Poems of the Week ~ by Mary, Wendy and Kathleen

This week, my friends, we are contemplating poems written by Mary, who blogs at In the Corner of My Eye, Wendy, of Words and Words and Whatnot,  and Kathleen Everett, of The Course of Our Seasons. Each poem seems, to me, to be a wonderful response to the darkness of the news we are taking in these days. Each poet has a unique response and, taken together, I hope they uplift your heart and help you keep your balance as we move through troubled times. Let's take a look.

We are Ready

We are ready to dance
not the slow cheek to cheek dance
not the sensual melodic tango
but the we-will-fight-through-the-night dance
the we-won't-ever-give-up (take that!) waltz
where we clench teeth and raise our arms
we shake fists in the face of injustice.

We are ready to dance
not the sumptuous sexy samba
not the kick the heels kind of jive
but the don't-you-dare-mess-with-me dance
you can't fool us with your lies
we put no stock in your twisted words
we shake fists in the face of injustice.

We are ready to dance
not the hate and-racial-discrimination dance
not the stomp-on-gay-and-immigrant-rights dance
but the fight-for-life-and-do-it-now dance
you can't trample the ones we love
we will rise again before too long
we shake fists in the face of injustice.

We are ready to dance!

Sherry: I love the liveliness, fire and determination in this poem. We will not only Overcome, we will sing and dance while doing so! I loved this, Mary!

Mary: In this poem, I wanted to express, in a unique way, a sense of being empowered to take action. So I thought about different types of dances and how they could be used to express what I wanted to portray. I was actually quite pleased with how it turned out, and each time I read it again I can feel my adrenalin flowing (LOL), so I feel I succeeded in accomplishing my goal.

Sherry: I feel you did, too. Wonderfully!

burden of ancients

I had expected
I would be more at peace
at this place in my life, for ...
I have sought it
these many years,
in my way


instead,
I carry the weighty woes
of this planet,
like a big bass drum,
beating
to the fragile heartbeat
of our earth


to know
what it is, to live …
is to know,
that survival is precarious and hard


perhaps, ancients
are not meant
to find peace
in bearing witness to
humankind's
failure to exist harmoniously
and with diligence

perhaps, it is part of the price we pay,
for the gift of long life –
the burden of owning
the state of the world
we will leave behind, at passing

“We’re in a giant car heading towards a brick wall and everyone’s arguing over where they’re going to sit. … We have to recall the image of the planet from outer space: a single entity in which air, water, and continents are interconnected. That is our home.” – David Suzuki: Canadian environmentalist, scientist, and writer.

Sherry: I so feel the weight of it, Wendy, the burden of the world we are passing along to our children and grandchildren. Worse at this moment than we ever could have foreseen.

Wendy: The theme of ‘burden of ancients’ is climate change – but, more than that, it is about humankind’s utter ineptitude to come to terms with it.  The staggering arrogance and ignorance of the ‘powers that be’ who could and should put in place, a strategy for combatting the truly frightening planetary changes, we are facing, is shocking.  The possibility of world leaders arriving at a consensus of basic, common sense initiatives, that might, at the very least, slow the decline (while innovative scientific and technological solutions are sought) seems – at this point in time – further out of reach, than ever.  For those of us who care about life on this planet – who care about the quality of life we are leaving to our children – it is a constant heartache.   That is probably why, I find my way to this theme again and again – even when I don’t set out in that particular direction.  It is very much on my mind. 

I have mentioned the findings of the 2007, Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change before, but it bears repeating.  That panel (of 2,500 scientists in 130 countries overseen by the United Nations and the World Meteorological Organization) warned that millions of human lives and nearly a third of the planet's wildlife and plant species could be wiped out if global temperatures rise as little as 1.5 to 2.5 degrees Celsius.  The Panel predicted a rise of between 1.8 and 4 degrees Celsius by the end of this century, if measures are not put in place to reverse the current trend.  Needless to say, the earth will be feeling the effects of global warming long before the end of this century.  Indeed, it already is.  Climate change is real.  We see the effects of it, virtually every day, on our nightly news.   

The stunning prediction by The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change was issued 10 years ago.  Since then, very little – in terms of what is required to stem this looming disaster – has been enacted.  In fact, it could be argued, that we are moving backwards.  In a move, many experts deemed: catastrophic, the United States (under the leadership of President Trump) opted to pull out of the Paris Climate Accord in June of 2017, denouncing it as a violation of U.S. sovereignty.  I find that terrifying:  not for myself (I have lived my life); I find it terrifying for the children of this earth and for all life on this planet.  It is a burden, I fear, I will carry with me to my grave … as will my fellow ‘ancients’ of conscience. 

Sherry: As will I, my friend. Thank you for these wise words. 

Kathleen and her mother,

whom she sadly lost last year

an invitation

"Into this world,
this demented inn,
where there is absolutely no room for him at all,
Christ comes, uninvited."
- Thomas Merton

Turning off the news

(Suffering world)

I walk down the path to the waters edge

(Despairing angels weep at every fence post)

The cold wind whips the water into a froth against 
the gray stony bank

(Where is He in all of this?)

Autumn's landscape has changed to winter

(Pray for us now)

The world, hard and cold, in its fallow season

(And at the hour of our death)

I toss pieces of bread to the small wild ducks

(Peace be with you)

As they sail away,

(and also with you)

I turn toward home.

Sherry: So sorrowful, so beautiful, Kathleen.

Kathleen: This poem was written a few years ago at the beginning of the Advent season after another mass shooting in our country. The saddest part of that statement is that I can't tell you which one.

 I had run across the quote and, adding that to the season of the year and the news of another tragedy, the poem came together in a kind of call and response. 

Using religious imagery and scenes of the natural world that I find outside my door, this poem became quieter and more prayerful- an invitation, an invocation.

Sherry: One feels the prayerfulness, reading your beautiful words, Kathleen. Thank you for sharing the beauty and peace of this poem with us. You give us a place to go for comfort when the news is just too dark – out into the beauty of the world, waiting so patiently for humankind to awaken.

[My friends, Kathleen wanted me to tell you she has had a computer crash and may not be able to come in and respond to comments, as she only has her tiny phone. But she will read and be most appreciative of your words, nevertheless.]

Thank you, Mary, Wendy and Kathleen, for your beautiful, uplifting and inspiring words.  We hope these poems helped add something positive to your day, my friends. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Poems of the Week ~ by C.C., Kathleen and Grace

We have three delightful poems for your enjoyment and contemplation this week, my friends, written by  C.C., of Conscious Cacophony, Kathleen Everett, of The Course of Our Seasons, and Mary Grace Guevara of Everyday Amazing. We think they go well together, and will leave you feeling uplifted. Enjoy!

Sunrise in Mexico - by CC

NEW DAWN

yes, love is a shadow
a tattered tassel
hanging
frayed
in the wind

but, every morn’
the sunrise offers you
a bouquet of orange
for you to interpret
as you choose

will you board
up your heart
hold the line
in silent darkness
or listen to the drum
that still beats
in your chest
and dance to
the speakers
that pump music
through your soul?

yes, love is a shadow
but light filters
back in
when you honor
the signs at work
in each new dawn

CC photo

Sherry: I love the honoring of the signs in each new dawn. A wonderfully hopeful message, C.C.

C.C.: Sylvia Plath is one of my favorite poets. Her words always strike me with such force that I often feel emotionally compelled by them. When I read, "Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it. Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse" I felt compelled by sadness, thinking of someone who gives up on life when Love gallops away. I had this image of someone boarding up her heart in silent darkness and beating her chest, lying and crying alone forever. 

What a shame! There is too much beauty offered up to us each day. Live for it. Stay open to it. Embrace it. It's there for the taking for all of us. So, I was inspired to write about the choice that each new dawn offers every single one of us, no matter what hoofbeats echo in the grief and shadows of the darkest corners of loss in our lives.

Sherry: I love the idea of those hoofbeats of grief. I think we all have heard them a time or two. Thank you for this, C.C., and for the lovely photos of that new dawn. I always think how wonderful it is that, no matter what is happening in our lives, the new dawn comes up each morning, giving us a brand new day in which to begin again. Morning is one of God's best ideas, I think.

Kathleen enchanted me, with her recent lines about Dusk, a charming fellow, presented in this poem as I have not seen him before. Let's read:

Kathleen and Bob

Kathleen Everett photo

DUSK AND TWILIGHT

dusk saunters up the lane
whistling for his dog
and filling his pipe

leaning against the fence post,
he squints into the setting sun
and waits for twilight to arrive

wrapped in a mantle of early evening stars,
she skips down the lane
her steps light and lovely

tipping his hat,
dusk climbs the western ridge
trailing shadow
and wisps of smoke

as twilight fills the darkling sky
with the smiling crescent moon
and the scent of sweet honeysuckle

Sherry: I absolutely adore the voice in this poem, insouciant Dusk strolling along, filling his pipe, anticipating Twilight tripping down the lane in her long skirts. Such gorgeous imagery and delightful personification.

Kathleen: This poem came about when I was writing snippets of poetry on Twitter. It was one of those long spring afternoons when the sun was stretching out shadows and the character of dusk just came to me. And of course, he needed a partner, so why not twilight. I love giving them a life and a bit of a story. Maybe I will follow them again to see where they might lead.

Sherry: I could read a whole chapter like this, and never stop smiling! Let's take a look at Grace's poem, also rich in imagery, shall we?

TODAY I LET THE LIGHT IN

the sun is a milk-cotton daisy
blooming along side glorious tulips

              i will not count
              creases on my forehead

the sky sings a breezy fruity tune-
while dandelions sip yellow tea 

             i will not rue
             emerging strays of white hair

the wind brings lake's salty tears-
seed pods open, spraying golden grains

             i will not bother
             creaming my wrinkled hands 

the trees are shimmering glassy chandeliers 
covering cracks, like leavening on dry crust- 
             
             i am grateful -
             another day of beginnings

Sherry: Grace, from the title to the closing line, this is so uplifting, and so welcome in these days of dark news. We do need to remember to be grateful for the beauty and love around us. It is our solace and relief. How did this poem get born?

Grace: That day was my special day, my birthday.   I wanted to remind myself of the beautiful lessons I have learned from other people who are aging gracefully.   That of acceptance and perseverance, and also a healthy attitude towards embracing change.  I still have many things I want to accomplish, so this year will be another year of milestones for me.  

I also love nature and marvel at the changing seasons.   Each season is beautiful and though there is decay, the cycle of life is always a journey of beginnings.  

These lines are positive affirmations for me. I count my blessings and I am grateful for the love and support I have at home, at work and with my friends, including poets and writers around the blogosphere. 

Sherry: Positive, indeed. We have to hang onto gratitude for our blessings, for the beauty of nature, for friendships near and far. Our solace in turbulent times, which make such blessings even more dear. Thank you, Grace.

Thank you, dear poets, for lifting our spirits with your beautiful poems. I hope our readers come away with more hopeful hearts from this reading.

Wasn't this lovely, my friends? Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Poems of the Week ~ by Mary, Colleen and Kathleen

We have three beautiful poems for you this week, my friends, penned by  Mary, who blogs at In the Corner Of My Eye,  Colleen Redman, of   Loose Leaf Notes ,  and Kathleen Everett, who writes at The Course of Our Seasons. Each came straight from the heart of the poet, who share some amazing experiences while explaining their poems. I think you will find each one very special.

Let's look first at Mary's poem. Written during unsettled times, it lifts the reader up with its striking imagery and hopeful message.

KITE

A kite is a dream
you keep in your heart
knowing that some day
you will find a way
to make it fly.

A kite is a penny
you find on the street
then carry it home
put it in a safe place
hope it will grow.

A kite is a prayer
you lift up at night
beyond the clouds
beyond the moon
then let go of the string.

A kite is a poem
the last you penned
with care and love
released with trust
it will find its way.

~~ Mary

Sherry: I love the hopeful, uplifting message of this poem. What were your thoughts as you wrote this, Mary? 

Mary: Thank you, Sherry, for featuring my poem “Kite.”  I must say this is one of my favorites from the past few months.

I wrote the poem “Kite” at the end of November, a few weeks after our Presidential election.

Previous to that time I had been writing a series of pretty down-hearted poems, so I decided to try to write a poem with hope instead - thinking perhaps that if I wrote a hopeful poem I myself might begin to feel more hopeful.

In the first stanza I wanted to convey the thought that we always MUST have dreams within our heart. We cannot lose that ability to dream or our spirit will just wither away.  In the second stanza I thought about how much a treasure a penny can be, a lucky penny found on the street that we can keep in a special place and perhaps look at as the first step toward growth.  In the third stanza I thought about the importance of prayer and the importance of lifting up one's thoughts.  I find if I  picture my prayers rising toward heaven I have a lighter heart, and hope can more easily take root and grow.  In the fourth stanza I wanted to express that a poem is not to be taken lightly, as it was written by the poet with care and love; and when it is released to be read by others it is with trust (as well as hope) that it will be received by the reader as a gift.

It was a good feeling for me, at the end of November, to write this hopeful poem.  I do think that it lifted my spirits to write with a positive slant.  I am wondering what other poets think.  Do you think that consciously writing a particular kind of poem can affect your mood?

Sherry: That's a good question, and I hope people will respond in the comments. I know that writing and reading a poem can change my mood, especially the ones that lift my heart up, like this one did.

I especially love the idea of the poem being released with love as a gift. That is beautiful. Thank you for sharing this poem, Mary, and for writing it during weeks when many of us were feeling downhearted, and needed some positive messages.

Colleen recently wrote a very moving poem about emotions released during acupuncture. There is a story of heartbreak and resilience behind it. I know it will touch you deeply.

CRYING DURING ACUPUNCTURE

Pricked at birth
The sting still hurts

Now my stiffened knee
is loosening

Now one tear falls
for two losses

A mirror speck
that holds the past

The tear my mother
couldn’t shed

The one my sister
couldn’t hold back

It swelled then slipped
like a clean drop of rain

Like a gem of truth
snapped from a necklace

Down my cheek
in undistorted release

A precious pearl
hard earned

---Colleen Redman

Sherry: This is beautiful, Colleen, with the one tear for two losses, one that your mother could not shed, one that your sister could not hold back. Tell us about this poem, will you please?

Colleen: I lost two brothers a month apart in 2001. It was a complicated grief that wrenched my heart and changed my life in a way I didn't know was possible. I inhabited my grief fully and wrote a book about it, called The Jim and Dan Stories. 

This year, I lost my sister and my mother five months apart. The grief was once again complicated, but so different. It was slower to penetrate, as if it had to go through scar tissue to be fully felt. I've been processing the losses incrementally through dreams and poetry. Every nerve I've been able to hit and every emotion deepened has felt like a gift  that I've chosen to welcome.

The poems I've written since my sister's and mother's death fit well as part of a collection I've been working on, Packing a Suitcase for the Afterlife. The collection is a distillation of my life, a tracking of the inner and outer journeys of growing up, aging, care-giving and weighing life's inevitable losses.

Sherry: I am so sorry for your grievous losses, Colleen. I am impressed and inspired at your strength, surviving so many. Thankfully, as writers, we can write our way through our experiences. I do think that release helps us heal. I love the title of your book, by the way.

Colleen: The poem "Crying During Acupuncture" was a turning point. About 6 months ago, the cartilage in my knee wore out, causing me to limp with pain. I used the experience to tap into my survivor's guilt, as well as some delayed empathy for the pain my mother and sister, who both had bad knees, endured.

My knee has greatly improved, mostly through a series of acupuncture treatments. During a recent intense session, I noticed that my acupuncturist had inserted a lot more needles than usual and that the connections and sensations were strong. I asked him if all the needles were for my knee and he answered that he was also responding to and treating other imbalances he found by carefully taking my pulses.

It's not the first time that I've experienced an emotional release during acupuncture. Some of the points when stimulated  do result in opening the heart and a release of grief. I don't cry easily (as my sister could) but I cry easier than my mother, a stoic hard worker of German descent.

So the tears came. The first single tear that rolled down my cheek was the one I focused on. It was completely unexpected and spontaneous, and was more beautifully bittersweet than sad. There was a window in my view, and I watched the tall wheat colored grasses bend in the wind as meditative music played in the background. It was timeless, and as if childhood disappointments and the tensions that had collected in the last years before their deaths (related to my mother's decline and her care) dissolved.

After the session, when I got home, I grabbed my copy of Hans Christian Anderson's fairytales and re-read The Snow Queen. It was a fortunate story that my father read to me when I was a child - the only story I remember that was read to me. So much of it was over my head then, but I never forgot the part about the love between the little girl and boy who played together.

The boy got a piece of mirror made by demons in his eye, and it distorted the way he viewed the world. He was eventually kidnapped by the Snow Queen and lived in her cold world until the girl traveled the world and found him. When she did, the boy was so happy to see her that he cried, and his tears washed out the mirror speck. I let my own tears purify and save me, the way he was saved at the end of the story.

The pearl necklace was also a reference to a formative life experience. When I was in second grade, my mother clasped a string of her pearls around my neck for school picture day. It was a gesture that stood out, and I remember feeling beautiful and seen as special by my mother. With her death, our circle of family, worn from previous losses, has given way. There is a letting go, and the precious parts that once existed tightly together now exist more on their own.

source

Sherry: Wow, Colleen, thank you so much for sharing the deep meaning behind this poem. It is even more moving, knowing all that lies behind it. Tears are such healing agents.  Losses do seem to come in bunches. My family experienced the same thing, a scattering once the matriarch was gone. One misses that central figure, the hub around which family revolves. Thank you so much for sharing this story. I so admire your strength and awareness.

In closing, I would like to share a beautiful poem written by Kathleen Everett, which also describes grief, and then lifts us up into a beautiful buttermilk sky. Let's read.

Kathleen and her mother, whom she recently lost

BUTTERMILK SKY

The bright winter sky is dappled with high clouds
The color of butter.
The light and shadow play across the landscape,
Light then dark,
Then light.

A dark shadow comes across my brow
And the grief returns to my heart.
Though our lintel was marked
With lambs blood,
Blessed with prayer,
Adorned with mirrors,
The dark angel still came.
Her beauty, awful,
As she sat at our table
And the losses became un-countable.
I wonder still when she will return,
Because, oh yes, she will return.
Or perhaps, she is just
Sitting on my porch step
Waiting for another shadow to form.

My face again is in sunlight-
The dappled clouds moving away from the sun,
Casting shadows on the winter landscape
Bright in the buttermilk sky.

~~ Kathleen Everett

Sherry: I love the image of a buttermilk sky. What an original idea. Kathleen, we are so sorry for the loss of your mother. As she lived with you, you must feel her absence very strongly, especially at this time of year. Would you share your thoughts about this poem with us?

Kathleen: My poem, Buttermilk Sky, was written after a period of 14 months when we suffered the deaths of 16 family members, friends and a beloved pet. From our first great nephew, my wonderful father in law, aunts, uncles, friends parents, a young woman I had known since her birth, to our little miniature schnauzer, Lulu, it seemed a season of unprecedented loss.

The imagery of the angel of death is sometimes seen as fearsome and evil, but here I show her as a part of life, beautiful, yet awful - maybe awe-full - and always just a step away from our door. 

My mother used the phrase buttermilk sky to describe when clots of clouds form lines and seem to slide across the sky like buttermilk does down a glass.  So the idea and jumping off point for the poem was given to me by my mom.

Buttermilk Sky was written in 2013 - Mom would be with us only three more years. She left with that beautiful angel on a soft morning in April.  And the shadow of grief still clouds my sky.

Sherry: My friend, I had no idea you had experienced so many losses. Grief is a journey; it seems one loss hops aboard along with all the others, and we grieve them all. Our warmest condolences to you and your family. Thank you for sharing yourself with us, so we can better support you as we read your poems.

Thank you, ladies, for this very meaningful share. Your poems work together so well, and will resonate with our readers, all of whom are grieving losses of one kind or another. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

LIFE OF A POET ~ KATHLEEN OF THE OZARKS

This week, kids, we are making a trek to the Ozarks, to visit talented poet and photographer, Kathleen Everett, who writes at The Course of Our Seasons. Kathleen took the glorious photos that grace this interview, and I was hard pressed to limit myself to a handful. Kathleen has a cool story, so gather 'round, draw your chairs in close, and let's dive in. 

Sherry: Kathleen, I'm stoked. I've been wanting to hear your story since I read of your love of the Ozarks. Give us a mental snapshot of where, and with whom, you live today, kiddo. Tell us about falling in love with the Ozarks.

A sweet pic of me and Bob, photoshopped by a friend 

- the background is pretend!