Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’

In the Nursing Home, a Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , on January 28, 2022| Leave a Comment » 

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.

Read Full Post »

If Only, a Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , on January 14, 2022| Leave a Comment »

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

Read Full Post »

Dear 101st Birthday, Dad

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , on January 2, 2022| Leave a Comment »

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.

Read Full Post »

Adeline, Teach Me About Innocence

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , on December 27, 2021| 1 Comment »

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.

 

 

Read Full Post »

Time, A Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , on December 13, 2021| Leave a Comment » 

All men should strive to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why. (James Thurber)

Time. I’ve tried to wrap it in boxes
tied it with ribbon, 
then attempted to 
bind an hour with duct tape.

I’ve balanced on one leg,
kicked through water
and pretened strength could be
my master over the inevitable.

Hurry through tasks, I say,
beat the clock, and then tell 
exhaustion it doesn’t exist.

This moment—I’ve claimed it,
but held on longer than night and day allows.

Perfection. It doesn’t exist.
The whole of being can’t be 
grasped, owned and hugged 
as if it were a teddy bear.

I smile at a stranger. She smiles back.
The moment is neither longer nor shorter.
And yet its presence feels stronger.

No eternal answers
and yet, we instead of I, 
a recognition of companionship
in a world that doesn't need 
to be one-hundred percent struggle, 
adds running-with instead of fighting-alone.

Read Full Post »

Short-Sighted Wish, a Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 11, 2021| Leave a Comment » 











Wish not so much to live long as to live well.  Benjamin Franklin

How good it would be
to live without pain,
to live without anger or foe,
to languish in riches,
frolic in health,
and miss every effort to grow.

***





I look at my blog for this week and want to add more, tell stories. The tales move with rocks, twigs, and drop-offs along the way. Each tale has a slightly different shape and edge. It belongs to the course. Maybe someday I will understand how.


cliff


 





					
Read Full Post »

				

							


		
			

				

					
At Gene’s Funeral, a Poem

					

					Posted in inspiration, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , ,  on October 29, 2021|
													Leave a Comment »											

				


				

					






That’s the secret, love. It’s not about finding what you’re searching for…it’s about valuing what you find. (Reed Logan Westgate, The Infernal Games)

Time. I find so little of it lately. And yet, this poem, written four years ago, hits me as if I’d written it yesterday.

GENE’S WORDS—AT HIS OWN FUNERAL

My death started in January
when bare branches caressed snow
cold as my body.

My friend, the gentle priest,
stood at one end of the casket
and asked if he blessed my head or feet.

He didn’t know I laughed, hearing him
from the gnarled branches of a nearby tree,
where a bright, red cardinal and I

waited to fly together into new,
exciting places I would never be able
to explain to those left behind.

The priest had commented on my raucous
sense of humor. He paused, memory or imagination
filling in the blanks. Church space remained

reverent. Stifled laughs warmed my spirit, the chill 
of my body left behind. My eulogist spoke
about schizophrenia, paranoia. I carried 
 
the burden and pain. My friend said I 
was not my diagnosis. He mentioned
common moments. Coffee, killer cigarettes, picnics,

my volatile, unstable movements
as if they had been claps of thunder
during a hymn. Something that happens,

and can be embraced as part of a larger whole.
A woman reached one arm around her husband.
Their son held his infant daughter. I carried

the baby’s father as an infant. My cardinal 
companion flew upward. I followed.
A voice came from a light breaking through

the winter gray.  Your fear has been buried.
Come. I had never heard the voice.
Yet, I knew death had ended, a new life begun.

pic made from public domain photo and pastels



					
Read Full Post »

				

							


		
			

				

					
Happy Birthday, Jay! Let’s Celebrate

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , ,  on October 22, 2021|
													2 Comments »											

				


				

					
Oxford trail sun through trees


Age is of no importance unless you’re a cheese.  (Billie Burke)


 As my husband and I walk hand-in-hand along a park path, two younger women say that we look like a cute couple. Yup, we’ve been recognized as nursing-home candidates. Cute is reserved for the opposite ends of the age spectrum. Youngsters and oldsters.


We are in our mid-seventies. However, the spirit I carry inside is confused by the image I see in the bathroom mirror. The loose skin and sagging neck. The inner self gathers both pain and joy. It grows. Its form is not visible.


 I can always learn something new. About the world and about this red-haired individual I call me. Someone I love was in the hospital recently. The experience stole more energy than I expected. I am coming back.


 A cobalt blue sky speaks healing. The deeper kind. The kind that tells me to hold on when rain and storms break through. 


 “I’m celebrating you today,” I tell my husband. It is his birthday. I appreciate a mate who loves me as I am. Presents and cakes don’t matter as much anymore. However, this living moment matters far more.


 





					
Read Full Post »

				

							


		
			

				

					
Run Between the Raindrops

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , ,  on August 21, 2021|
													2 Comments »											

				


				

					

sun




There's a lot of difference between listening and hearing. (G. K. Chesterton)

As I drive, rain splatters on my car windshield. Fresh fat circles followed by long and hard streaks. I remember an old saying from my childhood, Run between the drops. Never a realistic expectation. More a fantasy notion.

I want to dry rain and tears, to change the diagnosis a friend recently heard. Cancer. And not an early stage. I want to run between the drops and take people who need healing with me.

A raincoat is the best tool for now. Live through all that happens. My friend’s laundry is in the spin cycle now. Clean wash soon to be dried. I will do what I can. And wait for the sun to shine again. It always does.



					
Read Full Post »

				

							


		
			

				

					
Flashlight, a Poem

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , ,  on August 14, 2021|
													Leave a Comment »											

				


				

					
flashlights




Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.  (Jonathan Swift)

Flashlight

She stirs artificial sweetener into her coffee
as my husband shares one oldie recording after another.
Creedence Clearwater Revival, Jefferson Airplane,
The Supremes. The 1960’s scene.

Folk artists. One-time hits. I listen.
And watch as my friend moves her head
with the drumbeat. She is blind. She won’t look 
for bookshelf dust or carpet lint. We welcome 

few guests during pandemic time. She celebrates
learned pathways through my house and moves 
between our couch and dining room table.
We share places where disability dissolves.

Or so I imagine until she reaches for coffee
and touches another cylindrical object instead.
“What is this?” I answer, “flashlight,” 
as if she knew about the object the way

she understands the feel of our leather couch,
the last Elvis Presley song, or a groaner-pun.
“Oh,” she answers. Yet, I don’t see the un-seeable
 until I return the artificial light to a desk drawer.

She would fathom flash-light 
the way any sighted person grasps a concept like infinity. 
I have a lot to learn about my friend’s life. 
I am grateful she is willing to teach me.


published in For A Better World 2021








					
Read Full Post »

				

							


		
		
« Newer Posts - Older Posts »