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A Look at theSmall World

by Arthur G. Finch (Age: 84)
copyright 09-13-2008


Age Rating: 10 +

I gazed from my window, what did I see?
Outside a wet world, reflections of me.
The wind blows the rain with currents of air,
one moment you see it, then itís not there!


Pausing a moment to soak up the sight,
I see two Ladybugs struggling in flight.
Itís very strange; Iíd not seen them before,
Could it be that my brain had shut the door?


If so, Iíve cheated my senses too much,
Therefore my vow is to linger and touch.
The living universe in my back yard,
ďThe world is a stage,Ē recited the Bard.


There is a small world I see after all,
Of living creatures that arenít very tall.
My magnifying lens gives them some class,
As I peruse them through the blades of grass.


All kinds of bugs and strange little critters,
If, my size, they would give me the jitters!
Some were unique, with their sharp cutting jaws,
Others were beautiful, I had to pause.


I turned over a large moss covered stone,
A darkened den where the sun never shone.
I knew in an instant the sunís bright light,
Had scared them to death and put them to flight!


I returned the stone and felt their relief,
As I crushed one or two I sensed their grief.
ďHow silly! You say, but one thing I know,
God placed us on earth to live and to grow!


Suddenly I saw a fat grasshopper,
A praying mantis jumped on top of her.
I wondered what that insect was thinking,
Seconds later the hopper was blinking.


That mantis embraced with saber like jaws,
And off came its head and caught in it claws!
The praying mantis enjoyed his good lunch,
It's over, the hopper caught in the crunch.


On a fallen leaf sat a plump small fly,
Not aware was she, it was time to die.
Then another fly lit down beside her,
Neither of them saw the long legged spider.


Enough for me of the small universe,
Itís lovely at times but very perverse!
Iíll take my world with its trouble and strife,
Despite it all we enjoy the best life.






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        09-17-2008     Raja Sharma        

Dear brother,
The question is not of going to heaven; the question is learning the art of being in heaven, wherever you are.This moment has to be squeezed to its totality.
Only rebellious people know what life is. Only the rebellious know what god is, because god is the center of life..
I say so because every poet is a rebel and he or she sees what others don't want to see or have been prevented by their falsely followed doctrines from seeing it. You see the things from an angle which is beyond millions. And the result is that even two little insects inspire you to write poetry, nothingness out of window inspires you to write, and you create and create.
God bless you
Rajasir



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