I
Beware the equation of novelty and goodness
The bubonic plague had a birthday
Aliteracy, which describes a person who can read but does not
Came into being and proliferates still
Blindness and deafness, paralysis and madness
All joined the party at some point; are they welcome?
II
To the new year, day, or hour, bid a skeptical welcome
Not with giddy anticipation, but an eye for true goodness
To smile and embrace a strange visitor is madness
Should we rejoice on fascism’s birthday?
An army of poisons pours out of time’s still
Be not afraid, but fearless? Perhaps not!
III
Seasoned to perfection, all new dishes are not
Some additions to the soup are not at all welcome:
Tears, microplastic, synthetic hormones—keep those shakers still
Variety is surely important, but it is not a synonym of goodness
Is a gain of function research laboratory the restaurant you will rush to on your birthday?
An insatiable appetite for whatever hasn’t been eaten before is stark madness
IV
Rushing with ebullience into the dark should strike all as clear madness
Being rash is intemperate; a display of bold courage, it is not
Nor is cowardice warranted, but between the two is the guarantor of our next birthday
It is noteworthy that only flat, mindlessly meek mats bid all welcome
Scan the visage of the interloper for marks of one thing: goodness
Until they are read, keep the glad hand still
V
Granted, xenophobia is atavistically obtuse, still…
Be conscious of the capacity of the new mind to harbor madness
Charming as the smile of the intruder may be, she may not be the vanguard of goodness
She may have your best interests at heart; she may not
You had better find out which, before you offer her a warm welcome
It would be a shame to make a funeral of a birthday
VI
It is ours to name, this occasion: this next moment could well be the birthday
Of sweet marvels; but odds are, it will leave some hearts still
Prudence and courage must combine—entropy merits no welcome
Nor does it need one: it is coming, and all we can do is fend off madness
For a minute, an hour, a day or a year—that it will arrive, doubt not
With care, fragile and fleeting though it may be, we must shield the ember of goodness
VII
For from it, a blaze might arise: be warm and bright enough, beacon of goodness!
On the inky periphery, the eyes of monsters reflect your glow; for now, in our midst they are not
Breathe and gird loins; we are safe--but in the egg of what’s new stirs madness
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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Comments (1)
This was a swirling mass of so many things: political, personal, fantastical.