The Measured Thud of Walking Boots

 

Offering This Poem

https://www.instagram.com/abbielynnshanahan/

"Look upon the world and nourish

the places that cry out for joy."

It doesn't have to be loud...

this joy we bring.

It can be quiet and gentle,

even silent...a meeting of the eyes,

a look of understanding, a glance

that says, "I see you".

"consider the truth that we might begin

with that small act of rebellion."

Kindness and respect when both are absent.

It matters...you matter.

 

The Loved Ones

https://berrycenter.org/

These words give me pause...a long one.  

I read the words, again and again, thinking of  

loved ones who have died to this world.

Were they absent for a while?

My parents, two brothers, friends?

Have they come near me again?

I have not seen them in dreams,

( I seldom remember my dreams.)

I see them in my memories now and then.

Does that count?

And if I don't remember them there,

does it mean I didn't love them enough?

What a sad question, I say to myself.

I conjure them now as I consider this.

What about pets who have departed?

I have to ask.

I have not lost someone exquisitely close...

I cannot bear the thought...

and send it away immediately...

"They live now in the permanent world.

We are the absent ones."

This is comforting.

Still, it's easier to anticipate

returning to soil.

 

Solar

Thomas Centolella, Solar from Views From Along the Middle Way

I must be the sun.

I... must be the one

This is no small ask...it makes me realize

how much I want someone else 

to pick up that torch

and carry it for or with me.  

I don't want to be the only one 

to do the heavy lifting.

I must be the one to simmer

in the piquant juices of possibility,

though the ingredients are unknown.

For some reason I cannot explain

this feels slightly easier and more doable.

Not that it's without its downside...

it requires staying with possibility 

through thick and thin...not relinquishing it,

most especially when things seem grim and foreboding.

I must issue forth a warmth

without discrimination, and any guarantee

it will come back to me.

This may be a step too far...being the light

has to bring at least an infinitesimal measure

of satisfaction. No one else has to know.

The person glowing needs a tidbit or two or three

 in order to continue shining.

I have to be at the very least

one stray intact ray

of local energy, one small

but critical fraction

of illumination. 

Being our most authentic

messy and magnificent self,

in whatever setting we're in

IS being the light. 

We're already shining.

I have to shine as if

sorry life itself depended on it.

I wouldn't call life sorry...although,

reading history, I might be tempted to

call human life sorry...for the ways

we treat each other and our home.

Regardless of the drawbacks, 

I consider life, in all its grift and glory

a gift of amazing proportions.

 

We Don't Talk About War

It's hard to read words describing what

our sisters and brothers are living through.

The danger they are experiencing breaks my heart.

"We say we are fine, as if silence can keep us safe."

May it keep them safe...and may the silence

one day be made audible in a poem

so others can witness their troubles

and send empathy and compassion

to them over the invisible air waves

that join us all.

The sorrow is huge.

As is our caring and our hope

for an end to their suffering.

 

Little Hope

It feels very pertinent to 

"need a clean hard rain to wash away the world's troubles..."

We also need this clean hard rain to fill out rivers and streams...

to nourish our plants and trees...

isn't it wonderful that we benefited from this current "hard rain"?

May "hope itself gather in puddles overnight".

How I'd love to see giant puddles of water and hope

where children (and adults) can splash and play.

 

The Sea In Me

(editted 2026)