EYES IN THE MIRROR

I look in the mirror and who do I see
A wise old lady looking at me
How do I know she is wise?
It’s that knowing look deep in her eyes!
But who she is I do not know
And where I wonder did the other one go?

The one whose eyes were always so clear
Looking back at me, when I glanced in the mirror
Smiling with ease, dressing with flair
Painting her lips, or brushing her hair?

“ Gone” the old lady’s eyes say
“The girl, then the woman, they both went away
From now on, it’s just me you’ll see”
Surely not, I protest, how can that be?

I search the mirror trying to see,
the girl, then the woman who for so long was me.

Something is different about that look of mine,
the changes are subtle, hard to define.
Feature by feature, my face seems the same
But the mouth is all wrong; perhaps lipstick’s to blame.
I apply lip liner, then a shiny gloss too
But the lips still don’t look right, my smile’s all askew.

Then I see what has happened, no doubt a surprise
When the crows missed the edge of my eyes,
They slipped off my nose,
and had to grab onto my lips with their toes
Leaving behind the track of their feet
And me with a smile that no longer is sweet.

See, says the old lady, what I told you is true
The woman and girl are gone, I'm the new "you"
We have no need for the mirror, you and I
We are free just to be, new things we must try.


Now we can savor the sweet fruits of time
Listen to music, play with rhyme
Sing in the morning, dance in the eve
Take joy in the moment, and try not to grieve.
From all things petty, we now are set free
letting laughter win out, over "poor me".

We may live and love gladly, not counting the cost
Knowing once given, love never is lost,
that a day spent in giving, brings its own gift
a heart full of gladness, with power to lift
any cloud that would hide joy from our sight
bringing peace to our slumbers
as we lay down for the night.

The girl and woman may be here for a day
But a spirit that’s bright does not fade away.

Michael's 40th Birthday

Forty years is a precious block of time
Filled with many moments, both humble and sublime

I remember how it all began……
Mema and Bopa watched from the breezeway as we drove away
“She’s got a lot of grit”, I heard my dad say.
I took strength from his words and hoped he was right
As Gene and I set out on that crisp autumn night.

Our baby was coming, a life born of our love
We prayed God to watch over the child from above
Making him healthy and blessing his life
Protecting him always from danger and strife.

At 7:54 on the following morn
At Emanuel Hospital, Michael Patrick was born.
Bright shining eyes looked up at me
The most beautiful babe you ever did see.

When we showed Scott his new brother, he kissed his cheek,
But the smile he wore was a little weak.
After all he was only two and couldn’t know
That this baby brother would one day grow
Making childhood happy, their lives a good blend
And that one day they would be each other’s best friend.

“Benji, Benji, what you doing Benji?
Are you going up and down?
Are you going round and round?”
Michael made up this song when he was about 4 years old

An imaginative child, Michael was creative in play
If Scott and John ignored him, he just went his own way.
“Watch”, my dad observed, “See what happens now”
Soon Scott and John had left their play
To watch Michael dig with a trowel
Or build a tower out of sticks or take apart a toy to fix.

As student, scout, or altar boy, Michael always did his best
Earning many honors and passing every test.
He had an inner strength that still is his today
Empowering him to set a course and hold it all the way.




Michael’s future was decided one August day
When he stepped on a nail that went in all the way
Two months Michael lay in a hospital bed
As nurses looked worried and the doc shook his head
A specialist was called to see what he could do
After several days of trial, he made a break through
Ordering a new drug and round-the-clock IV
And surgery to clean the bone, Mike’s foot was finally free
Of the awful bug that had caused us all to moan
How blessed the day, when we brought Michael home!

Carpentry class was out, drafting class was in
And so Michael set out on the path before him
Combining his skill with computers and creative design
A career as an Architect suited him fine.
He completed his studies at PSU and UVA
When he earned his Master’s, we all cheered “hooray!”

Michael is not only a master of architectural design
Whatever he creates always is “fine”.
Second best will just never do
It has to be “perfect” before he is through.

Handsome and strong, Mike’s hugs are the best
Now he and Elizabeth have made a nice nest
Filled with love, dogs and guinea pigs too
They hope to know joy all their days through.

That is also my hope, and mother’s prayer
And that God will keep my son always safe in his care.

San Francisco

Sunshine and blue sky, sweet breeze off the Bay --
San Francisco welcomed us to enjoy a week of play.

Piers 33 through 41--We walked along the boardwalk, checking out each one.
Seafood and t-shirts, and bric-a-brac galore.
Ferry boats in blue and gold lined up along the shore.

We traveled to China Town and wonders did we see –
a fortune cookie factory, and shops with Ginseng Tea
Alley ways were narrow. We walked in single file.
Laundry hanging overhead made us stop and smile.

We traveled along the shore of Monterey Bay, -
Stopping at Cannery Row for a few hours stay (Steinbeck Country)
We sampled Chowder and Chocolate, treats for our tummy' --
then we were off to spend our souvenir money.


The Pebble Beach "swells" did not turn us away –
Eyebrows raised, they managed a smile
inviting us to see The Lodge where celebrities dine here in style.....
and to step on the links above the Monterey shore
where Bob and Bing played.. hearing crowds roar.

For $450, we could have played too --
swinging our clubs, our putts sure and true.
But with sighs of regret we had to decline –
Our bus traveled on, we had no more time.

Carmel was next, where the stars shop.
Donna was eager for our bus to stop.
She wanted to find something snazzy,
and soon found a jacket both classic and jazzy.

Next day we boarded a launch out into the bay ---
traveling to Alcatraz just a few miles away.
Touring the prison, we were not alone --
Ghosts walked beside us, chilling our bones.




After the stench of the prison, we sought a sweet scent for our nose....
And that's just what we found when we entered the "Stinking Rose".
An Italian eatery, where garlic filled the air
turned out to be the answer to our prayer.
Music pounded and the food was a delight.
It was time for us to party on this San Francisco night.

Our Italian Queen, Isabelle, soon held center stage,
as our waiter sought to win her, without causing her to rage.
Isabelle chuckled softly and granted him a smile --
while the rest of us cheered, laughing all the while.


Our last day we dined on gourmet cuisine,
as our 1915 train carried us through a landscape serene ---
of grape vines and hill tops and wineries grand.
Napa Valley is truly a beautiful land.
Now when we buy a bottle of wine,
we will know that its origin truly is fine.

Last night in Frisco..Zoe and I dined at a restaurant looking out on the Bay....
It has been a great week, new sights every day
Tomorrow we would leave, but we hated to part --
Just like the song..San Francisco had captured our heart.

Star Power

When “stars” shine down on the lake and tree
Sometimes I think I almost can see
The “star” that shone over Bethlehem long ago
Lighting the way to where we should go.

Now that’s just plain crazy you say
You can’t see” that star”, there’s just no way!
It was over 2,000 years ago
Whatever you see, it’s not its glow!

True, years have past, but “stars” don’t disappear,
They travel around year after year
Somewhere in space is the “Bethlehem Star”
Gliding through galaxies, sending light from afar
So there’s a chance on some “starry” night
You could look up and see the very same light
That shone on the stable and lit up the sky
When the Christ Child was born,
On that day long gone by.

And the very same power that lights up the “stars”
Is not far away, it also is ours
It gives life to our planet….the leaf on the tree…
The bird at your window, and yes, you and me.

God’s truth and love flow in the Light
Bringing Joy to the world, making all bright
Sending Peace to settle deep in our soul
Binding our wounds and making us whole.

The Light that led shepherds and kings
on that “starry” night……..
Beckons us still to do that which is right…..
To care for each other and try to be kind…..
And be not so quick to tell what’s on our mind
But take time to listen and try to forgive
So the Spirit of Christ may be seen still to live.

MUSINGS AT THE PUMPKIN PATCH

I seem to have arrived at a new place. I came by way of a hay wagon and ended up in a pumpkin patch.

It wasn’t easy getting here. I had trouble getting on and off the wagon, but when I needed help, hands were there. I took them gratefully.

I think of all the hands I have known….my mother’s small soft hand; my dad’s strong one; my husband’s hand, capable and sure, my sons’ -- young and firm, my granddaughter’s angel’s touch. I have known strangers’ hands as well. All of them have been kind. I am lucky.

Sometimes the wagon ride was bumpy and I had to hang on; other times, it was wonderful and I laughed with joy.

I descended a metal ladder placed beside the wagon. In the distance, the west hills were silhouetted against the sky, a soft shadow of blue. The fields around me stretched far and wide vibrant with orange pumpkins and strewn hay. Harvest time. In the spring new buds peeked out of the soil, in the summer vines reached out and flowers bloomed; now it is pumpkin time.

Like the pumpkin, my cycle, too, is almost done. Will some child race to wrap her arms around me? I am here for the taking. Open me up. I have seeds to share. Time has carved my face, but it can do with painting. Do as you wish. I am yours. We do not have a lot of time you and I. In days or years, my flesh will rot. Not a pretty sight. Pumpkins don’t last forever. But while I am here, I hope to make you smile and give you a taste for that which is sweet.

Mountains and Molehills

Now we don't mean to give you a fright
But there's something about your mammogram that doesn't look right.
Probably nothing, but you never can tell
There is also a chance you may not be well.

SO if you could manage to come over today about 2:00
We'd like to take another look at you.
It might take a while so they can check everything out
Maybe an ultrasound will tell what it's about.

So that's how it happens, I thought
A call on the phone, and you know you've been caught.

I examined my boobs, pressed here and there
But I was unable to feel a lump anywhere.
Still the radiologist wanted to take a new look
Like a fish on the line, I squirmed on the hook.

My mother once said,
"Something will get you and then you'll be dead!"
Was this something being carried in my 38C,
Just getting ready to get rid of me?

My life flashed before me, years quickly spent
But as to their passing, I have no lament.
I've experienced the wonder of living
A miracle true, that allowed me to "be"
And to know God and you.

As the technician placed my left boob in the slammer
I was oddly calm, my heart didn't hammer.
She took several poses, close-ups, too
Then checked her computer making sure she had the right view.

"One more", she said. Covering a small mole with a patch,
She secured my left boob, with a swift hard latch.

"It may take a few moments. You can read if you wish."
I could not read. I could only stare.
In such moments I'm not good at prayer.
I figure God knows,
so it's not up to me to tell him how the wind blows.

The technician came back with smile.
"It was as I suspected all the while.
Finding problems is the mammogram's goal
But in your case, what it found was a mole."

It Happens

There is a moment when you are alone

Maybe washing the dishes or reading a book

That you stop what you are doing and turn around to look

Listening in silence for sounds once there

The squeak of a chair, a footstep on the stair

That says “I’m here, sweetheart. No need to be blue.

I’ll be there in a minute, right beside you.”


But soon the minute passes, and no presence do you find

Only shadows rummaging in the closet of your mind.







Bonnie

Dwelling Places

Because I believe the Spirit of God
Does not need a house of wood or stone
Does not mean I think He is found in nature alone.

Wherever folks gather in worship and prayer
Then the Presence of God is certainly there.

Whether in tent or Cathedral,
when men try to show
their reverence for God,
with heads bowed low
asking for wisdom to lead lives that are good
and the courage to honor that truth as they should,
I believe God must smile as he watches them pray
glad they are trying to find just the right way
often reaching out to lend them a hand
so that deep in their hearts they will understand
they were never meant to do it alone;
It is the Spirit of God who will show the way home.

God's Dwelling Place

“Unchurched” they say.
Northwest souls gone astray!



A church of wood or stone

Is made by flesh and bone

A good place for a flock

To pray together and talk.



But it was not always so

A few thousand years ago

Men perceived God on mountains high

Where their eyes lifted up to see the sky.



They heard his voice, but would not say his name

God was not something men could claim.



But we are creatures who like to own

Our God must be ours alone.

We must be the “chosen ones”

Specially picked, most favored under the sun.



So Hebrew nomads put their God in a box

And toted Him around over sand and rock.

Only men Holy could touch it they said,

If you try, you will surely be dead!



Although it is said God protested,

Once they had found a suitable place

They built a great temple, with a secret space

To house their God and keep him safe

From the unclean and lowly

So that only men Holy could glimpse his face.



Last week I camped on a high mountain lake

And I swear -- the Spirit of God was everywhere.



In every breeze, I felt His touch,

Knew Love unbound by human clutch.

I didn’t have to search…..He was right there

Talking to me, as I listened in prayer.



Now I must be clear. It wasn’t a human voice I heard

It was the essence of God which requires no word.

I felt myself one with rock, water, and tree
Part of a whole, that still values the special thata is "me".


So ”churched folk” need not despair

God is not confined to a church

He is “Everywhere”.



But most easily found on a high mountain lake

Where the Spirit of God is there just to take.

Seasons

Seasons come and seasons go
Round and round, from sun to snow.

Not only years, but cycles too
The babe, the child, the woman full grown
In which cycle am I? I try not to moan!

For those who shared my last springtime
You know it was great!

Doing things silly, sometimes a bit wild
Enjoying the moment, while around us love smiled.
.
Then summer came on and sped by fast
Now that autumn is here, I hope it will last.

For winter is coming, with cold winds and ice
What can I do to make that season nice?

I will keep logs on my fire and candles burning bright
So no chill can catch me or darkness cloud my sight.

And an apple pie baking in the oven--so sweet smells fill the air
Then invite friends to come over to sit down and share.

I will listen to guitars and turn on all the lights
Reading tales with happy endings way into the night.

Still when my seasons end, I wonder where I’ll be?

On some sunny shore,
with those I knew before—

Or like an atom on the wind, my course may be set afar
Traveling through time to some distant shining star.

Surely it is possible there are wonders yet to see
Or maybe this little ditty will be all that’s left of me.

Her Nordic blue eyes smiling,

Doreen welcomed us to her home in Rockaway,

to share some time together, a relaxed and happy day.

Everywhere we looked, there were wonders for the eye,
An orchid at the window, a plant that snapped a fly!

In her sunny upstairs haven, the sky spilled right in
Splashing light upon her canvas and art that made us grin

Of golden dogs watching as God and man play ball
And cows in party hats staring from a pasture on the wall!

Doreen’s paintings thrill the eye and warm the heart
Revealing that fun and beauty are seldom far apart.

We picnicked in her back yard, amid flowers of every hue
A warm sun on our shoulders, beneath a sky of blue.

With a cocky puppy smile, Piper invited us to play
Nuzzling and nibbling, he soon got his way.

Happily we could have stayed in Doreen’s backyard all day
But we had planned for a hike, and time was slipping fast away.

So while Bob chopped wood, the rest of us walked along the beach,
Doreen said that a distant river would not be too far to reach.

We strolled along, a carefree happy band.
A strong south wind behind us, as waves swept across the sand.

Pelicans from Mexico kept watch upon the tide
As seagulls circled overhead, seeking winds to glide.

Wild Flower Wind

We were out for a hike, a day in the sun
To take a deep breath, partake of some fun.
Bob drove our bus with great expertise
As looking out windows we saw waterfalls and trees.

We were out to find where the wild flowers grow
High on a hill, the Columbia River below.
At last round a bend, we were finally there.
Sure enough, flowers waved everywhere.

The Wildflower Wind greeted us, shaking each one
As it whooped round the bus in a spirit of fun.
We smiled and tried to be polite,
Pulling on our hats, zipping jackets tight.

But the Wildflower Wind just pushed us on our way
Glad for a romp, a few hours of play.
We followed a path through a land warmed by the sun,
Watching the Wildflower Wind through the tall grasses run.

We admired the flowers, birds flying too,
But as to their names, we had not a clue.
We laughed at ourselves for being so dumb

Not knowing the flowers for which we had come.

The Wildflower Wind knew, but said not a word

Secrets are kept by wind, flowers and birds.

After all it had been just a lark,

Showing the slow-witted hikers around in her park.

HAIL "MALE GREGG!"

Bonnie….”, Dr. Sherman said
“Time to wake up, lift up your head”
The O.R. was still, the bright lights not on,
My tummy was flat, the pain was all gone.

I looked to my side and what did I see?
My baby – my son - from my body, now free!
Two tiny fingers in his mouth were held tight
A sweet little cherub, swaddled in white.

Should we call him Gary or Scott? We couldn’t decide
When I asked the baby, he opened his mouth and cried.
To have such dim-witted parents was very bad news,
Having no name would give any babe the blues.
The nurse at first asked nicely, then she began to beg
Finally she simply wrote down “Male Gregg”.

By the time we got home, we had decided on Scott
It seemed to fit the cute little tot.

At 9 months Scott took his very first step
Soon he was running, climbing on chairs
Into my cupboards, down basement stairs.

At a year and a half, Scott made his very first friend
A boy who liked to play cars or just to pretend.
It is now forty years, since that very first day
When Scott and John Pitman got together to play.

A short time later, I was back in the OR
Heaven had sent us another bright star.
Again we had trouble choosing a name for our son
We thought about Gordon, but the name Michael won.

Soon there were three in the backyard each day
Running about, laughing at play.
About the time they entered their teens
Their adventures began to have a new theme.

They had Star Wars fever, and nothing would do
But they make their own movie, and all the sets too.
Scholars of English history, they decided also to try
Making movies about kings in days long gone by.

Hours were spent writing the script.
Reading it over, making sure everything clicked

Then they began to began to build on the ground
castles and churches and a whole medieval town.
They designed each structure and cast each mold
So buildings would look right, when their story was told.
They assembled their cast of small figurines
And cameras in hand, moved them about, scene by scene.

Next they constructed a sci-fi set in the garage
Where captain and crew could comfortably lodge.
This time they acted themselves in the story.
When they entered the Northwest Film Festival
“The Price of Friendship” brought them honor and glory.

25 years have past, Scott is now 42
He’s captained his ship, with a vision that’s true.
He’s had adventures a plenty, known sunshine and rain
Holding fast to the tiller, heedless of pain.
Keeping eyes focused on the star of faith shining bright
That leads travelers through the darkest of night.
For each of us travels through time and space
Not knowing what will happen next
Or just how to find our place.

Scott’s met every challenge, trying to do his best
And in his mother’s eyes has past every test.

BIRTHDAY BLUES!

How do you do,.... 72!
We’ve never met before
I’ve only seen you at a distance
Now I’m knocking at your door.

This neighborhood is new to me
I’m not sure just what to do
I don’t feel that I belong
I need a tip or two.

My old address was down the hill
a fair and happy place.
I used to rise each morning
filled with heaven's grace.
But just last week some disturbing news I learned
I would have to leave, because the calendar turned.

When the calendar turns, there is not a doubt
Your time is up, the clock has struck, and you must get out.

People are tired of your ditzy tales,
You're no longer cute or funny,
You may not drool, but you're no longer "cool"
So off you go, unless, of course, you have money.

Since my purse only holds a nickle or two
it was perfectly clear what I must do.
Climb up this hill, get the lay of the land
Try to find some place not built upon sand.

I've seen some pretty gardens, but some deep craters too
I'll have to watch my step, or I might fall right through.

The dress code, however, seems to be quite clear
I believe I'll have no problem fitting in here,
No need to buy anything new
Whatever is in my closet will do.
Long sleeves are in, short skirts are out,
But jackets are great for those who are stout.

Still I’m not sure about accessories
Like that plastic plug to stick in my ear
so when someone speaks I'll be able to hear,
or those socks that come up to my knees,
to keep my blood flowing with just the right squeeze.

Do I need to go out and buy a new cane
Just to be ready when my knee crumples in pain?

Perhaps we can sit down - you and me
Talk things over, maybe sip tea
I don’t suppose you have anything stronger
That would let me hang on a little bit longer
To that sweet vision of the place I once knew
Before I knocked on your door, ...72!

Thank God For Good Friends!

Thank God for good friends,
With patience aplenty
Because as to talent
I’m not sure I have any.

My rhymes do not
Lift sweet songs to the sphere
My jingles more often cause
pain to the ear.

Still when I get started
I can’t seem to stop
Words tumble around
Like a fast moving top.

It’s as if the poem knows
What needs to be said
It simply has to get the lines
into my head.

When finished, the poem demands to be free,
It wants to meet you, it's tired of me.
Singing in cyberspace is what it would do
And so, reluctantly I email to you.

Of course, once released from my PC
That poem can easily make a fool out of me.

Dreaming

Caught in the maze
I cannot sleep
My worries confound me
I try not to weep

2 o’clock, 3 o’clock
Then it is four
My thoughts circle round
I am sad to the core.

I decide to try a trick known to work
Focus my thoughts where pain doesn’t lurk
One moment of joy, a time free of care
When hope made me smile and vistas were fair.

But caught in my maze
Each path I pursue
Leads me right back
To my sorrowful view.

When I am worried, I’m not good at prayer
It seems indecent somehow to bring up God’s error
To gently suggest he needs to correct a mistake
That allowed so much trouble on us to break
To ask him to fix things, make everything right
So that sorrow will flee and I can sleep through the night.

I awakened at 6, so I did sleep it seems
And managed to have a quite happy dream.
I was at a gathering of the old DS gang
Willy and Kathy and Mary, Mary Anne too
Some strangers were there, but most folks I knew.

We sat at a table to review a software brand new,
designed to help youth and those older too
It's creator had credentials unmatched
planets and goldfish were his ideas hatched.
Mankind had challenged his wits to the end
but he was determined to achieve what he'd planned from the start
make them the kind of children to warm a dad's heart.

Vision 2007 would not need a PC
Just a current of love between you and me.
Also important would be a faith firewall
So when viruses attack, your system won’t fall.

In my dream, we had neither question or doubt
This software would work, we were ready to shout.
But when I awakened, I was still caught
with worries aplenty and unhappy thoughts.

Then I remembered, it was as clear as a flute,
When new software's installed, you need to reboot.
Take some time out, a fresh breath or two
Then let the new program take charge of you.

If everything doesn't work well at first,
I'll try not to worry, nor let my faith burst.
With patience, I should be able to figure it out
After all the folks in my dream had not a doubt.

Mystery on Mason Street

You have to admit it’s certainly weird
How that woman on Mason Street just disappeared.

On Thursday morning she was seen mowing her lawn
After that she simply was gone.

The garage door was up, the car in its place
Her purse on the table, but she was gone without trace.

The doors were unlocked, so foul play was suspected,
But after careful search, no clue was detected.

Despite all the efforts, she never was found
It was as if she’d been swallowed into the ground.

And that is just about what happened. While mowing my lawn, I stepped into a sink-hole and had to hoist myself out with my hands and feet. It was above an old cesspool that had been closed over 20 years ago. I was muddy, but no worse for wear. Still, I thought how funny it would be to disappear like Alice down the rabbit’s hole.

CHANGING PARTNERS

My Olympus was tired,
It’s motor was sprung
After thousands of photos,
it’s work days were done.
I hated to see our relationship end
That battered old camera had been like friend.

Whenever someone blew out a candle
Or rode up on a bike,
waved from the stage,
or climbed high on a hike
Whenever my granddaughter built a castle in sand -- all those times and more I had my camera in hand.

Finding a new partner is a hard thing to do
How do you know the one right for you?
I searched the internet,
Read every review,
Compared feature by feature
But wasn’t sure what to do.

Finally I decided to go to a store
Sure enough there were cameras galore.
I picked each one up, trying to see
Which one might be the right one for me.
But not one seemed to welcome
The touch of my hand
Each bore encryptions
As from some alien land.

I knew not their language,
And I’d about given up hope
I could find a new camera
I was such a dope.

Just then approached a lad about 22,
He could read the symbols
And explained what to do.

Soon, he assured me,
I could be taking photos with ease
Using this camera would be a breeze.
But I saw him hide a smile
As he watched me reach for the camera
And turn each dial.

I brought the camera home
And opened up the box
Once we were alone
That camera eyed me like a fox.

It knew I could not handle
Such a clever fellow
The more I tried, the worse I felt
My nerves had turned to jello.

Still I persisted,
Returning only twice
To seek out the young man
For a just bit more advice.

Finally I had a bit of luck
A little part inside the camera
Managed to get stuck.

I packed up the fox
In its small littered box
and hunted for the receipt,
Hoping as I held my breath
it had not been dropped upon the street.

But, no, there it was right in my purse
When I read what it said, I had no need to curse.

Within 14 days of purchase, it was OK to return
Ordinarily there would be a 15% restocking fee
But since my camera broke, I could return it for free.

When I found the red-vested lad
I told him his wonderful camera had been very bad
I demanded my money back from the store
And head held high, stormed out the door.

Of course, I had to keep on searching
I could not let it be
Surely somewhere out there
Was a camera meant for me.......

And one day I found one
just waiting for my touch
We’ve had no trouble so far
And like each other very much.

Now when a seagull
Flaps his wings to settle on the sea
I can catch his image in my lens
and keep him part of me.

Lift Me Up....

Lift me up, so I can see
That cave up there
Beside the tree
The one with the stone rolled aside
Let me look, see what’s inside.

Mary says he’s no longer there
but how can that be?
I saw him crucified
I heard him cry out upon the cross
Saw his bloodied hands and side,
I felt the thunder and saw the flash
The moment that he died.

I watched them take him down
and wrap him in a cloth of white
I saw them lay him in the tomb
Just before the fall of night.

Life is cruel,
We are filled with despair
Lost is our hope
We have no strength for prayer.

So lift me up, I need to see
That an empty tomb is no place for me.
I can cast off my worries,
And walk in the “Son”
Knowing the battle is already won.

Heaven's Messengers

On a glorious St. Patrick's Day morning, I settled down with my coffee and newspaper. Right off, I found a tale about a man whose life is as strange as any leprechaun’s. Instead of guarding a pot of gold, he is the protector and caretaker of the Pilgrim Virgin Statue of Our Lady of Fatima, Portugal. For 14 years, he has been accompanying her on a pilgrimage around the world.

I read in the paper that the statue was at The Grotto, just a few blocks from my house. It could be seen between the hours of 8 AM and 12 noon. I looked at my watch 10:45! I threw down my paper and put on my coat. Fifteen minutes later I was in line.

MEETING THE PILGRIM VIRGIN STATUE AT THE GROTTO
Standing in the line were folks just like me
who had read about the statue
over their morning coffee.
We marveled at the statue's journey
and the dedication of the man
who had devoted 14 years to being its right hand.

Carl himself came to greet us
passing out small books
dressed in a fine grey suit,
he had the proper guardian look.

He said, "If you do not want to wait
you can come into the chapel
take a pew and meditate."

That was not for us.
We had come to see
up close and personal,
the image of the Lady
first glimpsed atop a tree.

The same one Lucia saw
nothing less would do.
We might even see the statue smile
or shed a tear or two.

I wondered who had guided the carver's hand
to make the statue's face so true
to Lucia's vision of the Lady
she once knew.

Did some angel whisper in the carver's ear,
"a little less there, a little more here".
Was the mahogany destined from the start
to become Our Lady's statue,
not some simple piece of art.

When my turn came to see the statue
I felt a moment's shame.
Where I had come in curiosity
the statue looked on me
as if she knew my name.

I wondered if Our Lady
might have some message just for me.
I listened, but no word I heard
no vision did I see.

I yielded my place at the altar
to the person next in line,
but as I left the chapel
a thought came into my mnd.

The statue in the church,
the vision in the tree,
our Savior on the cross,
become the lens through which we see.

God has wisdom that freely He'll impart
but first we must clear our eyes
and purify our hearts.

I pondered what would happen
if all those in line
from Maine to Madagascar
took a moment's time
to heed the call for faith,
sacrifice and love.
Perhaps then shouts of joy
would be heard from heaven above.

Could our "me first" generation
put their wants aside,
to lift another's burden
and put away their pride?

Are we ready to stop bloodshed,
to erase hunger and pain,
to sacrifice our wealth
with no thought of power or gain,
but simply because it's right,
the thing we need to do
to bring peace to all God's children
including me and you.

If such were to happen,
it might mean struggle and trial
but then maybe, like Lucia,
we would see Our Lady smile.

Second Thoughts re: Matters of the Heart

Forgive me, my children, for an old woman’s view
What was right for me may be wrong for you.

Love that lifts and lasts
Has carried many through
But in fairness you should understand
The reverse is also true.

When you give your heart,
You also give its key
How that key is used will guide your destiny.

Whoever holds the key holds power over you.
So if you think “you’re in love”
Take a moment or two.
If you see the one you love treat others with disdain
Show them abuse, careless of their pain
Know that one day, when the flush of love is through
He/she may be just as cruel to you.

Hookups may be easier after all,
No stuff in the closet, not so far to fall.
Better than to struggle with a harpoon in your heart
Trying to get free, to make a brand new start.

Making new starts, of course, is what we have to do
Broken hearts will mend, and may be stronger too.

Still finding love may sometimes feel like swimming with the sharks
Danger fills that sweet caress stolen in the dark.
Do those eyes that hold yours
Mean you’ve found a love that’s true
Or simply that it’s meal time,
And on the menu now is you.

An old adage says “to your own heart be true”,
And that may be the best way
To find the love just right for you.

A Word of Explantion re: Today's Poem

"Hookups" I am told are now the "norm" for young people. The term suggests mechanical coupling not unlike a workout at the gym. Experiencing sex for selfish indulgence, seems to me a dangerous practice.

Not only does it put one’s body at risk, casual sex trivializes human connection. Men and women alike become objects of pleasure, to be used and discarded. Hearts become hardened. Once your heart is hardened, you may be less likely to be hurt, but you are also less open to love.

As a woman of some years, I'm here to tell you that although sex is great, love is better. It is not defined by a bodily act; it engages all of the human spirit. It transforms lives. It is the wind that drives the sail and will carry you and your loved ones safely through the most perilous seas.

However, such love is not for everyone. It is only for indivuals willing to hold fast to the rudder. If you are unwilling to do that; if sacrifice for love seems alien to you - hookups may be best. Tumble weeds, after all, need no rudder; free of roots they are driven by the wind.

Hooking Up

Love they say is obsolete
Emotions are a bore.
“Hooking up” is all we need
A tumble on the floor.

You may call me 13
I shall call you 24.
No names are needed when we hook
Just numbers to keep score.

You shall bring the condom
I will take my pill,
We’ll be each other’s ”little ipod”
Finding our own thrill.

Still there may be a complication
For couples linking parts.
Some may have a problem
Keeping out their beating hearts.

Once the heart starts beating
Your vision changes, too,
You may see the other person,
A perfect match for you.

No longer do you want to share
You want to be the “one”
Not for just a day or two,
But with every rising sun.

It is a flaw in our design.
No matter how we train our parts,
Emotions still will make us prey
To gambles of the heart.

First Blossoms

I saw him from my window
A robin on the limb
Looking out across my yard
Stretching neck and wing.

He cocked his head
As if to prove his vision had been right,
Pink blossoms on the cherry tree
Had been no trick of light.

You see, spring arrived this morning
For everyone to see
Me from inside my window
The robin in the tree.

I thought to catch the moment
Camera in my hand
But when I approached, the robin flew
And alone, I was left to stand

Drinking in the beauty of blossoms in the sun
Savoring the sweetness of Springtime just begun.

What's It All About?

What is truth? -- the question of the ages. Someone told me the answer yesterday. It did not come from the pulpit, or for some renowned scholar or philosopher.

The message was delivered by a young man I watched grow up across the street. He was a good boy, although I never thought him particularly wise. He took good care of his family. When his mother’s robe caught fire, causing severe burning, he looked after her for several months. When his sister suffered from ovarian cancer, he cared for her too, as he did for his father when lung cancer struck.

He worked 24/7 days a week to establish “Cruisers”, a restaurant in SE Portland. The restaurant was a success, but Carl wanted more. He flew to Honduras to find his bride, Maria. He brought her to Portland, bought a fine home, and fathered two beautiful children, now aged 4 and 5.

He is now in his early fifties. What makes him an expert about life? How is he different from you or me? He is not. It is simply that he understands what many of us do not.

About two months ago, Carl was diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus. It is in his lymph glands as well. Since he can no longer swallow, a feeding tube has been inserted in his stomach. If he chooses to eat for the pleasure it gives, he must spit out what he chews. Anything that goes down comes right back up. He is beginning chemo therapy. If it works he may have as long as a year to live. His life has become a round of visiting nurses and doctor appointments.

So what was it that he told me? Amazingly, Carl is not devastated by his fate. He believes in a “loving God”. His trust is certain. Totally upbeat, he told me that “Faith is what it’s all about!”

I thought of the hucksters who tell us that with good looks, talent, wealth, fame, romance, travel, the latest ipod, etc., happiness is ours for the taking. Alas happiness is not that easy to obtain. Like the butterfly, happiness is elusive. It may flutter nearby, but fear or discontent will drive it away. When you are screaming in anger or crying in self pity, it is nowhere in sight.

However, for those who know Carl’s secret, the one he shared with me, happiness often settles softly on their shoulders. Faith in a loving God delivers peace to the soul, no matter what the situation and that is an important truth.

Feather On The Wind

Feather on the wind
Seashell on the shore……
What will people see
When I am here no more?

Footprint in my shoe,
Diamond ring I wore
Picture on the wall
Hair pin on the floor.

Will anybody read all those words I wrote?
Will anybody hear the plea within my note?

To be present in the light,
As a leaf upon the tree
Knowing sun and rain
And breezes blowing free.