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Pictures I took in the Agora
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SOULS AND DANDELIONS
My soul, as if it were the
down-soft fluff of a dandelion, borne on a gentle rush of
breeze, arrived with my first breath, and I became me. In
that moment, I knew all truth, and embraced all wisdom, and
I was whole. Like a photo fading to gray, it vanished, and I
could only cry for what was gone, for what had been a part
of me in that one shining moment. I can not remember what I
knew, only that I knew it and that it was everything that
mattered. I think the years of my life have been spent
searching for what was lost. Parts of it I have found in
love, in laughter, in moments of dream fulfillment, and
sometimes, in flashes of understanding, as my eyes met those
of another, or my heart felt at one with some bit of music
or the lines of a poem. But I have never known the sense of
being whole, complete, that I held for that brief moment
when my soul left the source of all souls and became only
me. One day a gentle rush of breeze will come again, and my
soul, like the down-soft fluff of a dandelion, will release
its hold, rise and sail away home to its source, and it will
sing again, whole, joyous, complete. I think of that when I
pick a dandelion whose golden days are past and with a
gentle nudge of breath send the softness that remains flying
away to be reborn.
A PUPPY NAMED ZIPPER
I touch the memory of a playful puppy named Zipper, taken
from me and killed when I was eight because he scratched the
child next door, and my heart cries out.
I think about Judy, with whom I laughed and shared secrets
and vowed eternal friendship, and ask myself why we lost
touch a few short months after she moved away.
I relive the moment a chance came to pursue a dream, and
wonder what might have been had I not hesitated until it was
too late.
I remember people I loved and times I lived,
gone now.
The years brought losses that were pinpricks, forgotten in a
moment, while others lodged in my soul. But losses compound,
And now, my heart cries out for all of them, when I touch
the memory of a puppy named Zipper.
AFTER 9/11
We will smile again.
Our laughter will pour forth
to ease the ache that lives within us.
But our laughter will not be the same.
We will play games again,
wear the colors of our teams
and cheer for them to win.
But our cheers will not be the same.
We will fly through the skies again.
With fading fears, we’ll board our flights
and soar away to places near and far.
But flying will not be the same.
We will pick up our lives again,
return to work, enjoy a movie,
plan and dream with each new day.
But dreaming will not be the same.
We will tell children they are safe again,
that no more buildings will fall down,
that monsters will not hurt them as they sleep.
But reassuring children will not be the same.
THE JOKE (After 9/11)
I heard a silly joke today, and laughed.
Then, brought up short by guilt,
I wondered if a decent person laughs
with thousands dead.
Hell, yes! If they silence all our laughter,
Then the terrorists have won.
So I chuckled, and I chortled, and I roared.
You want to hear the joke?
DECEMBER 7, 1941
My folks and I were in church that beautiful Sunday morning,
when someone handed our minister a note, and he interrupted
his sermon to say that our country had been attacked. The
Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. It was December 7, 1941. I
was a little girl, and I was frightened.
I asked Mother, “Are the bad people going to come and hurt
us?”
She hugged me and said, “No, sweetheart. We’re safe. They
won’t ever come here.”
I asked, “How do you know they won’t come here?”
She said, “We have airplanes and ships and soldiers to
protect us. They’re going over there to stop them. They
won’t let anything happen to us here.”
I asked, “Who are the bad people?”
She said, “They live in another country.”
I asked, “Where do they live?”
She said, “Far, far away, across the ocean.”
I asked, “Why do they want to hurt us?”
She said, “I don’t know.”
I helped my father plant a victory garden.
I learned to knit squares for afghans to send overseas.
I collected tin cans for my school’s scrap metal drive.
I listened with my folks to the radio, as Edward R. Murrow
reported battles a world away.
At night, I said my prayers and asked God to keep our
soldiers safe.
I asked my parents, “Will the war ever end?”
They said, “Yes.”
Today, more than half a century has passed and again, we are
at war.
Now, today’s children ask,
“Are the bad people going to come and hurt us?”
What do we answer?
“How do you know they won’t come here?”
What do we answer?
“Who are the bad people?”
What do we answer?
“Where do they live?”
What do we answer?
“Why do they hate us?”
What do we answer?
The children sell lemonade to collect money for victims’
families.
They write notes and letters of comfort.
They proudly wave small flags they’ve made.
They see images on TV of devastation and chaos and courage.
They light candles and pray for our country.
One day they’ll ask, “Will the war ever end?”
What do we answer?
ANTHEM
From some great well of life I burst
Ten thousand springs ago, and first
Took form, watched seasons pass and grew,
Till hardly knowing what I knew,
I breathed, “I am!”
Now, once again and still I wake
To seek the whole for which I ache,
Through love and loss and change to grow
Into the self who sings, “I know
Now who I am!”
From that same well of life I’ll burst
A thousand springs from now,
Athirst to understand at last the why.
My psalm of life complete, I’ll cry,
“Dear God, because You are, I am!”
(This is for all those who have lost someone they love. I
amended it slightly to place on the wall for mementoes at
the Oklahoma City Memorial to the victims of the Murrah
Building bombing.)
AFTER
In a world where there is no more you,
I will go on, for people do.
Get up tomorrow, work and live,
And give what love I have left to give.
And time may ease my heart’s deep ache,
But this is true, make no mistake,
Never for me now, nevermore,
Can anything be as it was before.
THE WEAPON
At three o’clock in the morning, they rouse me,
bang against my head, clamor to be heard,
refuse to let me sleep, threaten me with dreams,
demand that I must listen. Insist I let them speak.
They surge from my heart, break free of my soul,
rush, race, tear through every part of me,
down arms, past bone and muscle, till they burst out
through my fingertips and find their battleground on paper.
Do I resemble Don Quixote, tilting at windmills with my
words?
Will they crumble to dust upon the wind, or soar away,
take root and shade others one day from the sun? No matter.
Words are the only thing I have. Words are my only weapon.
CONTEMPLATING THE HOUR GLASS
I spend so much time on all the “I musts,”
Still more on the nagging “I shoulds.”
I have to find time, before it’s too late,
For the “Oh, how I wish I coulds.”
DOWNSIZING
We sipped chocolate sodas, and he walked me home on a soft
spring night. Only first love, innocent and sweet, can be so
tender. But we were too young, and I had to let go.
I watched as pain and weariness drained her life, she who
had always been there, loving me, protecting me, until at
last cancer won, and I had to let go of my mother.
The years took their toll, and the work that gave my life
purpose was beyond what energy I had left. I was too tired
and could simply keep up no longer. I had to let go.
Now I am old, and must downsize, keep only what I need to
live. Still, I hold back Grandmother’s bowl, a music box
that says my memory of Capri was real, and little else.
Kids and missions carry off the rest. You think it is hard
to see it all disappear? I don’t even cry. I am a veteran,
and I have let go of far more important things.
GOD SENDS THE RAIN
Rain is the universe in tears
For all the sorrows of our years.
I sometimes think God sends the rain
To tell us that he knows our pain.
To those who fail although they try,
To those that mourn a dream that died,
To those who find love was a lie,
God sends the rain. God sends the rain.
And when in time the storm has passed,
The healing sun returns at last.
Perhaps God means the sun to say
“Begin again in this new day.”
And when at length there comes fresh pain,
To share our heartache once again,
God sends the weeping, pounding rain.
God sends the rain. God sends the rain.
Thus runs the pattern of our years,
Days of sunlight, days of tears.
And when our time on earth is done
And all our battles lost or won,
To those with lonely years ahead,
To those who grieve for words not said,
For one who lived, who now lies dead,
God sends the rain. God sends the rain.
HOPE
Hope lifts its head with a crocus.
It romps in the play of a child.
And sometimes, when things seem darkest,
Hope winks from the side of a smile.
LINES IN THE AGORA OF ATHENS
Great father of our thought, oh, Socrates
Too late I gaze on marble your eyes knew
And trace the paths where once you stepped.
For time had stilled you voice through millennia
While yet I slept, and waited to be born.
I wept for my great loss, for time’s mistake,
And walked alone.
Yet, might it be each century that passed was kind?
Could I so cherish all you taught
Had I sat listening at your feet?
My mind has seen your truth by time’s clear light.
My pilgrimage complete, I turn to go.
How sweet the scent of flowers blooming
‘Mid the broken stones.
MY MIRROR LIES
My outside may be fifty,
The mirror says it’s true.
But here’s the part that’s nifty,
Inside I’m twenty-two.
PAYMENT
How bitter is the toll of time
As its bright scythe bites deep.
In pity, memory’s left behind,
Time’s only gift to keep.
VACANCY
Her hands, blue-veined and fragile now, lie quiet in her
lap. Her daughters chirp away about how much she’ll like not
having this big house to keep. They say, with Daddy gone,
she'll be far better off where someone keeps an eye on her
and other ladies, now alone, will share her days. One hand
flutters up to push away well-meaning words. "But what will
happen to my cat? And who will tend to my azaleas then?" A
quick squeeze of her shoulder, "Don't worry, Mom, it'll be
okay." "This is my home," she says, "I came to Smithville as
a bride. Here is where we raised you kids. It's where your
daddy died." They start packing, discarding, sorting through
drawers and chests, pictures and clothes, the treasures of a
life-time. Silent now, she strokes her cat and holds it
close. She tries to picture how her house will look, how it
will feel, alone and empty after fifty years. And deep
within her heart, she knows. The vacancy has begun.
AMBUSH
I am too careful now to think of you if gentle breezes touch
my
hair on summer nights or a man’s deep laugh floats through
an
open window. When I glimpse an unknown figure moving through
a
crowd with your unstudied grace, I turn aside, remember some
small task that I must do. I push my memories away, forget
they’re there. Till feeling safe, I stumble on some new and
lovely
sight and think, “Oh, he’ll love this,” then reel beneath my
heart’s
astonished pain.
REBIRTH
Now weary winter’s worn away.
No more skies of sullen grey.
“Green! Green!” shouts joyous Spring,
And life bursts forth in everything.
Just so, my season of despair gave way to hope,
Once you were there.
RECONCILIATION
“Mid the charred remains of long-lost years
Lie ashes, grey and cold.
Remembering dreams that once lived there,
I feel lonely, sad and old.
Then something shining meets my eye,
Bright memory, untouched, whole.
I pick it up and fold it close,
Salvage my heart can hold.
If only I... if only you...
Ah, no. It’s useless crying.
I forgive myself for all I was not.
And I forgive you for dying.
BLUES FOR A SMALL LOVE LOST
Never did our hearts soar singing to the heights,
And never did we speak of love that would not end.
But God, I miss the laughing,
The foolish flights of fun,
The talking, touching.
Oh, my lover-friend.
CANDLES
Last night, my eyes flew open wide
To darkness.
I reached for where you once lay warm
And close.
Then, rising, lit a candle, to feel
Less alone.
Then another. And another, to ward off
The ghosts.
CASTLES IN THE SAND
(This was written as the lyrics for a song.)
Most days find their place in time and space,
Their memory’s lost in the sands of time.
A few golden moments live bright and clear,
And never ate touched by the hands of time.
There once was a day, do you remember?
The two of us walked hand in hand.
A warm, happy day, do you remember,
When we built our castle in the sand?
We laughed like children and splashed in the sea,
And built our castle so lovingly.
With blue skies above, not a cloud to see,
We promised each other eternity.
Our castle was swept away with the tide.
Then fog rolled in, and sunlight died.
Forever was never meant to be,
At least it was not for you and me.
Sand castles don’t last, I know that now.
But just this once, if I knew how,
I’d relive that day, we’d play in the sea,
And I would love you, and you would love me.
And if eternity could not be,
I’d kiss you, my love, for the memory.
Then tenderly I’d take your hand,
And we’d build our castle in the sand.
There once was a day, do you remember?
The two of us walked hand in hand.
A warm, happy day, do you remember
When we built a castle in the sand?
Come with me now, I know you can,
And we’ll build a castle in the sand.
Before the tide comes, I’ll take your hand,
And we’ll build a castle in the sand.
CLOUDY DAY
Purple shadows cross my mind,
Raining drops of doubt.
Just tell me that you love me,
And watch the sun come out.
CREED
I searched my soul for what is true
And found three things:
God, love, and you.
DUST
The door, long closed and barred, creaks open slowly to the
space where love once lived. No hint remains of
long-abandoned dreams, but golden shafts slip through the
windows of my heart, bright memories, which warm and wound.
From every corner, silence broods and echoes with what-ifs.
The choking dust of old regrets lies thick in every room. If
I'm to sweep the whole space clean and never to return, I
must forgive myself for all that I was not. I must forgive
us both for losing all that might have been.
FOR DICK
In the Spring I sunned in the glow of my perfection,
Reflected through your eyes.
We were special, rare, unique! And the
Universe arranged itself just for us two.
I smiled and smugly said “I love you.”
In the summer came the ripeness of our love.
We tasted of each other as we were. Then
floods of tears swirled us apart until we
grew, and reached again to gravely touch,
and tentatively say “I love you.”
Now it is Fall. I know you well, and
name you as my friend. The hard-earned
harvest of our years is bittersweet to share.
We find October skies are very blue, and
These are lovely days to say “I love you.”
With Winter coming on, I shall lay up stores
of evenings spent in talk and watching firelight
on your face. It is enough to know I shall curl
snug and warm against your back and turn with
you in our sleep. No need for words to say “I love you.”
Ramona, for Dick
October, 1978
OF TIME AND ROSES
Do wild rose petals still recall
The caress of spring rain, once they fall?
Does a soaring butterfly hold the thrill
Of wind ‘neath its wings when its wings are still?
Does the memory of melody linger on,
Somehow, for a lark. when its song is done?
Only they know. But I know this:
You’re gone from me, but your voice, your kiss,
Nothing in this world can replace.
Our hearts that beat in a wanton race
Will echo as one at the core of me,
Throughout all time. Through eternity.
OUR WORDS
"It doesn't matter" should have been "Let's talk."
"Forget it" should have been "I'm sorry."
"No" should have been "Yes."
"Goodbye" should have been "Don't go."
Silence should have been,
"I love you."
One day, I'll find words tender enough
To tell our beginning,
Shining enough for what might have been.
I'll accept the words of our story's ending
And walk away, without my heart breaking.
PHANTOM KISSES
Beloved, cover me with phantom kisses. Brush them across
my hands as they stroke the pillow where you laid your head.
Let them fall on my eyelids to dry my tears, and press them
to
my breasts to ease my aching heart beneath. Cover my mouth
with phantom kisses until you take my breath away and draw
my soul to yours. Oh, let me share with you eternity’s
embrace.
JOY
Joy puts on flaming scarlet
For her taunting, twirling dance.
She laughs and beckons danger,
Flashing fire with every glance.
Too soon the music’s ended.
One whirl and she is gone,
Trailing memories of madness.
And the magic lingers on
Then Peace comes, clothed in silver,
Soft kisses soothe my pain.
Her tender touch, her beauty,
Urge me to live again.
I should lie quiet in her arms,
Sleep sweetly and forget.
Yet all night long I listen
For the click of castanets.
PROMISES
Once you said you’d love me forever.
Once I said I’d always be true.
If I had kept my promise, my love,
Would you have kept your promise too?
SECRETS AND SEASHELLS
Secrets and seashells are meant for keeping.
Wild baby rabbit must go their own way.
the same silent hills await each spring,
But the lilacs of April bloom only a day.
I’ve grown wise. I don’t weep
For a joy I can’t keep.
I touch it and then set it free.
I say you’ve gone where the lilacs have gone,
Since you and your love left me.
Pictures in scrapbooks are meant for keeping.
Sweet searching kisses last moments, that’s all.
The words you once whispered will always be mine,
But the sound of our laughter I can’t recall.
I’ve grown wise. I don’t weep
For a love I can’t keep.
For love, to be love, must be free.
I say you’ve gone where our laughter has gone,
Since you and your love left me.
Lonely today, I retrace fading memories,
Dreaming of lilacs and laughter and love.
I pick up a seashell, and in its echo,
I hear the magic that once you wove.
I’ve grown wise. I don’t weep for a love I can’t keep,
For love, if it’s love, must be free.
I say you’ve gone where the magic has gone,
Since you and your love left me.
THE GIFT
His gift was a surprise, not tied to an occasion, a surprise
because silence had carved deep caverns into the space
between us. We left no more silly notes on one another's
pillow. Yet, there it was, tied with a ribbon, in a black
leather box, which said he paid far more than we could
afford.
I opened it slowly and caught my breath when I realized what
it was. A Greek coin from the Age of Socrates gleamed as if
it had been minted yesterday, a heavy chunk of silver that
the great philosopher himself might have used to buy a
drink. Goosebumps traced a path along my arms.
My eyes filled with tears, and I turned to him, intending to
ask why.
He smiled, and I knew. A thing of value can survive.
THE NEWSCAST
On ABC News last night, I heard the president repeat that
Saddam has weapons of mass destruction and we must stop him
before he uses them.
What if he’s wrong?
As the somber face of an Iraqi child filled the screen, her
teacher said the six-year-old cries, because she is
terrified that her parents will die, that she will die, when
our bombs start to fall.
What if she’s right?
TOMCAT
Cat-like your challenge stalks me now.
There, leaping at me from your eyes,
Here, wrapping ‘round me with your smile,
So softly growling through your touch,
‘Till now, you pounce upon your prey,
And prowl my jungle, proud and sure.
Tomcat! Hear me purr.
WINTER MOMENT
The frosted gold of winter sunlight
Filtered softly through bare trees.
High on a limb, his head thrown back,
A lone bird sang.
You reached for me.
Remember?
THE HAND THAT'S DEALT YOU, REFLECTIONS AFTER 9/11
I thought today of Dad’s father.
When Grandmother died, he piled his children into a covered
wagon and headed west, bound for Texas. Illness, hunger,
fear of attack, he faced them all. Out of the wilderness, he
carved a home, he made a new life for himself and his
children.
I think he’d say,
“You step up and play the hand that’s dealt you.”
I thought today of Mother.
Raised to privilege, she never complained when her fortunes
changed, but just worked harder to make our lives happy.
The Depression, loss, war and cancer. She knew them all
and managed to find faith amid them. Her love was the rock
of our family.
I think she’d say,
“You step up and play the hand that’s dealt you.”
I thought today of our young.
Now they face challenges unknown before,
and dangers that never have been imagined.
But one truth shines though for each generation:
life is not easy, it always is dangerous,
yet, despite everything, there is joy.
“You step up and play the hand that’s dealt you.”
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