POEMS OF THE WEEK BY MYRNA, VIVIAN AND GRACE

Today we are featuring poems by Myrna Rosa, Vivian Zems and Grace Guevera that we think you will enjoy. Each one gives us such a lovely portrait of the poet who penned it. Let's top up our coffee and immerse ourselves in the beauty of their reflections.

SUNDAY MORNING

In my room, 

Messy like the world,

My dogs sleep peacefully.

Their snores are music from their dreams.

I join my mountains in their devotions

To the sky, insects, coyotes, deer, all animals,

all people trampling on trails.

Awed, I stare at this rocky mass 

Jutting into air, so serene

It slows the rhythm of my worries.

But I cannot be still for long.

Blood rushes through soft flesh,

Limbs swerve, shift, shake.

My mountains shine green with tint of envy,

But speak what any good friend would,

"You can move, I cannot.

Become your own prayer."

Then, through the window in my messy room,

My mountains watch 

As I dance.

Myrna's mountains

Sherry: I love the idea of being the prayer. And the mountains watching you as you dance. Sunday mornings have a special feeling to me, too, because of my childhood. Thanks so much for this.

Myrna: Perhaps because of my early years of structured religion, Sunday mornings still seem special to me.  I hear the silence louder, I breathe the air more deeply, as if I am called to acknowledge something sacred.  Most Sunday mornings I sit in my quiet, messy room for a while waiting for thoughts to transform into poems.  Too often this doesn't happen.  Instead, I stare at my mountains.  While they stand still, I become aware there is commotion within them - much like in me and the world.

The morning I wrote this poem, no poetic thoughts arose.  I decided to give up trying.  "Alexa, play Beethoven", I ordered, as I prepared to doodle in a sketch pad.  Suddenly, I remembered an article by a spiritual writer who advised that we need not kneel or be in any particular place or pose in order to emit positive energy or, in effect, pray.  All we do can be prayer, we can be the prayer.  I paraphrase and I don't recall his name, but I believe his advice.  

I then wrote this poem inspired by the mountains I love and the fact that often, as I cook, do dishes or paint, I play loud, rhythmic, salsa music and take time out to dance. I pretend I move the way I did when young, as I shuffle to the music of my heritage (I'm Puerto Rican), expressing my joy, honoring my ancestors, emitting positive energy and, in effect, praying.  

Sherry: I can see you, dancing in your kitchen! Now and then, I do a lick or two across the room to John Lennon. Smiles. Thank you for this lovely glimpse of your Sunday morning, Myrna.

Vivian's poem  "Emergence" speaks beautifully about our passage through life, how we are honed by the difficult passages. Let's read, and be encouraged. 

EMERGENCE

If I had known
that a nest so beautiful
needed to be built
with broken branches
I would not have
……cried at the tearing
                     ……nor sobbed at the ripping
               ……or despaired at
                    the breaking
                                       of the branches
                                 of me

Sherry: Yes, had we known that pain was growing and stretching us, it might have been easier to bear. I love the nest imagery in this poem so much!

Vivian:  The poem was born out of the realisation that hard times can give birth to new and beautiful beginnings or realisations. Tough times may seek to break you, but perseverance sees you emerging from the tunnel stronger, wiser and full of gratitude - hence the title, ‘Emergence’.

Sherry: I love it, Vivian. Thank you for sharing it. 

Let's take a look at Grace's affirmative poem, "I Am, My Story", a beautiful story indeed.

I AM, MY STORY

I am, my story

i was at war with 
myself & the world

i am here,
not to provoke you
despite
that i am not you
that my skin is dark rose
that my hair is thick as forest
that my tongue is quick as snake

i am here, because you have given
me compassion
       & priceless gifts
that i can speak freely
that i can act and believe in my
       faith and decisions
that i don't need to cover my face
       nor hair if I choose not to
that i don't need to step back
       for someone else to go in
       first
       favored

i am here, because you made me
see that sky is blue
       not charcoal in dust or gunpowder
see that streets are clean
       not mired in holes or littered by dead
       bodies, whose faces i knew
       whose lives i knew
       whose nightmares I heard
see my reflection upon the emerald lake
       underneath this scarred face & body
       ...a fire in my eyes
       ...a sword my hands move
                                                 to grasp

i am here.
thank you for a new 
beginning

source

Sherry: We are so glad you were granted that new beginning, Grace. So many are denied it. I love that now the sky above you is blue, no longer grey.

Grace: We are lucky to live in a country, Canada, where we respect and afford human rights and freedom to all people. Sadly that is not the case in other countries - where women specially are not allowed to travel or move around without the consent of male guardianship, like in Saudi Arabia, or where women are not allowed to write, speak, dress without the conventional garb, and fight for their beliefs, like in Iran.   

I admire my country for taking in the victims of the ISIS war, specially the children and the women brutally raped, sold and victimized during the war in Syria.  There was also this case of the Saudi teen escaping Saudi Arabia because her family did not afford her the freedom she wanted.  With these events as a background, I wanted to feature my country as a place where you have the privileges of a free individual, who can determine their own future.

Sherry: We are very fortunate to live in this country. We have to be careful that these freedoms are safeguarded, against the rise of those who would curtail them. 

Thank you, Myrna, Vivian and Grace, for your insightful poems. Each one carries a wonderful message.

Poet friends, do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Poems of the Week ~ When It's Time to Say Goodbye

I have to issue a Kleenex alert with this feature, as we are sharing poems that say goodbye to some beloved dogs. Margaret Bednar  recently lost her wonderful dog, Mackinaw. The beautiful poem of farewell she wrote to him brought tears. Myrna Rosa, Jennifer Wagner and I lost our dear ones, Daisy, Druke and Jasmine, two years back. As we are a community of dog lovers, I thought to share our poems of love and grief with you.  I have written at least a hundred poems about Pup. I chose one at random to join in the remembering of those paws that padded beside us so faithfully, and those doggy grins that made us laugh, for all those wonderful years. 

Daisy

A SIMPLE POEM FOR DAISY

Not everyone understands, I know
How alone I feel
Her absence
My radiant shadow is gone
No longer close
Attached like glue
Walking behind me, eating, sleeping
While I wrote, cooked or simply lived my day
She absorbed my thoughts, my moods
Reflected back a constant, soothing tranquility
A conduit to my own serenity

Not everyone understands, I know
How now only imagination remains
When I think I hear the silent presence
Of the wise companion
Who enriched my spirit
By teaching me about my own animalism

Not everyone understands, I know
My grief, which connects to all
My other losses, each unique, but woven
From the common thread
Of suffering.

My tears suddenly flow
As my memory flashes
To sweet scenes of our love
I intensely feel
How much I miss my Daisy
Some would say, "She was just a dog."
I know, not everyone understands

          ***     ***       ***

Sherry: Well, we understand, Myrna. Only too well. Tell us about Daisy. And tell us about the new girl in your life, Leroy's new sister.

Leroy and Lula

Myrna: It's been over two years since Daisy died. Yet, her leash and collar are in a drawer as if I could still take her for a walk; her favorite toys remain in the dog cupboard. Sometimes, I still expect to see her lying patiently by my desk, content just to be near me. 

Each night, before bed, Daisy had to take her medicine. I wrapped her pills in a little piece of cheese. Leroy, my other dog, would get a little piece of cheese too to prevent rivalry. Now each night before bed my dogs ritualistically get their "Daisy Medicine", though there's no need for pills and there's no Daisy.

I've never stopped mourning her. Her pictures often provoke tears. But more often my grief is colored by gratitude for the years we were together. Though I cling to some of her material things, it is her essence, like a whiff of sweet perfume, that I feel whenever I think of her.

Leroy missed her too. I don't know how dogs think but clearly he felt a void. He seemed lonely, needy, and he began to dig the yard. My husband wanted to adopt another dog but my heart wasn't ready until recently.

Lula

Lula is the newest addition to our family. I fell in love with her the minute I saw her at the shelter. I didn't, at the time, notice that her coat was dull and dry or that her ribs protruded or that her energy was so low. She was sick. She also came with a bad reputation - she's a pit bull terrier. But somehow she called to me. Leroy seemed to like her too when they met. She went straight to my husband's lap when she saw him and she inhabited my heart instantly.

Sherry: I love that when you think of Daisy, it is her sweet essence you remember. And bless you, Myrna, for adopting Lula from the shelter. She might otherwise have had a hard time finding a home, and now she has a wonderful one. This makes me very happy for Lula. One dog who had a hard life, now rescued and loved and happy. Safe. You honor Daisy by paying that love forward by rescuing another dog.

Myrna: No other dog will ever replace Daisy. No other dog will ever replace Leroy or Lula. Each of my canine companions has been special, unique. Each has expanded my spirit by giving me love and lessons. Each one has taught me something about the risk of love and loss, which I believe is an inescapable experience of life, inherent perhaps in all relationships. Daisy is my most recent loss. Though she remains with me in many ways, I miss her terribly.

Sherry: I know, my friend. I suspect we will miss  them forever. 

When Margaret wrote a recent farewell to her dear companion, I read it through a river of  tears. Let's meet the wonderful Mackinaw.

Margaret and Mack

DEAREST FRIEND

I swear I've seen you
from the corner of my eye,
slip by on your way to the water bowl
or toward open front door to gaze
down curving, mountain road.

Seen you in clouds, fluffy ears flapping,
in the stars, jumping the gorge,
staring through the window to come inside -

for it’s hard to let you go.

* * *

I watched as you gazed
into the children's eyes, head resting
upon their knees.  You were happy,
day filled with love, bacon,
a very slow, wobbly walk, lakeside.

Last look at all of us,
eyes still alert, but body too weak
for your big heart.

* * *

In those few seconds
when you looked at me, I could only try
and convey how much you meant

to my Mother's heart,  thanked you
for loving my children all these years,

a gentle presence when I scolded,
a nudge when they needed a friend,
a tail that always said "Let's play!"

* * *

A blessing to be surrounded
by all those you love,
who love you, to have our smiles,
our voices, our hands over you
as we stayed and said

"Thank you, Dearest Friend",
as your spirit rose above us
and surely said the same.

RIP Mackinaw - our friend of almost 15 years. Joined the angels on 12-27-2018

Mackinaw and his kids

Sherry: Oh, my goodness, Margaret, how you have captured this wonderful dog! "Thank you for loving my children all these years." Please pass the Kleenex.

Margaret: Well. Mackinaw, for almost fifteen years, was my kids' constant companion. He taught them kindness, loyalty and joy. He was a big "fuzzy monkey" who has taken a piece of all of our hearts with him. Never underestimate the importance of a dog in a child's life. Perhaps my favorite photo is the snowy one above. His spirit is so visible here.

The group photo with "his" kids is the last image we have. He was put down about an hour later. He couldn't walk without stopping and he couldn't support a sit for long. He had to lay down. He had also stopped eating (except for bacon and salmon - which I fed him generously. ;) 

Sherry: The last loving thing we can do for our dear furry friends is to release them when they reach this point. What a wonderful dog he was! Thank you, Margaret, for sharing his beautiful heart with us.

I came across Jennifer's farewell to her beloved Druke, and asked if we might add her voice to this feature. Let's meet another wonderful, loving dog.

Druke, ready for command (fetch!)

EVERLOVE (Softly To Be Let In)


This poem is about a dog,

you know the one,
the one who danced in the kitchen
with the kids after dinner;

the one who nibbled gently
on your shirtsleeve
when you played and scratched and loved him;

the one who howled happy,
and barked deep if asked to speak,
but softly to be let in;

the one who taught you more
than you taught him.

This poem is about a dog
who, with his final breaths,
looked you, each, in the face
one long, loving, last time.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

In Memory of Druke Wagner 2000-2016

[ “Druke” is how we spell his name, pronounced “drug/droogk” meaning “friend” in Russian.     до свидания, друг ]

Sherry:  Sweet Druke, with his loud bark for speaking, and his soft voice, to be let in. Oh my goodness, so hard to say goodbye to such a friend.

Jennifer: He was the sweetest, most gentle boy, and I wanted the poem to reflect that as well as capture a few special moments we shared with him. We got him when he was about two years old from friends who could no longer care for him. He was just what we needed to make our family complete. The boys fell in love with him instantly, of course. Every dog needs a boy, as they say, so I think he was pretty happy having several boys to love.

Druke the day we got him

True to his nature, as a Labrador Retriever, he loved to swim and fetch in the water. Even as he got older and didn't get around as well as he used to, he still loved the water and became almost like a puppy again when we'd take him to it. But he was never a hunting dog. The sound of a gun shot, even the sight of a gun, scared him. He was definitely a lover, not a fighter.

Sweet boy Druke

He was truly mellow and obedient. He did have a few little wild streaks, but even then, it just made us all laugh. I refer to some of those times in "Friend". Like when he stole a ham from someone! Our boys would often play in the cul-de-sac with him, and on a few occasions he snuck away. One one such occasion, he came prancing back, proud as can be, with a ham in a bag. We have no idea who lost their holiday ham, but we were laughing so hard imagining someone unloading their groceries only to find their ham missing!

He was so fun and so good and a wonderful friend. He often slept at the foot of my bed, especially on nights my husband worked. In his last days he was quite ill and could not make it up the stairs so we made a nice bed for him downstairs. On the night before we had to let him go, he came up the stairs after all the kids had gone to bed and came to our room. I was so surprised to see him sneaking down the hallway! It was like he was smiling at surprising me and being his old self for just a few moments. I told my husband and we both just cried knowing it was so special.

I had to wipe my eyes and blow my nose writing this! We are glad for the time we had with Druke, and our new dog Cooper is surely fun, but we still do miss our loyal, gentle giant.

Cooper 

New Year

Your collar, green,
his, blue.

You, so polite,
of course, he bites
(as new things do).

But how much he looks like you—
the curl of his tongue in Snoopy yawn,
stretched out
on the rug

where you lay, it feels,
only moments ago.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Cooper 2017

Sherry:  Perhaps the way we most show how much happiness our dogs bring us is by opening our hearts and homes to new dogs, and passing that love along. Thanks, Jennifer, for sharing Druke and Cooper with us. They are both so beautiful. Druke was very special.

I have written a book of poems about Pup, and the grief of missing him. It was eight years this January, and I still have tears at the thought of him. I expect I always will. 

collage created by The Unknown Gnome

COYOTES AT LAST MOUNTAIN LAKE

I heard the coyotes howling
as evening fell
at Last Mountain Lake,
and I thought of you,
my old wolf-pal,
and how you would tip
your nose up to the moon
and howl mournfully
for all the wild places you loved
that we had lost.

Then you'd come to me and rest
your forehead against my knee,
wearily, for comfort.
We loved and lost so much together,
old pal of mine.
But, always, we had each other.

And now I am alone.
My nose tilted up
towards the moon,
an inner howl
expressed in secret tears.
Still missing our wild beaches.

And you.

     ***     ***     ***

Sherry: When I wrote the above poem, I was still living inland, missing Pup and the beach together. I hope his wild spirit gallops along with me on my beach walks, now that I am back to the shores we loved so much.

Gah! They give us so much love.  How we miss them when they leave us. 

Thank you, friends, for sharing your loving poems and your wonderful dogs with us. 

Do come back and see who we talk to next. Hint: next week's feature is all about cats!

Poems of the Week ~ by Mary, Kerry and Myrna

This week, my friends, we are featuring three lovely poems by Mary, of In the Corner of My Eye, Kerry, of  Skylover: Collected Works, and Myrna, of   Daily Spirit . Each poem is a statement of simple values, resonating with the comfort of those small joys that make up our lives. With the external news so consistently bad, I hope you enjoy these moments of profound simplicity and peace, that recharge our batteries and remind us of all that is good, and immediate, and ours.

GRASS STILL GROWS

The grass still grows

 trees take root

birds warble

and dreams take hold

The wind still whistles

butterflies dance

coyotes howl

and spirits soar

The waterfall still tumbles

penguins dive

monkeys climb

and hearts sing

And life still continues

overcomes disregard

nature perseveres

despite human misdeed

Sherry: I love the reassurance in these lines, Mary, that somehow, no matter what is going on, nature and her cycles continue on, in spite of us.

Mary: I wrote this poem when I was in search of hope, which seems in short supply right now. In order to find hope, I decided the best thing is to contemplate beauty in the sights and sounds of nature and to realize that, despite human failings and foibles, nature will persevere.  And, even in the worst of times, if we look around us we will see that ‘grass still grows.'

Sherry: You succeeded very well, Mary. In much the same vein, Kerry recently wrote a beautiful poem about small daily joys. Let's take a look.

SIMPLICITY

Some days, the best I can hope for is a simple brew

sipped from a rose-patterned cup

in a sunny kitchen

with a dog panting nearby

fresh from rolling on the grass

dusty but sweet-smelling

and the flash of a kingfisher through the window

one that perched long enough for me to tell him,

“Oh, you beauty” before he flew away.

Sherry: Sigh. These are the very best moments of all. 

Kerry: Thanks, Sherry. It is such a little poem, written on the fly, so to speak. I really don't have much to say about the process, except that was pretty much my morning.

Sherry: And a beautiful, peaceful morning it was. It is a joy to read. Thank you for this note of brightness and beauty, my friend.

We have another morning moment from our friend, Myrna, another poet who reminds us often to be grateful for all that is good in our lives, in the middle of so much that is distressing in the larger world.

MORNING MEMORY

The orange moon at dawn

Was like dripping ripe fruit

Which I visually tasted

As I watched it sink 

Into someone else's night

Winking at morning's sun

Becoming bright

Like a salute or a blessing

An intimate au revoir 

Between light and light

How privileged I was

To witness this exchange

A present from the gods of love

Showing me affection

In that tiny drop of eternity

Into which I can still dive

Backstroke swimming through time

In my mind

Sherry: I am so grateful that those gods of love continue giving us such gifts of beauty and wonder, no matter what. There is so much breathtaking beauty, everywhere! Myrna, this is so lovely. 

Myrna: Usually dawn awakens me and I immediately go to the front of the house to watch as the sun brightens my mountains.   But this day I couldn't sleep and I got up earlier.  I went instead to my back yard in time to see sky's beautiful spectacle.  The moon was descending over the valley as the blue of the sky became lighter.  The moon's color was unusually orange.  I was mesmerized.  I didn't even try to photograph the scene, which was as much a vision as it was an almost ecstatic experience.  There I stood, paralyzed, engraving the morning to my memory.  Mother Nature was showing off the power of her beauty.  It was one of those moments one can't fully explain.  I was so totally present.

I tried to paint the scene, but my amateur skills didn't come close to depicting what I saw.  Then I wrote this poem.  My words are insufficient, but I did my best to describe that unforgettable morning treat.

Sherry: You described it so well, we see the scene ourselves as we read. This is just gorgeous, Myrna. I like that you engraved it on your memory rather than trying for a photo. Photos don't always capture the totality of what we are seeing. Thank you so much for this poem.

Our thanks and appreciation to these three fine poets, for lifting our hearts, and for showing us there is still so much beauty, so much to be grateful for, in our lives and in the world.

Do come back, my friends, to see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

POEMS OF THE WEEK - WENDY, MYRNA AND ELIZABETH

This week, my friends, we have poems of inspiration from Wendy of Words and Words and Whatnot, Myrna, of Daily Spirit, and Elizabeth, of Soul's Music. The poems seem to share  a theme of digging down deep to hold onto peace and hope, in the midst of the turbulence around us. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did.

Wendy recently wrote a poem that spoke to me. As much as we love and fear for Mother Earth, it is in her wild places, by her lakes and rivers and forests, that we are most likely to restore our peacefulness. Let's read.

P.M. Bourke photo

THIS PLACE OF GIANT STONES

Again, last night, I dreamt that I was falling – as I often have, throughout the slumbers of my life – though lately, such dreams, have lost their ability to bother me … much. I suppose if you experience anything enough times, over a long period – and live – it loses some of the power it once had, to alarm.

In other aspects of my life, as well, I seem to be developing – in my senior years – a different relationship with fear. As the panoramic vista of the valley of the shadow begins to come into view – albeit, off in the distance (though clearly there is no getting around it) a trepidatious acceptance has started to settle upon me. Though I know (all too well) that, tragically, life can end at any age, the expectation is that human life spans will follow a predictable pattern. Having had the good fortune to stick to that pattern, I am grateful that I have been blessed with (what my Mother used to refer to as) a 'good run’. I like to think I’ve struck a pretty decent bargain for myself … a kind of just-let-me-roll a fair way beyond my threescore years and ten – and I’ll be good to go. I am curious to see if that bargain holds.

This acceptance of the inevitable, may always have been a feature of deepening age … though, the scale of the turbulence and destruction of the times that we live in probably makes coming to terms with our mortality considerably harder than it was for our ancestors. They had planted their seeds (figuratively and/or literally) on a beautiful earth and those seeds would flourish, long after they had passed. Today we – all of humankind – are leaving this planet with far less optimistic prospects. And that – for most of us – is not a nice feeling – and not the way we would choose to leave it … if we had a choice. In effect, we will go to our deaths in fear … in fear, for our beautiful planet. … and all that lives upon it.

That is my – greatest – fear … and I know it is a deeply felt concern that many of you share. I fear for the children of this world. What a world we are leaving to those innocent little souls. I am afraid for their future, and I am afraid for the planet that we are in the process of destroying.

When I was a very young child, a shocking scene from a war torn country came into our living room via the nightly news. And when I asked my Mother what was going to happen to the people that had been filmed, she said: “Life finds a way”.

And so, I turn, again and again, to the sky and the sea and the forests and such places … that are life affirming, and to such people … who are active and engaged in initiatives to heal this earth. I do what I can, to try and make a difference. And I live in the hope that … life will find a way.

this place of giant stones
that time and river transform –
in the vastness of this earth …
so many miracles
waiting to happen

We have come to a place where, those of us, who love this earth … live … and die … in the hope … of miracles.


Sherry: I resonate with the feeling of acceptance, of inevitability. A deep resignation is coming over me, who has for so long believed in the transformation of human consciousness, that light will triumph over darkness. Like you, I find my peace and strength in the wild places, that so want to live, to survive, as does Mother Bear and Sister Wolf. As do the struggling peoples of the world.

I share your hope for miracles. And I love your mother's quote: "Life will find a way."  With or without us, she will. 

Wendy: “This Place of Giant Stones” came out of my very strong concerns about the damage that is being done to our planet earth – primarily over the last one hundred years, through human-caused (anthropogenic) climate change. 

In 2007, The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (a 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.

That stunning prediction was issued 10 years ago.  Since then, very little – in terms of what is required to stem this looming disaster – has been enacted.  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. 

I think, people of conscience, have always been predisposed to extend their vision beyond day-to-day concerns.  But the issue of global warming brings a whole new urgency to awareness and active engagement, simply because it is an issue that cannot be ignored.  We all must do our part to try and heal this planet.  As a writer, I write of my concerns … and the impending dire, consequential end result of climate change – is a big concern. 

Personally, as a poet, I find that the haibun and prose/tanka forms, work well as poetic vehicles when writing to extrospective issues (some might say:  universal issues)  – and I have found myself turning to that prose-poem format more and more, lately.  Perhaps it’s a sign of the times.  

Sherry: I share your worry, Wendy. With the new regime in the U.S., I am newly alarmed. The planet doesn't have four more years to neglect climate change.  Those predictions are very sobering. We are feeling the affects already, in many places. 

Thank you for this powerful poem, and for sharing your knowledge and your concern. 

Myrna wrote a poem that really spoke to me. With all the No's on the nightly news, Myrna found an Inner Yes. I think her poem will help us to find ours, too. Let's read:

RUNNING TOWARDS HOPE

I'm giving up
No longer will I persist
Expending energy like fumes
From an old bus
Dark smoke polluting my lungs
In stead my heart will
Positively beat
A different drum
Whose noise rises
Above
the tunes of doom
That I fear

No longer will I focus on what
May be inside black holes
I'll turn my cheek the other way
Only looking where the moon is bright
Enough to illuminate my night
Though I know it is the night
That may reign
In hearts like coal
Waiting to burn
Us, who resist
The blindness of dark power

I will say NO to thoughts
Of peril, feelings of helplessness
That haunt my emotions
I'll let my shadow cling
Trying to defy the sun
While I keep running
Reaching for the brilliance
Of my YES

Sherry: We must reach for the brilliance of that YES! Wonderful, Myrna.

Myrna: "Running Towards Hope" came about after a dinner out with friends.  After we talked about our lives, the inevitable discussion arose.  We are all concerned about the condition of the world, One of my friends spoke about the importance of not succumbing to the weight of the world's problems.  She talked about need to keep our energies in high vibration so that we not only resist negative forces but overcome them.

She spoke of how we need to maintain our spirits high so that we vibrate at higher frequencies.  Then she asked what we all do to rise above the grief when we are feeling low.  There were many responses.  Some refrain from watching the news, others seek the company of children, others meditate.  I realized that at one time or other I also did all these things.  But nowadays I usually elevate my mood by going outside, walking, spending time with nature.   I also get a lot of joy from drawing and painting too but I get the biggest burst of high energy, happiness?, when I write a poem that I especially like.  I know I am not yet at that place of joy, of being able to escape the effects of  what goes on in this world, but I'm trying to take my friend's advice and run towards hope. Though I clearly see the negative, I will try to stay positive.

Sherry: And I will, too, Myrna. Your friend is right. We need now, more than ever, to be beaming positive into the world, to assist the transformation of consciousness, to not let the dark side win. Thank you for this beautiful and wise poem. It is inspiring.

Elizabeth's poem is about turning to one's inner resources for strength - as well as to our online friends, who know our hearts so well. Let's take a peek:

something about a grain of sand
and how the part is a manifestation of the whole

___Thotpurge

GRAIN OF SAND

I see the pity in your eyes
when you find me here
always in these rooms
alone in a world, I seldom
enter.

Joke about being a Hermit
and, although you smile,
it is softly thinned by nodding
glint of darkness and
disapproval.

You are aware of the gap
and curvature at base of spine
that continues to shorten
my stature, while slowing gait
of others who walk alongside.

Yet, I accept that you don’t
understand, how easily I slip
into this chair, type a few words
and am instantly in touch
with a world beyond your ken.

Because my ‘friends’ are people
who love words, I have tasted
exotic spices of India, smelled
pale orange roses of Australia,
and walked the beaches
of British Columbia with a wild
black wolf, at my side.

You shake your head sadly, say,
“You need to get out.” And never
know how, each day, I travel
further than you have ever dreamed
of being.

Elizabeth Crawford  4/24/2017

Sherry: I am a hermit, too, Elizabeth, so I really resonate with this poem. And with the online community being our connection to other poets, and to the wider world, and that being more than enough. I especially love your closing lines. It is true, we travel farther than our real-life people ever dream. I love this poem. 

Elizabeth:  This poem came very quickly. On the spur of the moment, I decided to use the idea of “Inspiration” for the April PAD Challenge. Specifically, where I find it. Which meant many of my poems for the month were inspired by lines, or words, I found in other online poets’ work. 

When I read the line from Thotpurge's Unfaithful Eye, I immediately began hearing echoes of other words thrown at me through the years, by family and friends.

My Mother: "You are still young enough to find a nice man to take care of you." My response: "Can’t find what I’m not looking for."

Older Sister: "Are you sure you are not a lesbian?" My response, after hysterical, raucous laughter: "Yes, I’m sure."

Both friends and family: "But, why would you do something you don’t get paid for?" My response: "Because I love doing it and find the deepest satisfaction in that process?"

The poem itself is a deeply personal response to someone I love and cherish, someone who believes that the time I spend on the computer, writing, is akin to the nerds who turn away from living and get lost in gaming and such. And although this individual knows all about my physical disabilities, and loves me, she is dedicated to getting me out and about, believing that will cure all of my ‘ills’.

After writing it, I finally remembered a piece of scripture that helped me to understand a bit of where it came from:

New Living Translation
"Hypocrite! First get rid of the log in your own eye; then you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend's eye."

Which brought me back, full circle, to Thotpurge’s "grain of sand." And also reminded me that a Prophet (for me that means Poet), is never totally embraced in his/her own home town, or space. 

Sherry: I love the equation of Prophet = Poet! And I laughed almost as hard as you did, at your family conversations. We poets are such a conundrum to our families. Smiles.

Thank you, Wendy, Myrna and Elizabeth, for this thoughtful sharing of how you each draw from your depths the resources that get you through and keep you strong. I feel newly encouraged by your words. I hope our readers do as well.

Isn't it wonderful to read the wisdom of three such strong women, my friends? I love it! Do come back, my friends, to see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!