Archive | December, 2012

Let Us Vow

Let us vow. . .
that when we cannot share
our brother’s Light.
we will hold the candle
as he makes his way up.

Let us vow. . .
to embed love
within our four walls
so that our children
will be instruments of Peace.

Let us vow. . .
to love one another
so that Peace is not a promise
but a fact.

Let us vow. . .
a noble vigil
in the Names of All we hold dear.

Amen.  And Amen.

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December Confirms The June Woman

It is June and I stand poised on the landing of the half circular staircase.  I am hearing the strains of the Canon not heard in this, my lifetime.  Shocked still, caught in the shadows of half remembering and yet reluctant to confront the shaded memories,  I wait.

She is visible, the young woman gliding with joy to the music which carried her down the long hall.   She curtsies to the throngs lining the great walls.

I stand, not moving.   Her joy is mine, translating to an emptiness in my heart.  The tears scald my cheeks and the rest solidify in a mass in my throat.   I cannot swallow.   I am in danger of drowning from within and without.

II

It is now December.   I am before an ancient building in a city bearing her years gracefully.  The snow is circling my feet and the wind is freezing my eyes.  I am rooted to this spot.   The air is ringing with the sounds of holiday; lights flicker their ritualistic colors in harmony.   Yet I stand immobile.

On the second floor of the ancient building, caught in the winter  of my memories, I see the long hall stretching before me.  The strain and refrains of the Canon carry the young one still, waltzing yet.  The violins smooth the way for her memories to be built.  The red vests of the rotund violinists complement in contrast their black, slicked hair.  They bend and bow in homage.  Their music locks her destiny forever.

My eyes are again in danger, this time of freezing in their sockets with the salted tears that cannot stop.   The memory does not move,  not to one side nor the other.  My will forces my eyes to play again what can only be seen in my throbbing head.  Courted through centuries with great care to remain hidden,  I unwittingly jarred the box housing those memories.

In retrospect,  I was ready.  It was my time.   I turned away shaken and knowing

                                                           the past is still happening.

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Christmases Past

Lifetimes lived secreted
behind the wooly frames of memory.

We jog the frames
of Christmases past.

Scents of
pine boughs and holly berries,
mince pies and cranberries.

Sounds of
apple crisp snow and crackling fires,
and laughter.

And the sound of silence,
as love stretches through all dimensions
to encircle Thee and Me.

As real, as tangible,
as the star beams
on the evergreen.

A promise given and kept.

Do you hear the angels?

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Times Such As These

I lock up the room
after filing the last remnants
of words laying about unattended.

Fearful that pieces of my heart
may be found scattered among them.
And why not?

Times such as these
leave us with little salve
to heal the open wounds
which once were hearts.

For whom do we weep?
The children whose siblings
will no longer come to the table
to convey with no doubt
the events that stole their innocence?

Or the parents
whose hearts were transplanted
when word came
that these unspent stars
were already breathing the rarefied air
as heaven’s most blessed?

Look at us here.
Pleading that our children
will be safe as they try to understand
what we in our dotage
have not learned;
to resort to arms

means death in any country.

4

time’s past

crystal chimes
strike porcelain ears,
seizing time
from memories, past.

the music heard
from times’ near past,
tangles in the wind
of muted sound;

and we live again.

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Everlasting Memories

Beginning with this post,  I will be featuring  poetry I have used
over the years in hand crafted Christmas cards.   Many of my
readers might recognize a line or two from years past.   I wish to
add my voice to the season to bring  forth memories to be
refreshed for new readers and also those familiar with my work.

She tenders fingertips to a face
as lightly as a kiss of wind
and nudges memories, clad in illusion,
tentatively.

Star shaped, diamond chips,
melting snow on little faces,
Nature has painted red roses
on milk cheeks
and has buried memories
to be awakened at another time.

Everlasting memories. . .  but. . .
we carry the one face
of the one child

forever.

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Kiss The Moon Arrives!

I am pleased to do this post because today we picked up the books,
Kiss The Moon,  A Woman Speaks And Gives Grace, from the printers
and this weekend I will package and send out those that have been
ordered.   And for the readers in England who have wished for my books,
I will be happy to take your orders.    When I am at the post office,  I will
inquire about postage to the U.K. and reach an equitable rate.   I do so
wish for you to have my books.   I was so pleased to hear that my website
was to be taken as their book club’s topic.  My work was to be discussed
and I am proud of the life  I have lived that has brought forth a work of
caliber that other women wish to discuss.  It is an affirmation of a part
of my life that was woven into the main body of me and my commitments.
I can say in honesty as I live in the winter of my days that I would not
have wanted to miss a moment of it.   Still honestly say also that there
were times I wished that events were not mine to live through.   But it is
what makes our lives rich beyond description and meaningful.

These are soft cover copies of Kiss The Moon and the thrill of holding
the  first copy was as wonderful as the first hard cover many years ago.
But costs being what they are in this day,  we went with the soft cover.
The Last Bird Sings is also soft cover and the companion books will be sent
in one mailing if they are ordered at the same time.

For those who are looking at my wall quilts,  by bringing them up on
your screen and clicking on them, you will find the quilts on the left and
a description on your right.   For a clearer view, double click on the
quilt and it will be brought front and center with a white border around it.
You will then see clearly the details.  The smaller details seen on two can
be clicked on and brought forward for better views.  You can contact me
with any questions and I will be glad to discuss them.   This has been a
wondrous year for me.   Not without its challenges, but wondrous.   And
I appreciate your interest and comments in me and my work.

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