dmdubay

A fragile flower high on windswept slopes

Hangs on for its brief time

Though no one sees.

What purpose you might ask,

Is served by this brief blooming?

What glory is revealed amidst the snow and rock

As far below we rush to fill our time

With treasures, pleasures, pandemonium?

Just to know it lives, existing only as a thought

For most of us in humdrum lives

Just to give its momentary beauty

To a world so needy of its charity

Just to be a selfless being struggling to live

And spend its all-too-short amount of time

Just being, blooming, beautifying the world

Even though no eyes will ever see.

I knew a way to guarantee my love

When I, first born, came here without a care

My family welcomed me as from above

I didn’t know what I was meant to share

Secure, I ate and slept, my needs were met.

I grew, assured the world revolved on me

And then at school became the teacher’s pet

Unconsciously believed I held the key.

As I grew older, this I knew was true

With love no guarantee or oath is sure

My heart was broken, bent and full of rue

I lost the love I thought had been so pure.

So whether friend or foe I do admit

You must give love before receiving it.

The Daffodils Don’t Know

The daffodils don’t know

And they don’t seem to care.

They’re dancing in the fields

And smiling at the sunshine.

Seemingly oblivious

To hurt and pain and fear

Or are they?

Maybe they are doing their best

To help the situation

By dancing, smiling. Laughing

With the joy of being alive

So as to teach delight to us

As worries and frustrations

Pile up at our front doors.

Giving Thanks for a Day of Rest

I need this day of no commitments

No tasks to do except to be

Be present to the moment,

Be silent in the listening

Be attentive to new life

Be happy in what is

Be a smile, always

Letting instants go

As fast or slow as they wish

And be, just be in the great I Am

Luxuriating in the presence

That is not wasted

But filled with eternity.

A group sings show tunes at a local nursing home once a month. The melodies bring back memories of happy times for us all.

Show Tune Psalms

“It’s a Grand Night for Singing”

At Josephine’s

The wheel chairs circled

Around the piano

And “senior” voices singing with abandon

Not in the right notes or words

What does it matter?

The singing and the memories it brings

Is a blessing powerful and good

The Show Tune Psalms, more sacred

Than forgotten prayers

Are prayers in themselves.

I’m “Getting to Know You” and

“Wouldn’t it Be Loverly!”

If we would “Never Walk Alone”

We would always be “Younger Than Springtime.”

We could “Climb Every Mountain”

While “Whistling a Happy Tune.”

“If I Loved You”

At every “Sunrise and Sunset”

I would lift my glass and voice “To Life”

“Something Good” is bound to happen

On this “Beautiful Morning”

Joining in heart and song, we know that,

“People Will Say We’re in Love”

What could be better than that?

So, until next month, when we meet again

We’ll have to say, “So Long, Farewell.”

And keep these Show Tune Psalms

In mind and heart.

When I look out in the morning, I need to see something of nature. My eyes are not ready to focus on man-made lines. I want the soft green of fields or the expansiveness of the sea. If that’s not available, I can at least look at a plant or flower near my door or a small patch of lawn. As a last resort, I can view a beautiful painting or photograph of nature with soft, natural colors and lines. If I am able to do that, I find my day rewarding and pacific. That’s not to say that everything is wonderful. There are still persistent, daily irritants, but my ability to let them flow by me like the flotsam on a stream is strengthened. I can understand that the person who pushes to get ahead at the store might be more of a hurry than I; or the person who responds to a question gruffly may be suffering a hidden pain. It is more difficult to let go of the day-to-day mistakes I make. If I remember, I realize my need to return to gazing with appreciation at nature. Sometimes I see, in looking at my own hands, the love they are capable of giving. Memories and possibilities spring up to connect me once again to this experience of earth.

an untended garden

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything. But I have been writing. I have finally organized my poetry with pictures into book form and I wrote one poem every day in February.  I’ll start posting those regularly.

Here’s one:

Marking Time

The first of the month

A little new beginning

Resolutions to keep

And promises to make

Time goes marching on

Unseen and unnoticed

Without some markers

Feasts, remembrances

And cyclic songs to mark

Time’s passage.

Crawling first, then running

Like children embarking

On their journey through life

My time,

My hours, minutes, seconds

Impel my scattered heart

To stop and look and listen

Before my time is gone.

Bryce Canyon

Tiny sheep, cows, donkeys, goats and even a horse were gathered around, some sleeping, some eating and some gazing at the sky. “It’s perfect, except for the people,” Alfred thought.

Alfred heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see a dark haired boy, about his age dropping to his knees beside him. He looked familiar. “It is perfect,” the boy said. Or did Alfred imagine that he said it? They admired the scene, watching the miniature animals lie down, one by one.

Alfred finally felt the cold of the snow pressing though his pants. He knew he had to go home, but felt glued to the spot and it was so pleasant kneeling there beside the stranger. Not looking at the boy, Alfred whispered, “Do you come here often?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never seen you before. What is your name?”

“I’m Manny, but Mother insists on calling me Emmanuel. That’s my real name.”
“Maybe we can play in my fort sometime. Where do you live?”

“Yes, I’d love that.” The boy paused before answering the second question. “I live on the other side…of the woods,” he finally said. “I have to go now, I have some gifts to prepare for my brothers and sisters. But I know we’ll meet again.”

Alfred was too stunned to say anything. An unexpected thought entered his mind. He jumped to his feet and ran back to his house. Rushing to his room he knew exactly what to do. Elsie and the sheep turned to him as he opened the door. As he lifted each one and patted its fur, tears sprung to his eyes.

“I love you guys, but you need to take care of my sister.” He carefully wrapped each one in shiny paper. “Be good, now. Watch over her.

The angel light smiled and Alfred was sure he heard heavenly music floating through his room.

It was dark when they finally got home and his parents got busy in the kitchen preparing a buffet supper. His Aunt Margaret and Uncle Bill would be there shortly. Many of their neighbors usually showed up, too. Alfred went to his room to try to find a present for Agnes. Elsie and the sheep were running around on the dresser. The angel light glittered and music filled the room. Alfred asked, “Do you think I should check the woods one more time tonight?” Elsie and the sheep nodded vigorously and he felt someone take him by the elbow and lead him down the stairs, through the kitchen without his parents noticing him, and out the back door. Bright stars illuminated a glistening, snowy path, leading him a little beyond his fort. The huge cedar tree he often darted under when it was raining seemed to have a light shining on it. Alfred approached, listening. His heart leapt when he saw the nativity scene beneath its boughs. At least it looked like a nativity scene. He knelt in the snow for a closer look. There was a stable of sorts situated in a hollow in a huge boulder. Tiny sheep, cows, donkeys, goats and even a horse were gathered around, some sleeping, some eating and some gazing at the sky. “It’s perfect, except for the people,” he thought.