Blue you seduced me with your
False promise of love and peace
Buried my face in your blossoms
Wiped my tears dry on your leaves
Saw past your dark corners
Focused on petals hinting of white
While you painted my soul bruised
Poisoned me with your blue seeds
Blue secrets you are so cruel.
If I could live in the words I write, I’d write a story where my heart was never broken.
A homeless man and I crossed paths today
As he looked hopefully into my eyes
I’m ashamed to say, I looked away.
His angry face, his dirty, tattered clothes
they frightened me, although for all I know
I scared him with my new car, fancy clothes.
Jesus said He is the beggar at our door
He lives among the homeless in the street.
All day I fretted at what I hadn’t done
said hello or shared money so he could eat.
I used to roll down my window at the stop light
and hold out dollars to the countless homeless
and it always felt like doing that was right.
I stopped giving freely a few years ago
after I brought food and blankets to a family
holding signs that said, “We are hungry.”
and they turned my offerings away.
“We can only accept cash,” they said.
so I stopped giving without noticing
to the homeless after that rueful day.
Have I become so cynical and
and is it a million dollar business
as I have read? Maybe. I just don’t know.
A poor excuse even even to my ears
that all should pay for one group of cons
and my habit of giving should flip to no
when I had given joyously for so many years.
This man deserved a smile and kind words
and brave soul that I am, I looked away.
Now, I drive the streets seeking his face
and if I see him, I will do right by him today.
She picked up the book
and placed it back on the shelf
when she saw the price.
But…then she thought of her daughter
to send her this treasure, would be a delight.
She lovingly touched the glossy roses
she’d wanted this kind of book for ages.
She pictured her daughter’s garden, then
she paid the price and mailed the pages.
As she weeded her own, she softly smiled
imagining the distant flowers in full-bloom
and she thought of her daughter all the while.
Little did she see that the greatest gift
she’d sent was the bloom of her love
carried on the petals of a book
delivered by the sliver of a mid-summer’s moon.
To give her child what she herself desired
seemed to be the mother’s greatest pleasure.
God made this woman quite special
and then He doubled it twice over
beyond her daughter’s measure.
by Jeanne Marie
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
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