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Archive for the ‘inspiration’ Category

I’ll Get Up In A Minute

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , on February 18, 2022| 1 Comment »

winter solstice with background

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist. That is all. (Oscar Wilde)

 I’ll get up in a minute.

Or two, or three, or… A minute has been redefined. It has been carved from the clock and thrown into infinity. And no longer has meaning.

A line of pink appears on the horizon. Then two more. Parallel stripes. They don’t stay. Like the existence that passes before this old body faces the day.

I toss blankets aside. The weight of my past had been keeping me down, pressing into my dreams.

The pink in the sky has already faded. Its beauty passes. Nevertheless, another day begins. Another chance to grab the dark, the light, and the unexpected. Then create with each possibility. 

 

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Gratitude, Packed Ice-thick

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , on February 10, 2022| 2 Comments »

ice-covered branch

Being grateful does not mean that everything is necessarily good. It just means that you can accept it as a gift. (Roy T. Bennett)


 Ice and sun create art on the bare trees in our back yard. I can’t say the same thing about the street. And I live between the two. Both real.

 One side flashes beauty, the other danger.

 One neighbor comes from close by. Another friend trudges on foot from several miles away.

 They stab the ice and win, saving two elderly people.

 And the street waits for help. It will come. But the sun has already joined two places with a thing called love.

 I answer with a thing called gratitude.

 

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Should, Should, and More Should

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on February 3, 2022| Leave a Comment » 












There is no way you should feel, there is only the way you feel. 
(Akiroq Brost)



How easy it would be if life
could be explained in a word
or two, if should transferred
into reality the way words fit
on a page. In blocks. At least

my mother believed it. She
made sure I recited rules in
perfect cadence. Know the
answer without studying any
questions. Feelings had no


place outside a prayer book.
Strange. Now, I wish I could
reverse roles. Hold her hand
and tell her that I understand
why her care arrived broken.

              Mom, years before you died, 
                                             I told you I loved you.
                                                             You didn’t know what to say.
                                                                                        But you heard my voice.

And I stepped outside the rigorous
                  lines set by 
                            impossible perfection.

I look into the sky now
                        and find more colors
                                         than blue, white, and black. 

And I wish that I had found
                             rainbow memories inside you.
                                         I know they are there. Even now.



					
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In the Nursing Home, a Poem

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , ,  on January 28, 2022|
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Our lives can't be measured by our final years, of this I am sure. 
(Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook)

In the Nursing Home

They call the shower
a car wash. Every other day,
lathered head to toe,

the loose-skinned residents
sit exposed on a shower chair.
Who am I?

A tiny, bent-over man,
eyes bulging,
stares through the drops,

feels himself dissolve, 
slips down the drain 
with the suds.

Who was I before
these veins raised up blue
and held tight to something?

Or to someone?
He closes his eyes
and sees flickering darkness.

Gone are his long-ago wife
and the daughter who avoids
his blank expression. 

Life hides somewhere among
the oak and maple in the courtyard,
full some years, barren others, 

among his hand-crafted bird houses,
forgotten now, splintered, rotted,   
as the man’s attendant

lifts his dried arms
into a fresh shirt
he doesn’t recognize.

Then, residents gather at round tables.
A man smiles. He nods back,
as he listens to vague stories about

their car washes. Frowns, snickers.
And where-is-the-salt-
for-this-gosh-awful-soup?

While the common room piano
waits for someone to play,
with a voice strong enough

to sing the songs
these walls know
without breaking.








					
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If A Sweet Gum Could Speak

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , ,  on January 21, 2022|
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If A Sweet Gum Could Speak


 


Don’t pray for lighter burdens, but for stronger backs. Nothing 
endures but personal qualities. Those who endure, conquer. 
(Rodney A. Winters)


My partners and I in the yard share the same name, sweet gum. 
In the autumn our star leaves create a varied pallet of orange, 
yellow, and green. A scene worth painting or watching from the 
window as birds visit.


We stand bare now. My branches reach out at a different angle 
than the trees next to me. We are individual, beautiful, rooted in the earth.


Touch my surface. Cold is okay. More than okay. 
Can you imagine how weak you would be if high winds never tested you. 
Yes, I am aware of the rest of the earth. It affects me. When you
 trim my dead branches. When leaves appear or drop. I don’t have speech.
 I do have presence.


Thanks for celebrating this moment with me. 
January, like life itself, ends. Celebrate it while it is here.
					
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If Only, a Poem

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , ,  on January 14, 2022|
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To move freely you must be deeply rooted. (Bella Lewitzky)


 




IF ONLY

If peace were a bird, it would fly through heat or wind. 
It would thrive in a nest open to storm.


If peace were a mountain,
it would stand patient,
constant, firm for centuries.

If peace were a tree, it would begin
as an acorn, unafraid of darkness,

then grow to house birds,
and reach for mountains.

Peace. It transcends
mountain borders, 
and allows foreign bird species
to nest together

despite unseen possibilities.



originally published in For a Better World 2011






					
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The Pawn, a Poem

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , ,  on January 8, 2022|
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Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves. (Carl Gustav Jung)

THE PAWN

A young man props open the door
to his screened-in porch
as a robin, wild, wings flapping, dives
into the wire mesh walls.
The man gestures toward the exit
and mutters about how creatures,
two-legged or flying,
refuse to be rescued.

He locks the door to his house
and leaves the screen door open, 
then crosses the street
to learn the tricks of chess
from an elderly neighbor.

The older man offers him a seat
at his kitchen table,
where a set of yellowed-white 
and chipped-black game pieces 
wait on a well-worn board.

The master’s game is sharp.
As he plays, he speaks
of his sons and daughters
and their plans for him
to move to a nursing home,
the place the old man 
calls incontinence hell.

He describes shirts with elbows bared,
gifts from his deceased wife,
removed without his permission,
She lives in those shreds. 

The young man tries to follow both
his teacher’s stories 
and his advice about the game
until the old man shakes his head.

Because you are learning I will let you
try that move again.
But the student sees 
only worn-black and dull-white wood,
 perfect squares with impenetrable borders.

Checkmate. 

The old man shows no sign of triumph.
He resets the board.
The young man nods, silent,
wondering if the robin
found passage—or not.  



pic made from public domain drawing, cut paper, and pastels

poem previously published in For a Better World 2014





					
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Dear 101st Birthday, Dad

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , ,  on January 2, 2022|
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broken angel


When we think of the past it’s the beautiful things we pick out. We want to believe it was all like that. (Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale)


Happy 101st Birthday, Dad!


I have this image of a cartoon. On the outside of a closed door is a sign that reads: miscellaneous. Papers stick-out from all sides. Recently, I shredded or recycled notes that could have been in Sanskrit. It was about time I eliminated the clutter. Other items struck me as precious finds. Jewels at the bottom of a deep sea. 


If he were alive my father would be 101 the first day of this year. In the chaos I found this fantasy letter I wrote for him on his birthday in 2004.


***


Dear Dad,


This story is fiction. After all, I don’t recall anything that happened before I was two. However, I am imagining talking to the angel in charge of directing new souls. In the tale, fresh individuals can request either a young father or mother to-be, with the approval of higher authority of course. 


The angel on duty sighed a lot as I chose my dad. I mean, perfect wasn’t possible, and the angel kept telling me, “You need to learn from life.  Not live on some comfy cloud like a particle of icy elements. Think carefully…” 


I took the guide literally and checked-out earth in the 1940’s for half of forever.


He got testy after I finished the tenth global spin. “The boss didn’t take this long when he chose his son’s mother. Give me your best-daddy data. Now.”




He entered the statistics on this computer that was part cloud and part moving keyboard. At this time only manual typewriters existed on earth, the kind that required a complete redo when the user made a mistake on the last line. “You do have non-cusser on my list.”


“I got it. I got it.”


I add, “I will need someone who can fix things. You know, a man with good mechanical sense.”


The angel shook his head and then looked into the store of talents I would have and nodded. “Oh yes, you will have creative abilities. However, you will need help in the practical field. Please take you-know out of that sentence. I have a sense your future father won’t like that habit.”


“Make him a generous carpenter.” I added.


“So now you are asking for Joseph II.” The angel sighed.


That’s when I saw you, Dad. In Africa. In an army uniform. “Yes! I decided.”


“Are you ready to see who he will marry as soon as the war is over? Dad’s busy taking bombs apart before they explode right now.”


The angel turned a switch and I saw a short woman with blue eyes and natural brown curls. A great cook.


“Okay, let me know when to be ready.”


“You’ll know. Believe me. You’ll know.”


 Sometime before the birth process I lost all recollection of this story and grew up like every human does. I think it’s supposed to be that way. However, I am glad I made a heck of a good choice. Happy birthday to a super father, even if this page reveals more imagination than fact. 


(And maybe an edited word or two… or three.)


The angel in the above photo fell, broke, and had a botched super-glue surgery. Nevertheless, she never dropped her light. She is also a statue; the injury becomes metaphorical. No one escapes pain and loss. May we continue anyway.

					
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Adeline, Teach Me About Innocence

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , ,  on December 27, 2021|
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Addie back view (2)


Children are the true connoisseurs, what’s precious to them has no price just value.
(Bel Kaufman)  


 


Two-year-old Adeline takes my finger, not my hand. Her hands aren’t big enough yet. Her charisma is sunshine mid-summer style. Time to play. I am the only other kid available. My granddaughter doesn’t seem to care about the seventy-three-year age difference.


The make-believe electric surface of her toy stove would be on if the scene were real. A wooden cell phone lies on the right front burner. Adeline needs my help to get corn on the cob out of the coffee pot. Strange, I’ve never faced this problem in my own kitchen.


She pulls two t-shirts out of her drawer and puts one on her head and one on mine. The procession begins. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have enough vocabulary to explain the ritual. I do understand the end of the game when she takes both shirts, returns them to the drawer and says, “all done.”


I don’t understand much of what my youngest grandchild says. I do comprehend her laughter, her enthusiasm, and her love. The slightest sound calls for a dance. Why walk when you can run? World ugliness hasn’t touched her yet. My son and daughter-in-law provide a place where love lives. She is blessed but doesn’t know it yet. I accept the warmth of her hand and revel in her innocence.


When my husband and I close the door and say goodbye, our little one cries. The reality of the outside world appears occasionally. When another child grabs one of her toys. When sickness appears. When fun ends too soon.


We will come back. In person. In the flat space known as facetime. The fullness of reality will arrive slowly. Hatred, pain, destruction, are real. Yet, when I look into her eyes and savor her personality, I want her to be a fresh, simple toddler forever. 


Not every child knows the blessings our granddaughter lives. I consider the outgrown clothing I have in a drawer and realize they need a home. 


If only I could pull an infant shirt from a drawer, put it in a bag for a child who needs it and say, “all done.” In the meantime, I celebrate what I have, do what I can for somebody else, anyone else, and let time do what it will. Perhaps somehow, I will grow up, too, and understand the difference between peace and pieces.


 


 

					
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Wrapped and Unwrapped Gifts

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , ,  on December 21, 2021|
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Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate. 
(C.G. Jung)


Before wrapping paper becomes shredded wads of color in the recycling bin, I imagine who-I-am leaking into an empty box. The first gift is meant for me. It doesn’t need a tag. It needs sorting. Understanding. Not hard censure and not high praise. Acceptance perhaps. And a willingness to change what isn’t working.


Breathe in. Breathe out. Catch the moment and ignore the hype. Then send the message—peace and joy to all. Names on the presents. No labels on the greeting.





					
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