Essential Gratitude

 

Sometimes it just stuns you

like an arrow flung from some angel's wing.

Sometimes it hastily scribbles

a list in the air: black coffee,

thick new books,

your pillow's cool underside,

the quirky family you married into.

It is content with so little really;

even the ink of your pen along

the watery lines of your dimestore notebook

could be a swiftly moving prayer.

--Andrea Potos

[Saturday morning coffee]

For the Love of the World

For the love of a tree,
She went out on a limb.

For the love of the sea,
She rocked the boat.

For the love of the earth,
She dug deeper.

For the love of community,
She mended fences.

For the love of the stars,
She let her light shine.

For the love of spirit,

She nurtured her soul.

For the love of a good time,
She sowed seeds of happiness.

For the love of the Goddess,
She drew down the moon.

For the love of nature,
She made compost.

For the love of a good meal,
She gave thanks.

For the love of family,
She reconciled differences.

For the love of creativity,
She entertained new possibilities.

For the love of her enemies,
She suspended judgment.

For the love of herself,
She acknowledged her worth.

And the world was richer for her.

~ Charlotte Tall Mountain 

[Four generations of women in the Gardner-Baasch Family in honor of International Women's Day 2023: Great-grandmother, daughter, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters.]

Dysfunctional / Some Things I Like

 

(A poem to shout)

I like wrecks, I like ex-junkies, 

I like flunks and ex-flunkies, 

I like the way the career-less career, 

I like flat beer, 

I like people who tell half stories and forget the rest, 

I like people who make doodles in important written tests, 

I like being late. I like fate. I like the way teeth grate, 

I like laceless shoes cordless blues,I like the one-bar blues, 

I like buttonless coats and leaky boats, 

I like rubbish tips and bitten lips, 

I like yesterday’s toast, 

I like cold tea, I like reality, 

I like ashtrays, I write and like crap plays. 

I like curtains that don’t quite shut, 

I like bread knives that don’t quite cut, 

I like rips in blue jeans, 

I like people who can’t say what they mean, 

I like spiders with no legs, pencils with no lead, 

Ants with no heads, worms that are half dead. 

I like holes, I like coffee cold. I like creases in neat folds. 

I like signs that just don’t know where they’re going, 

I like angry poems, 

I like the way you can’t pin down the sea. 

See.

—Lemn Sissay

Kindness

 

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

--Naomi Shihab Nye

[Our granddaughter Ella and her friend Hudson].

One Boy Told Me

 

Music lives inside my legs.

It’s coming out when I talk.

I’m going to send my valentines

to people you don’t even know.

Oatmeal cookies make my throat gallop.

Grown-ups keep their feet on the ground

when they swing. I hate that.

Look at those 2 o’s with a smash in the middle—

that spells good-bye.

Don’t ever say “purpose” again,

let’s throw the word out.

Don’t talk big to me.

I’m carrying my box of faces.

If I want to change faces I will.

Yesterday faded

but tomorrow’s in boldface.

When I grow up my old names

will live in the house

where we live now.

I’ll come and visit them.

Only one of my eyes is tired.

The other eye and my body aren’t.

Is it true all metal was liquid first?

Does that mean if we bought our car earlier

they could have served it

in a cup?

There’s a stopper in my arm

that’s not going to let me grow any bigger.

I’ll be like this always, small.

And I will be deep water too.

Wait. Just wait. How deep is the river?

Would it cover the tallest man with his hands in the air?

Your head is a souvenir.

When you were in New York I could see you

in real life walking in my mind.

I’ll invite a bee to live in your shoe.

What if you found your shoe

full of honey?

What if the clock said 6:92

instead of 6:30? Would you be scared?

My tongue is the car wash

for the spoon.

Can noodles swim?

My toes are dictionaries.

Do you need any words?

From now on I’ll only drink white milk

on January 26.

What does minus mean?

I never want to minus you.

Just think—no one has ever seen

inside this peanut before!

It is hard being a person.

I do and don’t love you—

isn't that happiness?

--Naomi Shihab Nye

[A favorite photo of our grandson, Killian David].

Breakage

 

I go down to the edge of the sea.

How everything shines in the morning light!

The cusp of the whelk,

the broken cupboard of the clam,

the opened, blue mussels,

moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—

and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,

dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the moisture gone.

It's like a schoolhouse

of little words,

thousands of words.

First you figure out what each one means by itself,

the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop

       full of moonlight.

Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

--Mary Oliver

[Collecting shells on Honeymoon Island with our granddaughter Ella Lynn].

For Absence

 

May you know that absence is alive with hidden presence,
that nothing is ever lost or forgotten.
May the absences in your life grow full of eternal echo.
May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere,
where the presences that have left you dwell.
May you be generous in your embrace of loss.
May the sore well of grief turn into a seamless flow of presence.
May your compassion reach out to the ones we never hear from.
May you have the courage to speak for the excluded ones.
May you become the gracious and passionate subject of your own life.
May you not disrespect your mystery through brittle words or false belonging.
May you be embraced by God in whom dawn and twilight are one.
May your longing inhabit its dreams within the Great Belonging.

JOHN O'DONOHUE

January 1, 1956 - January 4, 2008

[To remember and honor John O'Donohue on the 15th anniversary of his passing .]

Clonmacnoise Monastery, County Offaly, Ireland.