I pulled this from the archives because we need to be reminded of how much power lies within us. We are power lines .
We can face the sun along with its heat. We will not burn. We will roar to the sun …we will be lions… we will roar to the sun . We will celebrate our strength .
This is one my favorite poems by John Reinhart.
roar to the sun
tribute to the ferocious dandelion –
crack through asphalt restrictions
even in the middle of the interstate
amid the 75 mph deadly rush of black exhaust;
breathe once the yellow air of freedom,
of life, of courage – life just because,
because that’s enough, as failures
form our steps and the dance dreams
life anew in handsketched colors outside the lines
outside the box where a cat mews
or doesn’t in halfhearted semi-existence
for every risk, ring the bell.
for every fall, let angels sing.
for every loss, a flower blossoms.
for every breath, the world is ours.
dull senses cut ugly shapes in earth
begging for attention, open wounds
bleed new promises brightly, watering
new growth against the direction of traffic,
a flood unrecognized because unmeasured
and the rivers’ pain screams at night
as a man stands tall on the mountainside,
struck by lightning, embracing the earth;
roses embalm him, lilies replenish his sacrifice
and dandelions light pathways of promise –
light sneaking through the undergrowth
for every truth, a new star shines.
for every listener, a raindrop falls.
for every denial, a door opens.
for every kiss, a thousand smiles.
live now in that never never promise of green,
wail when the winds stop and beat the drum
to reggae polka tangos sashaying amphibiously
north on backs of molten reindeer who deny
obstacles as dentists deny teeth – purpose
drawn upward by tigers and dandelions growling
for more while the midnight sun sets her table
and invites company to swallow her whole,
empowered to blaze trails where shadows
still drink coffee from tin cups to decipher entrails –
spit radiant flowers in the face of long odds
for every one, there is a choice.
for every choice, there is a circus.
for every circus, there is a lion.
for every lion roars to the sun.
An arsonist by trade, John Reinhart lives on a farmlette in Colorado with his wife and children. His poetry has recently been published in Scifaikuest, Star*Line, Moon Pigeon Press, and FishFood Magazine. He is a frequent contributor to the Songs of Eretz Review. Look for his chapbook “Horrific Punctuation” later this year fromTiger’s Eye Press. More of his work is available at Patreon and Facebook.