Poetry by Robin E. Lawrason

Another Day in Paradise

March 28, 2003

The sun has risen
hot and bright, in a cloudless sky,
The house is quiet,
no shrill carpet sweeper
no deafening lawn mower
to break the peace
of yet another perfect day.

Outside, in the yard,
in the trees nearby and on the wires,
the cicadas drone softly, but
while bright red and yellow-breasted flycatchers
warble bright songs
of encouragement.

On the highway far behind the house
battered trucks and buses rumble by
their gears droning as they slow
or speed to the next pueblo.

But all is peaceful as another day
lopes along at its own sweet pace.
No chores, no projects, no meetings, no agendas
to push through and break
the peace.

A golden cocker sleeps on the carpet in the library
content to snooze and snore through
yet another day
oblivious to two cats
who share her house and wonder past
watching for a time to play.

The sun overhead warms the cantera stone on
the lower terraces around the house
and on the open mirador above.
By noon the heat rises in lazy spirals
baking the stones and drying the clay pots
of brilliant pink and purple petunias, blue lobelia and white sedum
along with the tall twisted ficus and leafy palm trees.

Yet, fragrant cool breezes still blow
through the doors of the house
carrying the scent of hibiscus, oleander
and the lone grapefruit,
beside the open window in the downstairs shower,
laden both with this year’s fruit
and next year’s blooms.

Across the world, many miles away,
nations, religions, and peoples are at war.
Their lives uprooted to protect
a cause, a way of life
and freedom as they see it.
Who is right or wrong?
Whose nation, religion or people?
Who bears the right to decide for others
how they should live
and die?

My old urges to reason,
to move out, and on, and
create new order
on an imperfect world
are difficult to suppress
in this paradise of indolence.

Do I find and thoughtfully absorb
yet another great book?
Do I express my anger and frustration
with those who presume
to tell me what is right for this world,
without first seeking my opinion, my approval?
Do I struggle with new ways
to express the joy of my new found life
before my monitor
on my balky keyboard?

Can I ignore the world I find beyond,
refusing the endless busy work
and meaningful reflection?
Can I simply stop my need for
activity and certainty,
to pause this day to enjoy this perfect
and remote paradise
where I have chosen
to make my new home?

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