Grandparenting joy:
imparting extra wonder
for the little ones
for when they grow up
they still need the fantastic
magic of childhood
For taking our granddaughter to a Polar Express Move Party,
even Grampa has agreed to wearing matching family shirts
History believed in your magic power
Object of healing and deliverance from evil
Legend made you a crown for Saturn’s brow
Lore of Druids: tree of eternal life, that lightning won’t strike
Yuletide of yore endures
The holly tree was believed to have eternal life as it remained green in winter when other trees appeared to die. It is a symbol of endurance. This lovely specimen grows by the playground of the school where I work. Stuff of ancient legends and lore aside, its merry, festive appearance is a spirit-lifter here on the cusp of winter break…
a triolet for my grandmother
Come December, I’m remembering you
in the lights and silent night
—how years, like snow and feathers, flew—
Come December, I’m remembering you
at sight of ruby-red cardinals, too.
On the wings of the morning, all is bright…
come December, I’m remembering you
in the lights and silent night.
December is my grandmother’s month. She was born the day after Christmas, was married in the middle of the month at age 20, and died the day before Christmas Eve, at 90. She loved the season, children, cardinals, and the color red, symbolic of her name: Ruby. “Silent Night” was her favorite carol; whenever I hear it, she is near. Her home place and resting place are in the outskirts of a rural town named for the dawn… “on the wings of the morning” is borrowed from my favorite Psalm, 139, a hymn to the omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence of God.
The cardinal ornament in the photo was a gift from a friend yesterday. I hung it on the tree last night after choir practice with the kids at church. They’re singing “Silent Night” in the worship service on Sunday.
Grandma, you would love it all.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Leaving the church
in the dark
after the kids
practiced their carols
the wind whipped
sudden
and cold
sending dry dead leaves
skittering ahead
across the sidewalk
just an hour ago
the air was damp
and warm
after the storm
but now
in its last hours
November
is being yanked
like the open door
by a greater authority
on the other side
December
manifesting itself
majestically
galloping in
on the night wind
laced with
biting chill
underneath
the clear black sky
where bright stars and planets
are still
My response
when asked
about my
leadership style:
I seek
to inspire
for we are wired
to feel productive
to have purpose
to believe
in what we do
in who we are
and why
therein lies
the candle
of purpose
to be lit
by inspire
fire
The day dawns dark
with sheeting rain
a magnetic pull
to sleep again
increased water vapor
stealing oxygen
from the brain
a day of rest
oh let it reign
Remembering people
across the years
with a mixture
of awe, gratitude,
and humility
for often those who
gave me the most
had the least
to give
materially,
at least
I don’t recall
every gift now
only the bright joy
on the faces
of the givers
there is
no calculating
the vast riches
in their hearts
or the price
of their generosity
only that it lives on
long after them
I still hold
their greatest gold:
sacrificial love
Widow’s Mite – Ancient Roman Bronze Coins. IronRodArt – Royce Bair (‘Star Shooter’). CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Here is a memory
I shall keep for you
all of my days:
when we ask
Where is your turkey?
you pat the colorful creature
adorning your shirt
while attempting to say
gobble gobble
and when our family
gathers round the table
to pray
amid the reverent cadence
of your Grampa’s words
I hear you say
nen
nen
nen
—I shall keep it for you,
this memory:
Thanksgiving gold
your one-year-old
baby voice
blessing us all
Amen
This day, every day
Holy in its own way
Abundance immeasurable
New mercies pleasurable
Keeping mindful of blessings
For living, for giving
Until the final ingathering
Let me not cease to give thanks
Drawing by Scout, age 6
Thanksgiving blessings to all
with thanks to Tammi Belko, host of today’s Ethical ELA Open Write. Tammi invited participants to take a personality color test and to write an “I am” poem based on the color results and their traits.
I took the test. I began to write a series of “I am” stanzas when the poem went running off in its own direction…
True Color
I am
the three bands
on the ring finger
of my left hand:
one worn by
my grandmother
engraved with
her initials
and my grandfather’s
alongside
their wedding date:
December 12, 1936
(the day after
Edward abdicated
for Wallis)
one worn by
my mother-in-law
a 1953 engagement
between a widow
and a widower
with two children each
with the long reach
of duty in Korea
calling
one given
to me
on the day
I married
thirty-seven years
two sons
and two granddaughters
ago…
a poet
named after
fleeting morning ice
may say
nothing gold
can stay
but I endure
because
that is what love does
like many before me
I am gold
*******
Interesting…
