an unceasing downward spiral of anguish and fear.