I Was Hope Once

It hurts to hear the rude awakening of reality

from the pen of this young poet.

I want to give it all back to her and say, 

Be Hope again....be hope always...

don't let anything cause you to give up on her.

There will be times you think she's left you.

But she's only hiding...wait, she'll be back.

The egg is sunshine in your mouth.

Dawn is a new poem waiting to be written.

Strangers are friends.

Keep on preserving their kindness 

as sweetness like jam.

Don't stop dancing.

Your curls are beautiful.

Rain may be sadness temporarily...

it will fill you and flow through you...

time after time and

there is still mist on your lashes

and waterfall blessings for us all.

Don't give up on hope...

A robust and muscular hope...

a steady, determined, clear eyed hope

where you do whatever you can to

nourish it and move forward.

 

Every Human

"every human is fighting a story you cannot see"

Each of us is living a story no one can see.

"every human you meet 

is a story you entered 

somewhere

in the middle."

We’re several chapters in before you enter.

"you missed the beginning."

The beginning was an ordinary miracle.

"the thing that happened." 

Child bride, teenage mother, rookie marriage, broken* home.

(*except it wasn't)

"the thing after"

Single breadwinner, traveling sales, hospice volunteer...

"the thing that happened."

Opening, unfolding, empty nest,

faith of my fathers passed away

women's way became my religion. 

"the years it took to become"

Roots burrow into the soil, fragile shoots, tender sapling, 

supple trunk  gathering momentum, bearing scars, 

reaching for the sky and beyond.

"who stands before you."

Without apology, in messy truth and humble dignity

"read gently."

Ever so gently, however....

"you do not have all the pages."

Someone's unknown story DOES NOT absolve them of wrong doing. 

Seeking understanding does not mean condoning damaging behavior.

Causing harm must have consequences.

(As I write this,  Mother Earth appears, sadly shaking her head.)

She knows she will survive our destruction.

She wonders if we will.

 

Gathering Nectar

"sweetness cannot find me when I'm not here."

This is my favorite line of the entire poem...

and one I will carry with me.

I read somewhere that nectar is bitter when the bees 

gather it and they turn it into sweet honey.

My research does not bear that out.

It seems like a subjective matter.

Someone said it tastes like sweet water.

Others say its bitter.

I guess the only way to know is to taste it

and decide for ourselves.

It just now occurred to me

that on Tuesday night a week ago,

I did fall asleep, and wake in the flowers

of a country of citizens saying

a resounding NO to the 

dismantling of democracy.

 

How Things Change

"Once there was a country with citizens

who forgot how to work together."

It was unsettling to feel and to witness the rending

of the fabric of decency and respect for each other.

"Whatever we will become is, even now, 

being prepared inside us."

Let us become better.  

Better at fairness, equality, justice.

Let us not let anyone or anything

divide us like this again.

Let us recognize the signals

and maintain vigilance.

"Sometimes, the story we think we know 

is not yet done with its changes."

Isn't it a tribute and a relief to us

as a nation, that we responded with such vigor?

The story being told for ten years changed dramatically

and it is marvelous to behold.

 

The Man Inside of Me is a Woman

 

Al Fresco

 Thought you might enjoy a bit of ironic humor

for a grateful Friday after the stunning election results.

"I enjoyed the man the bot conjured,

who echoed my words,

served me myself,

lovable as I was."

Let's consider being our own bot,

serving us to ourselves?

 

Prescription

"Pause each time you find even a hint of wonder."

Some of us might have to think about how our

body registers wonder?  The tears that flowed

upon reading about the results of the election

were one of my signals...

Soft alert:  wonder present!

Stand still and feel it...

in my lungs,

goosebumps on my skin,

something warm in the region of my heart.

Do I feel wonder in the region of my physical heart

or all throughout my body? 

Doesn't it start with my eyes, or ears or

a thought in my brain and spread out from there?

Wherever it starts and wherever it goes,

I'm intent on following it.

Let there be bountiful 

"upside-down commas

placed in the middle of the sentence

that is [our] life."