Get the Ricochet app

Ricochet will work fine in a browser on your mobile devices, but for the best experience please download our app.

Download on the App StoreGet it on Google Play

Become a member.

Tired of the toxicity of social media? Why not join Ricochet for just $5/month? Think of it as an online bar. Come in, have a drink, hang out, say whatever you want. But don’t badger, bully, or berate the other drinkers. That's our only rule.

Class of Two Pupils

Arahant
@Arahant
Join to bookmark32likesJoin to like16comments

I was looking for something else, and ran across this:

Class of Two Pupils

I met a faded Rose the other day. She seemed hunched into herself, and her finger joints were great, reddened knots, carbuncles that must have hurt like gripping thorns.

But her eyes were incredible. She noticed every detail. Those eyes danced with intelligence, and laughed at the world, knowing the sort of joke that it is. Those eyes were swords of spirit undaunted by age.

Not many have eyes like that. Most people are too busy with their own dramas to know how entertaining they are. They have eyes, but never see outside their own skulls.

Some eyes watch in fear for what will hurt them next. Some eyes watch in bitterness for all that is wrong in the world. Some eyes watch in greed wondering how to make it all their own. Some eyes watch in horror at the world and woes of man.

Some eyes watch in wonder, seeing only God’s creation. These eyes, eyes like yours and mine and that beautiful, elderly lady’s, Yes, these eyes are the ones that see, and these eyes are the ones to watch.

This post was promoted to the Main Feed at the recommendation of Ricochet's members.

Discussion (16)

  • Arahant@Arahant

    Part of why I was digging through old poems was that my brother was harassing me. He said something like, "I know you like writing that science fiction stuff, but it doesn't do much for me. Have you thought about putting out a book of your poems? I can relate to those."

    This happens to be one of a series of elemental odes I wrote. I published two here on Ricochet long ago, but the formatting has since gone to pot. (You can tell by the capitalization where the line breaks should have been.) Elemental odes are not a form so much as a mood. They try to capture the essence of a moment, rather than having strict meter or other poetic elements prominent as with a sonnet or villanelle. In many ways, they are like a longer Haiku.

    Here is another of that collection:

    Breakfast on the Wing

    I saw a bird today.

    Well, I probably see birds nearly everyday,
    but this one did something I’d never seen.
    He was standing on the concrete of a sidewalk
    as I was waiting at a traffic light.
    He was just a little brown bird,
    the sort of nondescript fellow you see in flocks
    on electrical wires,
    in the grass of lawns,
    or in trees.

    There was nothing really special
    or remarkable about him.
    Unless it was his hunger.
    Surely birds are hunting and foraging for food all the time,
    and maybe in that he wasn’t unusual.
    So maybe it was my seeing it that made this unusual?

    A small, white butterfly flew past his vision.
    The butterfly was also rather non-descript.
    Small.
    White.
    Nothing more.

    The bird hopped after the butterfly in chase.
    He hopped three or four times.
    The last hop assisted by his wings
    as he lifted six inches off the ground,
    about his own height,
    stretching out his neck and lifting his chin
    to snatch the butterfly out of the air.

    Just an ordinary day.
    Just an ordinary bird.
    Just an ordinary butterfly.
    Just an ordinary breakfast.
    So, why does it seem so magical?

Scroll for later comments
+11 more comments
Join the conversation

You're seeing five of 16 comments. Sign in, or join for just $5 per month, to read them all and add your own.