Struggle…

I wonder if they realize…

the ongoing struggles of others.

You know…the ones who seem to have everything,

at their well-manicured fingertips.

I wonder if they realize…

the very food they discard with ease,

would be welcomed by those that

find it hard to come by one meal,

not to mention two or three.

I wonder if they realize…

the fancy cars they drive,

without a second thought,

passing by the same single mom daily,

barely missing her, while speeding by her in all their glory,

leaving dirty puddle water stains splattered,

on the one ‘good’ outfit this single mom owns.

I wonder if they realize,

with their heads held sky-high,

that hard times do not discriminate.

I wonder if they realize,

come tomorrow, this could be them too!

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Life’s Thickening Plot…

Life’s plot thickens with every minute,

you know firsthand because you’re in it.

A change in scene, an unrehearsed line,

eight lives you’ve lived, approaching nine.

The surprising twists and dangerous curves,

that threaten your sanity and wreck your nerves.

The hidden obstacles, that lie in wait,

to hinder your story and seal your fate.

But before life’s plot becomes too thick,

the characters must change, and you must pick.

You’ve only one chance so shoot your best shot,

to change the outcome of life’s thickening plot.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Poem…The Human Thing to Do

*This poem is based on a real life experience I had some time ago. Please see my narrative post that coincides in “Sunday Seeds” category at: sporterhall.wordpress.com. Enjoy!

As he climbed his ladder, to hedges high,

I could only stare as I drove by.

A daunting task, for him ahead,

How would he finish? I secretly pled.

A job not envied by anyone,

performed under the heat of the hot scorching sun.

When I saw the sweat drip from his chest,

I privately prayed, that he’d soon rest.

How could anyone drive by, and witness his thirst?

To turn a blind eye, simply the worst.

I swallowed hard, as I felt his pain,

no moisture in sight, no chance of rain.

I vowed to return with refreshing libation,

as I sat in the midst of the church congregation.

When I came back, he was still there,

immersed in his work, of me, unaware.

I brought him drink of water and ice,

of which he thought was astoundingly nice.

He couldn’t believe that I had been so kind,

the kindness of a stranger, so rare to find.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall