Spiritual Journey: Blossoming

/ Fran Haley / 7 Comments

On the first day of May, Carol Varsalona offered the theme of “blossoming” to our group of Spiritual Journey Thursday writers. Carol’s husband passed away at the beginning of April. She writes in her post: “When I signed up to host the Spiritual Journey, I felt blossoming would be an appropriate theme for May since it connotes a renewal, a new beginning, and personal growth. I did not think that I would face the sudden death of my husband and go through a period of grief.” She dedicates this month’s post to his memory, along with a beautiful poem about him; you can read about her spiritual journey here.

Carol is one of the people who aways inspires me to see and savor the beauty of nature. Whenever I read her blog, it’s like taking a rest stop in a flower-filled garden, where one can breathe the fragrance deep and be strengthened for the journey. In her present loss, she writes of May flowers coming along to remind us of renewal and resilience.

To me the blossoming flowers are a metaphor for faith itself. The beauty of the earth pointing us back to the Creator, in a world that buffets us with fear, uncertainty, sadness, brokenness, rage, and loss. The peace and healing our human hearts desperately long for will never be found on this path. “All the world’s a rage,” to put a twist on a Shakespearean line. An ever-maturing faith is able to cut a path through anxiety, blame, and fear with which the world deliberately keeps distracting and demeaning us, where some of the worst pain is inflicted by those we care about most. As the saying goes: Hurt people hurt people. Faith does not retaliate. It withstands. It endures. It continues to bloom, and its fragrance beckons others to carve a better path through the the world’s dense, thorn-filled forest, to the inner garden. It is there, in our hearts. It has always been there…if we choose to see it.

In her poem, Carol wrote of her husband collecting a bouquet for her. I am reminded that one day, our faith will be made sight. We will BE the bouquet, the Lord’s very own, gathered unto him not as cut flowers but ones that shall bloom eternally in his presence, in that promised place where there will be no more tears, no more death, or sorrow, or crying, or pain (Revelation 21:4).

When I am still, I can feel the warmth of the sun on those flowers of peace; they open up, releasing their perfume in the soft breeze that infuses my soul.

Beyond this world’s brambles
Lies a garden of faith-flowers—
Opening, ever-opening to
Sunlight—yes, the
Son’s light.
Our hearts are filled there
Mind-rambles stilled there
In the hush of His garden
Nurtured by the Gardener’s
Grace.

Finding a safe harbor poem

/ Fran Haley / 19 Comments

National Poetry Month continues, and while I have been writing a poem each day in April, I have not posted them all here on the blog.

Today I return to post about “safe harbors.”

Yesterday for VerseLove at Ethical ELA, poet Padma Venkatraman offered this prompt along with her own beautiful work as an example: “Think about a place that feels like a safe harbor to you – and bring that space alive in a poem.”

Ah. I knew exactly what to write about…

Haven

I should convert
one of the boys’
old bedrooms
to a study
where I can write
with fewer
interruptions

but here
at the kitchen table
is my place

here
there are windows
all around

I open the blinds
while it is yet dark

inviting the light
before its return

bringing with it, birds
rippling with song
praise for the morning
and the new day

these colorful
feathered visitors
peer in my windows
from time to time
like curious, bright-eyed
Muses

—yes, I am here
—yes, I see you, too

and sometimes
when my husband
turns on the TV
in the living room
I grow weary
of the news
and sports

but when
he goes away
he leaves music playing
for the puppy

playing under my chair
little ball of golden fluff
having dragged every toy
he owns
to my feet

where he whimpers
just now
to be held

and so I pick him up

he curls in my lap
while I write
to the background song
a’rippling:

If my words did glow
with the gold of sunshine…

yeah, the Grateful Dead…

here in my place
my beloved space

I write

ever grateful, alive.

******

Lyrics: “Ripple,” Robert Hunter/Jerome Garcia, 1970.

My Jesse

with thanks also to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge

Progressive poem 2025

/ Fran Haley / 9 Comments

I am honored to be part of a writing community creating a progressive poem throughout the month of April. There are thirty of us, and we each add a line when our day comes.

I am the twelfth. The final line in bold is mine…interesting to watch the poem taking shape! And in which direction will it go next?

*******

Open an April window
let sunlight paint the air
stippling every dogwood
dappling daffodils with flair

Race to the garden
where woodpeckers drum
as hummingbirds thrum
in the blossoming Sweetgum.

Sing as you set up the easels
dabble in the paints
echo the colors of lilacs and phlox
commune without constraints

-Now I hand the poem off to Cathy Stenquist!

Here are the contributors for the month:

April 1 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
April 2 Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect
April 3 Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 4 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 5 Denise at https://mrsdkrebs.edublogs.org/
April 6 Buffy at http://www.buffysilverman.com/blog
April 7 Jone at https://www.jonerushmacculloch.com/
April 8 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 9 Tabatha at https://tabathayeatts.blogspot.com/
April 10 Marcie at Marcie Flinchum Atkins
April 11 Rose at Imagine the Possibilities | Rose’s Blog
April 12 Fran Haley at Lit Bits and Pieces
April 13 Cathy Stenquist
April 14 Janet Fagel at Mainly Write
April 15 Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink
April 16 Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm
April 17 Kim Johnson at Common Threads
April 18 Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
April 19 Ramona at Pleasures from the Page
April 20 Mary Lee at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 21 Tanita at TanitasDavis.com
April 22 Patricia Franz
April 23 Ruth at There’s No Such Thing as a Godforsaken Town
April 24 Linda Kulp Trout at http://lindakulptrout.blogspot.com
April 25 Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
April 26 Michelle Kogan at: https://moreart4all.wordpress.com/
April 27 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 28 Pamela Ross at Words in Flight
April 29 Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry
April 30 April Halprin Wayland at Teaching Authors

Spiritual Journey: Lament

/ Fran Haley / 6 Comments

For Spiritual Journey Thursday (the first Thursday of each month), a fellow writer offers a topic for our group to reflect on individually. Then we write and share.

Today Ruth Hersey offers this: The topic I chose today, given that we’re in the second half of Lent, is Lament. The world has plenty to lament right now, and I suggest writing a Psalm of Lament…Aaron Niequist say[s] that a third of the Psalms in the Bible are about lament, whereas zero percent of modern worship songs are. 

I’m not sure I’ve ever written a lament.

Biblically speaking, they follow a general pattern:

  1. An address to God
  2. A complaint
  3. A request for help
  4. Expressing trust in God

And so I started with the following. I almost deleted it, but am choosing to leave it as a record of my thinking and my heart:

Oh Lord, my God
Creator of all
you have always been there

before the beginning
and never-ending

you have aways been there

in my joy
in my pain
in my sorrow
in my rage

you were there

before I knew You
when I forgot You
when I ran from you

and when I ran to you

you were there…

I know these things to be true; however, I am losing the point of a lament, which is to be an expression of deep sorrow or grief, yet not without hope, and not without seeking the Lord and ultimately trusting. I think I struggle with laments because their anguished cries to God can sound somewhat accusatory. That is not the tone I want. It feels like misplaced blame.

And so I turned to Psalm 13. It is the model for my second lament attempt, here…

How long, Lord, will I forget that You are here in the midst?
    How long will I try to carry my burdens alone?
How long will I grieve the ways of the world
     with human judgment clouding my heart?
 How long will my own flawed perspective blind me?

Look on me with mercy, oh Lord my God.
    Give me Your light, that I might see
Your ways, Your workings, unaffected by humanity
    which makes of itself an enemy.

Only in You do I wholly trust
    for only holy You never fail.
Grant me wisdom, strength, and grace all my days
    to live each one remembering and honoring You.

…it is still a work in progress, as are we all, thanks be to God, whose mercies endure forever.

Psalm 139 is my favorite of the psalms; I close here with its final verses as part of my daily prayer.

Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts:
And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

Spring verse

/ Fran Haley / 3 Comments

On the second day of National Poetry Month, Leilya Pitre hosts VerseLove at Ethical ELA. She offers this poetic prompt:

A tricube consists of three stanzas, each with three lines, and each line having three syllables—quick, rhythmic, and focused. It’s easy to remember as 3:3:3.

Begin by answering the question: What does spring mean to you?

I think I have an answer…

Spring’s Message

Morning sky
streaked rose-gold:
heaven’s yawn

Birdsong praise
rising on
wings of dawn

Green-robed earth
resurrects—
loss is gone

Versegathering

/ Fran Haley / 8 Comments

April is National Poetry Month, and today on Ethical ELA, VerseLove begins. Jennifer Guyor Jowett kicks off the daily poetry-writing with this invitation:

As poets, we are noticers of words and verses. They catch our attention. They resonate. They allow us to breathe. They sing in a world stuck in B flat…Find verses that you love, that speak to you. Collect them in a pile or a list. Shuffle them into a new poem. 

A poem of completely borrowed lines is known as a “cento,'” Latin for “patchwork.”

Here’s my collection:

Lightgathering

A certain light does a certain thing
as the bird wings and sings.
I saw color and I saw a story. I saw a face
and I knew a lifetime
as each separate dying ember wrought its ghost
upon the floor.

Come to me…the light is fading;
don’t you see the evening star appearing?
Enough of pointing to the world,
weary and desperate.
Love that well which thou must leave ere long
for love is as strong as death.

*******

  1. Ada Limón, “The End of Poetry”
  2. Robert Browning, “Rabbi Ben Ezra”
  3. Ntozake Shange, Riding the Moon in Texas: Word Paintings
  4. “
  5. Edgar Allan Poe, “The Raven”
  6. “
  7. Lyrics, ”Fantine’s Death,” Les Misérables, Hathaway & Jackman
  8. “
  9. Ada Limón, “The End of Poetry”
  10. “
  11. Shakespeare, Sonnet 73
  12. Song of Solomon 8:6

*******

with thanks also, and again, to Two Writing Teachers…today is Slice of Life Tuesday,
right on the heels of the March Slice of Life Story Challenge!

Saving the best for last

/ Fran Haley / 48 Comments

Late in the evening, my husband and I are sitting in the living room watching TV, when all of a sudden he lowers the volume and turns to me.

He says: “You know I love you.”

“Yeeeesss…” I reply, a little bell of warning jangling in my mind. Something in his tone….

“Well,” he goes on, “I have something to tell you.”

Immediate thought: Something is wrong. A doctor has called with not-good news. Anything is possible. Since 2015 my husband has suffered much: the loss of an eye, heart attacks, cardiac arrest, two heart surgeries, a spinal fusion, and this past winter, heart ablation to treat arrhythmias that left him light-headed and out of breath…

What now??

My own heart begins to fail…but I have to ask:

“What is it?” The only thing worse than knowing is not knowing.

He pulls up a photo on his phone:

“What do you think of this?”

A puppy on a website? I’m confused. “Precious!” I say.

My husband looks at me for a moment. Then…

“He’s ours. I put a deposit on him three days ago.”

What I am hearing? Is this real? Am I dreaming?

And then we both begin to cry.

He knows how much I’ve been wanting a dog since our youngest moved out last fall and took Dennis the dachshund with him.

I know it isn’t fair to expect him to care for a dog when his strength is impaired and I’m at work during the day…and so I’ve tried to let go of my longing.

But ever since the ablation, he’s been strong. Energetic. Renewed.

He is ready.

We are ready.

Ready for the next chapter of this beautiful life God has granted us, with our boys married and settled nearby, with our granddaughters growing up, bringing us infinite joy and laughter. Ready to celebrate the milestones of my sixtieth birthday this spring and our fortieth wedding anniversary this summer. Ready to love a little golden-red animal in our golden years…

Favorite lines from Robert Browning come to mind:

Grow old along with me!
   The best is yet to be…

And so it came to pass, on Saturday while the granddaughters were staying with us, that my husband brought our baby home.

Our granddaughter, Scout, was so overcome that she cried.

Our granddaughter Micah’s reaction…glee.

—Exponential joy.

We named him Jesse. Hebrew for God’s gift.

In looking over the breeder’s information, I noticed a thing: Jesse was born on January 28… the day I was driving to work, feeling despondent, praying aloud to God for encouragement…and saw the eagle in the tree…

“Jesse” also means God exists.

My heart is too full for any more words.

I may not be writing many words for a while, anyway, as my hands are pretty full…

Here’s to the ongoing story of life, with all its golden glories shining through every challenge, and wonders untold waiting just around the bend.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge
—we made it through, fellow Slicers!
I celebrate you all.
Joy to you on your journey.

Thank you, Writing Community

/ Fran Haley / 32 Comments

Dear TWT Writing Community,

On this next-to-last day in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge, I want to tell you what a profound gift you are.

Thank you…

For sharing your heart and your stories…some of which were difficult to share.
For standing by one another, offering solace, healing, and love, which helped to fill a crack or two in life’s broken places.
For sticking with challenge, knowing it fosters growth.
For stretching your writing wings as far as they’ll go, and discovering that, yes, you can fly.
For being a warrior angel on occasion, ready to defend a fellow writer wounded by the world.
For taking us places we’ve never been, and may not ever see, otherwise.
For sparking new insights, new tastes, new things to try, new goals…for keeping life fresh.
For celebrating the joys in each others’ lives.
For your humor.
For your sorrow.
For your courage.
For your encouragement.
For believing in yourself.
For believing in me.
For pulling each other onward and through.

I’ll say it again: I did not believe I had the stamina for the daily writing challenge this year. I decided not to do it.

Until the morning of Day One, when I woke up ridiculously early with my starved inner writer tapping on my heart…Hello! Hello! You cannot wait for sustenance. Seek it, and it will come. Open up! You will reget it if you don’t…

How right is my inner writer. Always.

Sigh.

I didn’t feel like writing, but I wrote. And kept on writing. Every single day.

YOU are the reason.

I drew energy and strength from you. From your comments, from your stories, from your experiences…from the sense of belonging, from the mutual desire to build each other up, from valuing and being valued by each other.

Writing is one thing; writing in community is everything.

Don’t we know it.

How much richer is my life, because of these last thirty days.

We are a shared story.

Thank you for every minute, every word.

I am so grateful.

Here’s to one day more ❤

Fran

*******
in honor of my fellow “Slicers” in the Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Laugh for the day

/ Fran Haley / 19 Comments

I ordered a vintage bird ornament earlier this month. When I opened the package, I found this delightful little treat from the seller:

I offer some accompanying haiku:

I said to myself:
Self, what shall we write today?
Myself thought a bit.

Let’s not overthink…
we know we got this. Just write
something short and sweet.

That’s all for now, folks…you and yourselves have a sweet day.

*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Remedy

/ Fran Haley / 15 Comments

another little slice of memoir

*******

Once upon a long, long time ago, I boarded a ferry with my dad and grandmother to visit her sister, my great-aunt Nona.

She lived so deep in the countryside that it felt otherworldly. An old, old place. Old unpainted house, old separate kitchen joined to it by an old porch, old outbuildings…old outhouse. The memory has lost much of its detail now, like an aged sepia photograph, fading and fragile.

What remains are the bright sunshine and the green, green grass where I ran and played while the grown-ups talked and laughed on the porch. They were having a great visit…until I ran through a clover patch and fiery pain seared my ankle.

Bumblebee sting. I collapsed in the clover, screaming.

The grown-ups leapt off the porch in a single bound.

I can’t remember Grandma’s reaction. She was typically soothing: I know it hurts, honey. I am sorry.

I can’t remember Daddy’s reaction. He was typically irritated: All right, calm down! Stop making such a racket.

But I remember Aunt Nona’s reaction.

Sweet-faced, graying black hair pulled into a bun, silver cat-eye glasses…she said to my father:

“Give me one of your cigarettes.”

He did.

She peeled the paper back, put the tobacco in her mouth, made a paste, and dabbed it on my ankle.

“That’ll take the pain away,” she said.

As for me (weird kid that I was), the sight of the wet brown clump on my ankle was nearly as horrifying as the sting. Now I sobbed and screamed.

Sometimes I question the details of this memory: Was that really a cigarette she chewed, or snuff? It was so long ago…but cigarette is what I remember.

And I remember my gentle Aunt Nona, kindest of souls, bearer of wisdom from the old days, the old ways, a humble woman who played piano by ear and composed her own hymns. She lived to be 101.

All these ages and ages hence, I marvel at her tobacco remedy and resourcefulness.

Just a little leaf of memory, now pressed and preserved here, before time finishes burning it away.

Image by jan mesaros from Pixabay

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge