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Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

Iraq Moratorium

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The Dark Side of Redworld

An Ocean of Blood

A drip of blood

from one perspective

unless it’s yours

or mine

It falls on the ground

in the highest places

in the villages of Nepal

where blood runs cold

it trickles down

the mountainside

through far Kashmir

into Afghanistan

staining the banks of the streams

that carve the hidden valleys

and splash into the rivers

staining them too with the blood

of guilty and the innocent alike

ever downward through

the desert of Iraq

There are other mountains

in Bosnia and Kosovo

where the blood also spilled

running eastward perhaps

through the valleys of Chechnya

and further on to color red

the desert of Uzbekistan

Blood also spilled in the jungles

of the Congo and Rwanda

and the oil plains of Nigeria

flowing into the rivers

ever onward

’til the rivers ran red

Here too the blood

eventually sank into the deserts

of Eritrea and Darfur

and the bazaars

of the Sudan and Somalia

The desert is stained

with blood

The bloody fist of oppression

squeezes the life

out of the jungle of Myanmar

and the farms of Zimbabwe

The mountains

of Peru and Columbia

add more than their share

The Big Muddy is stained

as it passes by what

used to be the Big Easy

but it’s sure not easy anymore

and the rivers run red with blood

carrying it to the ocean

an ocean of blood

bathing our world

Our home is built

on the blood of others

yet still we add more

or stand by watching it run

Our home is sinking

as the blood-tainted

ocean rises

The blood will consume

us all in the end

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–December 26, 2005

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXXI

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Inner Light

Personal Evolution

(an unfinished poem about a life not ended)

Brief moments of awareness…

like the immersion

of a skipping shell

in the liquid

of another life.

Suppression…Submission…Denial

Insistence…Duality…Fear

Anger…Confusion…Dissociation

Coalescence of self…

the protecting shell

loses momentum,

ceases skipping,

and begins to sink.

Control…Struggle…Pain

Loss…Crisis…Acknowledgment

Hope…Death…Existence

Birth of identity…

the sinking of the shell

propels up a splash,

a pearl of dew,

which hangs suspended.

Trying…Failing…Crying

Learning…Knowing…Growing

Assimilating…Adapting…Being

Examination of soul…

while gravity stops,

the revealing lens

zooms through the wet,

uncovering layers.

Exhilaration…Disappointment…Loss

Pride…Necessity…Doubt

Honesty…Certainty…Change.

Assertion of gender…

Vibration of ego…

internal bonds break,

the mist that was dew

drifts on the wind,

scattering slowly.

Listening…Traveling…Speaking

Reading…Witnessing…Writing

Relocating…Suffering…Returning

Perusal of purpose…

catching an updraft

the mist attaches

to motes of dust

from other life paths.

Joining…Disclosing…Contributing

Attending…Despairing…Meeting

Enjoying…Loving…Committing

Analysis of life…

shifting perspective

the damp dust

provides fertile ground

for germs of wisdom

. . .

dot dot dot

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–begun January 17, 1997

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXX


Up on the Roof

Rain on the Roof

The sound

of rain on the roof

reminded her

that she needed to hurry.

It wouldn’t do

to be stuck

out here alone

in the storm.

She remembered

the days of isolation…

of deprivation…

of loneliness…

those days

when the roof would leak

and the fire wouldn’t

put out enough heat

to warm

even her hands…

those days

when turning

to her neighbors

was not possible

because they universally

detested her difference.

Now they voiced

acceptance of her

and would let her visit

when the storms came.

But they still

didn’t understand

who she was

or what it meant

to be her.

They would open

their doors

during a storm,

but they still

wouldn’t help fix

the damn roof.

She was still different.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–March, 1998.

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXIX

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Grasping

Not  exactly courage

From my old life I dangled

entangled in the lives

and expectations of others

unable to break free

or maybe too afraid

to seek emancipation

fiercely clutching the shreds

of what I thought was dignity

but it was a fiction

preferred by everyone

even though I strangled

mangled emotionally

dying inside from lying without

suspended in shame

until I lost my grip

I landed on my feet.

Many don’t.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 11, 2006

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXVIII

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Bleeding

Bleeding the Colors

I have bled blood red

Three decades later than

I would have liked,

aided by a surgeon’s knife,

but I have bled blood red.

I’ve bled before,

just not that color.

It’s the shade

I was missing

in my world.

I’ve bled the sickly yellow of fear

and the desolate blue of sadness,

the empty grey of loneliness

and the worn out brown of long years

of waiting.

I’ve bled the bluish purple of pain

and the emerald green of envy,

the dark scarlet of anger

and the all-consuming black

of depression.

I’ve bled the purplegreengold

sparkles in my vision

as I fell asleep

to dream of a life that

I couldn’t live.

I’ve bled the tarnished silverpink

of a love that I thought

was real but was

an illusion/delusion

and abusive and wrong.

I’ve bled the dusky rainbows

of confusion and turmoil

and the toxic hues

of insanity and dis-ease

and death.

I’ve bled the colors

until they ceased existing

and I would have joined them,

but I finally bled

the blood red of life.

I’ve bled red twice now

and the colors are back,

sharp and crisp

and bright and airy

and joyful.

I’ve bled red twice now

and the colors are real,

and they don’t need me

to bleed them,

for I have bled blood red.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–March, 1995

Cafe Discovery: 250 years of history

Being rather bored Thursday, while proctoring a midterm exam in Computer Literacy, a couple of my former professors came up in conversation, including my adviser, Frank Anderson.  Frank studied the lattice characterization of C-Spaces, which won’t mean much to many, but the thing is that he studied in a field of mathematics called analysis.  By the time I met him, he was an algebraist.

So I’m an algebraist as well, having studied the homology of torsion theories.  My degree was awarded in 1981 at Oregon.  Frank got his in 1954 at Iowa.

And there was time to keep going.  Frank studied under Malcolm Smiley, who received his degree from Chicago in 1937, having studied Discontinuous Solutions for the Problem of Bolza in Parametric Form.  Smiley studied under William Reid, who received his degree in 1929 from Texas, having studied the properties of solutions to infinite systems of ordinary differential equations with boundary conditions.  His adviser at Texas was Hyman Ettlinger, who received his degree from Harvard in 1920, where he studied self-adjoint, second order linear systems of differential equations under George Birkhoff.

I perked up a bit, remembering that when I took my Russian exam in grad school, I had been given the task of translating a Russian version of Witt’s Theorem and having more than a cursory interest in the Birkhoff-Witt Theorem.  So I plowed onward.

Friday Philosophy: if not now, when?

Last Tuesday Bloomfield College held its yearly convocation, a salute to the beginning of a new school year…which happens around Midterm Week each year for some indiscernible reason.  Or speaker was Dr. William Librera, Presidential Research Professor of Education at Rutgers University, and the title of his presentation was Inside the Horizon.

As these things go, it was a pretty good lecture, both fairly entertaining and containing some nuggets.  There was the obligatory PowerPoint, of course, which we were told was available online, but I can’t find it.  If I could have, I would know the last part of the woman with the hyphenated last name which began with Roth-.  That would have proved helpful, since one of the major things I can recollect from the event is her thought about people being divided into two kinds:  people who segment knowledge, and people who integrate it.

Do I know what the collective intelligence is thinking right now?

There are two kinds of people in the world, those who believe there are two kinds of people in the world and those who don’t.

–Robert Benchley

If the discussion is elevated to the level of the Algonquin Round Table, then I’m all for it.

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXVII

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Question

The Questions

When people ask me

“Who are you?”

I answer honestly

“I am me.”

When they ask

“What are you?”

I say “An individual, one,

And I am whole.”

When I’m asked

“Which are you?”

I know that others decide

that for themselves.

When I hear

“Why are you?”

The why is not important

“Because I am.”

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–February, 1995

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXVI

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Mouth

The Mind’s Mouth

After the eyes

look inward

the voice must

speak outward

Introspection begets conception

Reflection instigates creation

The soul must speak

its truth

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 6, 2006

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXV

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Song

I Sing a Song

I sing a song of sadness

Of broken dreams and fear

I sing a song of pain

Of hopelessness and gloom

I sing a song of changes

Of remembrance and rebirth

I sing a song of life

Of exploration and growth

I sing a song of gladness

Of discovery and wonder

I sing a song of joy

Of acceptance and peace

I sing a song

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–October, 1994

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXIV

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Obstacles

Friends Along the Way

I started out on this

 road all alone

   Fear and Pain

      my only companions

         I wondered if

           I would lose myself

             The road seemed dark

               and fraught with peril

                 ’til I found I had

                   Friends along the way

                       As the road wound

                         through hard terrain

                           I sometimes doubted

                             my ability to go on

                               But I fought back

                                 the Fear

                                   and worked through

                                     the Pain

                                       with the help of my

                                         Friends along the way

                                       As time passed by

                                     the road ascended

                                   Obstacles less frequent

                                 but harder to pass

                               And at times

                             I needed the

                           places of refuge

                         respite and care

                       offered to me by

                     Friends along the way

                 I’ve come to the crest

               of the mountain

             I’ve climbed

           As I look down below

         I see all of the

       barriers crossed

     the challenges I met

   and the lessons I learned

 I will never forget those

Friends along the way

 What lies over

   the top of the road

     There is no

       way of knowing

         But deep in my heart

           From the depths

             of my soul

               I know that I’ll have

                 The company of my

                   Friends from along the way

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–July, 1994

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXIII

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Knit

Finding My Way

Life in shambles

I took a chance

spoke my piece

used my words

defended myself

everyone watching

I tore the fabric

of their reality

chipped away

at the barriers

with the sharp

blade of right

Mighty is the sword

of revelation

Relevance grows

empowering

newfound voice

E-space is a venue

where we can thrive

virtual avenues opened wide

provided a wedge

to crack open

the narrow path

I navigated

from what was

to what could be

I found a way through

I did not choose to lead

but some chose to follow

That frightened me then

and still does

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 18, 2006

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