Thursday, December 22, 2016

Wednesday, December 07, 2016

A Poem of Thankfulness for These Times by Peter Fortunato

                                                                         [Gratitude ]                                                                                                                       


I Thank (11.24.16)

I thank I am also angry this morning, though
thankfully, not prone to violent acts,
which, I thank, sometimes have to do with
thanklessness—including the fact of people
who never have enough to feel thankful for.
History has a lot to say about this, an examination
of its skulls and bones providing ample evidence
that those who always profit making war
as persons are wanting, and we might surmise
feel less than adequate within themselves.

I am thankful I have not to dodge their bombs and bullets.
I thank I have been blessed and thank the grace
inherent to my incarnation, this rose of meat
that flowers on my frame, these startling flames
of intelligence shooting through my nerves,
my brain a beatitude, though not, I thank
an evolutionary end—instead a platform
I thank, from which to launch the introspection
that I need today: wanting some things, needing few,
right now, I find it necessary to thank my Source.

See what’s in your heart, I’ve heard it said, see
with the eyes of the heart, because the heart
has its reasons, the logic to me making plain
both bliss and pain are spectacles through which
to search for what it is that sees: I thank it is unknowable
in the sense of, Hey, look, I’ve got a bluebird here—
whoops, lost it, please come back, oh, please!
What is it we were looking for? Everybody says
it’s happiness, and too everyone wishes
to do without more suffering.

I thank I will proceed with this thought: others
like me function basically, whatever vehicle they employ,
whether launching for the stars or safe harbor for tonight.
I thank I like myself like this: unequivocal,
but also curious, irreverent, unashamed to let it all hang out.
So I’m thankful for the anger that with tears arose
when moments ago I read from a woman how fearful
she is that some monster might steal from its lair
and with impunity impress on her its will—
I thank I am a man who would press back.

Peter Fortunato 

Reprinted from his Facebook page

To read more work by Peter or view his art work 
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