“How is your weather?”
We often say.
What if we meant,
“How is your day?”
What if we meant,
“How do you feel?
Tell me your story;
Tell me what’s real.”
“Tell me the longing
Deep in your heart,
Your joys and your sorrows —
That would be a good start.”
Longing for sunshine
On a dark, cloudy day?
Longing for peace –
Putting turmoil at bay?
Deep in our hearts,
Only God can fulfill
Our need for His love —
Let Him make your heart still.
[This poem was prompted by a bit of memory loss
as I get older, but also how some memories stay
longer than others.]
I cannot remember you name right now,
But occasionally, I do.
Your face seems more important somehow,
And that’s what stays in my view.
I cannot recall the time that we met,
Nor the place that we first were together.
However, it’s undoubtedly true,
That meeting, our connection’s forever.
I cannot recall some places I’ve been,
Or only but dimly in visions.
But somehow they stay so deep in my soul,
As if a location in heaven.
I don’t remember what brought me here,
Nor why I am in this location,
But wherever I am, God only knows,
It’s part of my destined vocation.
[I don’t especially like this poem I wrote, but I ran it by
some “friendly critics,” and they liked it, so here it is.]
Memories keep coming back —
My sins and failures of the past,
But, thankfully, the Lord was there —
To keep accusing — the Devil won’t dare.
Memories of friends that died,
Others, that I left behind —
Physic’ly, or in my mind.
Sometimes, perhaps, I was not kind.
Others left me at different times —
I didn’t know with my small mind
The reasons that would cause these rifts —
Perhaps they were a painful gift.
So many awkward, embarrassing scenes —
I almost have them in my dreams.
Still, better just to have a laugh
Than dwell upon a jumbled past.
Well, what’s a life without some pain?
Without it, some say, there is no gain.
And with a painful lesson learned
The joy that’s birthed is fully earned.
Could you be a farmer?
And leave the city, all secure,
Venture where it all depends
On God — and not on you?
But your hard work,
You’d never shirk,
If you were not to starve.
With breaking backs
Or robot machines,
You’d till the soil
By any means
To strain out, or
If the soil was rich —
Abundant food
That modern souls
Have not a clue —
The labor that
Our ancestors knew.
With sweating brows
And muscles that ached
From dawn to dusk,
For survival’s sake.
But surely there were
Good times, too.
The love of God,
The love of friends.
Quiet evenings,
As winter descends.
I’ve only read of farms in books,
The tales of homesteads,
Of babbling brooks —
Of Little Houses on the Prairie,
Of wild animals to be wary,
Of building cabins with bare hands,
Of bravely living off the land.
It’s a dream that might never be —
Still, younger folk can start, bravely.
Alas, old me, not strong enough —
Those people were made of sterner stuff.
I’ll keep on dreaming, and till my little plot.
Little dreams, too, can mean a lot.
They’re finally here, the robins dear —
They’ve hidden all the winter.
But now they hop across the grass
Like frogs, but all aflitter.
I only seem to see the male,
With red breast so distinctive.
His yellow beak, next to his cheek
Means spring is not a fiction.
There’s something bright, a great delight
When ‘cross the lawn he’s bobbing.
He never fears, he brings good cheer —
With joy my heart is throbbing.
All day long, the snow fell,
Softly, quietly; you couldn’t hear —
When your eyes were closed.
All the next day, we shoveled;
The mail was undelivered.
Could we hope for it the next day?
Or the next?
Yes, after dark the mail truck came,
One day, or two; some hours late,
Bringing news, and things to read;
The carrier freezing in his truck.
(But I’m hoping not –.
Do they wear electric suits,
Like astronomers, watching distant stars?}
I trudged out to get the mail,
And sorting it, found it not all ours.
Four pieces each, for neighbors next –
Should I venture out to deliver the rest?
Perhaps foolishly — yes, I went.
And on the way, looked to my left.
Two deer stood silently, watching me.
In the silence, dark, and cold,
We watched each other, warily.
Some days we see the animal tracks,
And even trails, worn in the snow.
Squirrels, birds, and chipmunks, too —
Deer and rabbits have passed through.
And today, with sun on snow,
A flash of red in bush does show.
A cardinal has come to eat
Some seeds I set out for a treat.
A rabbit came to our porch, too.
He tried some parsley, grass –
But few, the blades that he had picked to chew.
So blessed we are, with all these creatures,
God, through nature, a constant teacher.
[Inspired by recent observations of furniture restoration,
restoration of old homes, and boat repairs.]
Sand the nicks and fill the cracks,
Stain and varnish, maybe wax.
Smoothing, repairing, filling holes,
Some furniture — renewed from old.
Abandoned home, so full of junk,
Rats and mice, and smelly stuff.
Maybe gutted to foundation;
Now begins the restoration.
A leaky boat; it can’t be used,
A hole-filled shoe; it’s been abused.
A crack-ed window lets wind in;
Repairmen will transform these “sins”.
So take my soul, O Lord, renew
The parts that have rejected You.
Renew, refresh, and cleanse, until —
My soul with You is one again.
Passing through, don’t you know
We’re just passing through?
This journey of life, so full of strife —
We’re just passing through.
It’s all just a dream, or so it seems —
Sometimes a nightmare of terrors,
Or at it’s best — a comedy of errors.
The saints and sinners,
The losers, the winners.
The rich and famous,
The poor and infamous.
The weak, the strong,
The hopeful, the wrong.
All loved by God,
All beautiful in His eyes —
No time to compromise
His love for you.
Well, our older cat may be in her last days, so this poem came to mind.
It’s really more about people, but maybe it’s all connected.
——————————————————————
A meditation on death …
‐‐—‐———————-
The light shines for awhile,
And then it palls.
Remember the light
When darkness falls.
Remember the good,
Remember the best,
Hold on in your heart,
To memory best.
Think not of the end,
For it really begins
A new door to freedom,
A new door within.
Many good times
Of laughter and love.
All multiplied
In heav’n above.
Bury me by the river,
Though I hope to be heaven-bound.
If there are rivers in heaven,
They’ll be peaceful, and broad, and sound.
The water brings deep refreshment,
Its lapping, a spirit of calm.
When the saints go down to the river,
There will be a glorious song.
Oh, bury me by the river,
And I’ll think of you in my new home,
And pray for your peace and protection,
As through life’s trials you roam.
clarakatalin 