The Hyacinths

When I see hyacinths

Rooted in vase and flower

A window and a windowsill

To reach beyond

And bring its flower

To bear the only knowledge

That a flower knows

Is light for all of us though we

Imagine that we are not flowers

And yet the hyacinth

Is strangely all of us

Surrounded by the sun

The stars are roots in air

Giving us life in growing things

That link us root and flower

That space we call

The windowsill we call our home

The hyacinth is not a guest

It is the flower we can not be

It is we who are the guests prodding the mystery

 

Ted Goodell

February 2017

In Praise of Sitcoms

The sitcoms are entertaining

And the actors are superb

But sitcoms are not theatre

They are satellites to the theatre

And the TV studio is not a stage

Until the actors assemble to perform

And a glass screen watched by an audience

Can not open like a curtain

Although the magic of the remote

Can make us see a photographic curtain

But try to imagine

Interrupting Act II of Hamlet

Just when Ophelia laments how Hamlet

“Took me by the wrist and held me hard”

In order to sell a box of breakfast cereal

Yet we empathize and laugh

And laughter is the jewel of joy

Assuring us that brevity is often brilliant

For the spectator has entered a kingdom

Where brevity is the beginning of wisdom

 

Ted Goodell

January 2017