Portrait of a Bird

Painting

The Art of David Wiley

 Poetry

The Blame For It All

Once when the world was filled with arches
      and waters flowed in the deserts of Paradise
there was a vision of people and Nature
      like a violinist and a violin.
But when the raisins in the cake of politics
      lost touch with the grapes
      that they came from
and the symphony of creatures living in the
      sunlight
lost its luster,
when broken people sat on sidewalks
      talking to themselves
      to keep from disappearing,
and cities became a spectacle
      of burlap sewn with silk,
we continued our daily motions
      guided by the hum of systems and machinery
the steady drone of industry and organization,
we continued to recite the alphabet
      while counting the hours until dinner.
And when the game was over
and all the marbles had been counted
and all the playthings put away
who was able to say:
      “I have played the game divinely”?
who among us could claim:
      “I have made our dreams come true”? 

Art and Poetry Selection:
Lissa Tyler Renaud

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