Will You?

Will you sing my song
when I am gone?
Tell the tales that
speak of me?

Will you take up
lute and lyre,
And of all my life
be the choir?

I pray thee will
tell all of me,
Of what I loved
and what I be.

No one knows the
man I am,
Quite as well
as you, my friend.

Yes, my friend,
my wife, my love, my own;
Speak well of me
until you come.

And 'til you come
to rest close as my own;
I'll speak well
of you to God's dear son.

Loving Life

I love life.
I thank you, my God,
For choosing this life for me!

I love the trees,
the sky that covers all;
The world you made so lovingly.

Thank you, God.
from me

On Looking at a Picture of Box 362

Our mailbox stood on its wooden legs
under the dogwood tree;
Waiting for the mailman
to open its door,
With a letter of love
for me.

The daffodils sang
down beside the edge,
As the fat buzzy bees
drilled their homey holes
In the old gray porch on
the front of Gram's house,
When I lived down Woodwardville way.

The branch gurgled gayly
neath the walls of red clay,
Past the shuttle wheel
Pop Pop had crafted by hand.
His shed and the single engine
he built pulled the branch
Up the hill by the side of the road
to his thirsty field,
near our brown-shingled house.

We kids ventured out
after oatmeal and chocolate chips;
Disappearing til called for L U N C H.
That branch was our turf,
Our ocean, our sea,
Our jungle, and playhouse, and sky.

There were no rules, no parents,
no one to ask, "Why?"
It was OUR world,
And we were SO free.

My Answer to T. A. Heppenheimer's "FIRST WORD" in OMNI Magazine

You did not take your cloning theory far enough.  You stopped while your arguments supported your theories.  However, for the sake of clarity, you did not proceed on into darkness.

Let's not stop with Kennedy and Roosevelt, let's give the other side a chance.  How nice it would have been for Hitler's friends and supporters to be able to bring his clone to life to lead yet another million Jews to their graves two decades into the "new" centruy.

Or, if you prefer to "control" such happenings, such unplanned "creations," we will need to be foresighted enough to establish a board that can rule which clones are worthy of being "born" and which are better left quick-frozen forever, like Hitler's.

Oh, and we can forget costly research into more starwars programs; we won't need them.  We can accomplish the same results at a much lower cost if we are willing to wait 20 years for an elite cloned army to rise up from the cells of our top fighters.  This army could annihilate all the malnourished, third world nations and leave the world for people (intellectuals mostly wouln't you think?) and their "more worthy" clones to enjoy.

We should inject a small amount of reality at this point to ponder for a moment a worthwhile theory:  Heredity, Environment or Will...which makes the man?  (That was a question my grandmother had to write a paper on many years ago.   Wish I could find it.)

Go back to your example of the young woman who decides she is such a worthwhile addition to humanity, and being a product of the "self" generation decides, needing no one - a husband, nor a significant lover, that she will just bring her clone to life.  Of course, that clone's life will dovetail with hers exactly because the clone will be her.  But......will it?

The clone will be raised by her not her mother, not her father (who hopefully, were two divergent personalities).  The clone will attend different schools, have different playmates, different experiences.  The clone will be buffeted by a different environment, so it is probable that different parts of the clone's personality will be highlighted than those of the woman as she grew.  So it is entirely conceivable that the woman will not end up with another self but an other self.  And just maybe, the woman won't like having to share her "self" with others.

Identical twins may be identical, clones may be identical - replicas, duplicates...but, can we be so very sure that the soul, the will is identical?  As happened at the Tower of Babel, maybe an entity higher than ourselves, realized at one point long ago that sameness in not necessarily wonderful.  Maybe at that point, He decided we had more to offer each other in our diversity than in our sameness.  Maybe He decided at creation, rather than spit us out like so many carbon copies that He would give us each a little stardust of His likeness to develop into myriads of Himself much like snowflakes or the raindrops in the sun creating a rainbow.

Who Are You?

Who are you when no one is around?
Are there dreams you've been having all your life
that have yet to become real?

Will anyone ever know the real you?
Do you want them to, or are you afraid
the essence of you will burst
like the bubbles you blew on a summer's day
many suns ago?

But if YOU don't bring them out in the open
will the dreams ever become real,
last,
multiply,
ripple through others' lives?

Your ripple may be just what is needed
to put the sparkle in someone else's dream.

Premise: Often times procrastination appears to be the advantageous road to take to reach our goals; however, the steady, plodding turtles of organization and promptness win more subtle victories.

1. Procrastination while giving us more free time at the moment, robs us of valuable time in the future.  For instance, putting off one's homework on Saturday for a day filled with fun and sunshine and an evening of wine and dancing may find us Sunday in the wee hours of the morning struggling with bleary eyes for one more line of deathless prose.
2. If we instead, cultivate a plan to organize our time, we will find that we actually have more time.  Time to do the very things which caused us to procrastinate.  By organizing our workload into small bits we can chew away at large jobs in palatable bites and still achieve our goals.
3. The victories to be won are threefold:  We triumph over time and control it rather than letting it control us.  We triumph over medeocrity by allowing ourselves time to do our best.  And, we triumph over self-defeatedness by showing to ourselves that we CAN accomplish what we set out to do!

Betsy's Best

I walked into the auction hall,
bound and determined to spend my all.
The church's welfare is a good cause for me,
so I was ready and able to answer their plea.

The room was gorgeous, tons of bounty,
at St. Benedict Church in Caroline County.
It was much like Christmas with presents unwrapped,
so many tables, I needed some maps!

When, hark, I spotted it, gleaming red,
and, lo' and behold, it was just ahead;
an item so wonderful, enticing and bright,
I knew my bid for it must be just right.

I could have made it, and baked it, and ate it;
I could have and should have, but wait just a  minute--
If I had it would not have been as great,
as the item I saw, I couldn't wait!

Thank God for Betsy and her baking prowess.
I'm here to attest; I'm here to witness,
that her strawberry pie is truly THE BEST;
my palate and our Parish have truly been blessed!

I Believe

I believe all our trials and tribulations are just our labor pains
as we strive to be born into Eternal Life! 6/17/1974

For Marge and Margie

You do not know each other, but you’ve met within my heart;

You’ve each been touched by tragedy, in my life you’re a sacred part.

In prayers at night I’ve asked before to know our Blessed Mother;

To know her thoughts, to know her life, to feel her love for others.

You, my friends, have lost a child;

To one a blessed daughter,

The other a special son.

You know Mary’s loss of child through yours for your sweet ones.

You show so well the depths of love to one who searches like me.

I search to know, to feel, to see – you mirror that love to me.

May Mary bend from heaven above and touch your grieving soul.

And show you the joy as yet to be,

when in heaven your child’s with thee.

May her love carry you across time and space;

And may time go speeding by.

May she lift your eyes to the joys to come, with bright stars and sunlit skies.

‘Til your dear ones are in your arms again, and you feel the love in their eyes.

I pray, sweet Mary, you’ll rock them gently, to

Rest in your warm embrace;

Until Marge and Margie journey home to

Rebecca’s and Russell’s place.

The Palms and the Cross

We waved fresh palms above our heads;

Our welcomes and hosannas rang;

A call to joy and jubilee,

To the man we thought would set us free.

We stood beneath your cross of sorrow,

Our heads bowed low, our hearts afraid.

A call to suffering and to death,

For the man we prayed would set us free.

The man we let die on the cross,

Yet see, the grain that fell to ground,

Has brought our Christ;

Our joy is found.

Lift us high above the cross

A call to joy, to jubilee;

Wave your palm to welcome us

To the Christ who sets us free.

Forever Spring

Just as the first buds of May

Peep through the late snow;

So, my love.

So, my love lays dormant

Until God’s promise of

Forever Spring.

Just as the merrily rippling brook

Sings melodies for my heart only;

So, my love.

So, my love waits patiently

Until the sun’s warm rays bring

Forever Spring.

Just as the soft, gentle breeze

Caresses my cheek with a soft kiss;

So, my love.

So, my love reaches out to enfold you in

Forever Spring.

Oliver in Green

Oliver, blue eyes, looking forward

From a field of green;

Toward a future

Filled with promise,

And the love of his own queen.

His “Mom” became his royal line

The day that he was born.

And she’ll teach and

Preach and cuddle him,

‘Til all his gifts are formed.

Then, he will venture

Into the world;

Far from the day of his birth;

With blue eyes

Looking forward…

A man of

Humor, smiles and worth.

Dreams of Another Spring

Oh, yellow leaf,

Hang on to that bark;

Hang on to your remembered Spring

When you were born, green and supple.

Your yellows mirror the hot Summer sun,

Your reds the warm evenings;

The tender curl of your fingers

Reflect the caress of breezes.

Hang on through the fall;

Keep from falling,

For when you slide to the ground…

Winter is just a breath away,

Just a thought away,

Just a sigh away.

Gather your lovely yellow skirt

Before you sail away with my dreams

Of another Spring.

Mall Watcher

Sitting on my bench;

Found a place to rest my shopping bones;

I’m tired with only three stores under my belt.

In my bags are a decoration for the home, and two books;

in my hand is my coffee – all outward signs

that I’m allowed to be resting on this bench.

A dealership’s snazzy black truck has reeled in a few men and

even a three year old baby boy whose eyes lit up with his “Wow!”

at the dazzling black metal behemoth.

The love of trucks really must be genetic.

I see the already tall svelte beauty in her skyscraper shoes;

not quite the gear for trekking, but maybe for attracting

or tracking sweet young men.

A mom with five in tow – too many for one frazzled mom late in the afternoon;

and her brittle voice belies as much.

What are they here for?  Where is their Mecca?

Are there siren songs coming from each small store luring them farther downstream?

Is there a rainbow at the end, a prize or priceless words?

Or is the torrent of humanity too strong for them to buck the current?

Where oh where has my little girl gone?

Is she stuck in one of the eddies or is there a waterfall beyond my sight?

I write on;

my method of distraction and the words carry me away on thoughts beyond this space.  Examination done;

I probably just look like a lost manatee to those who pass me by.

Do they wonder who will come rescue me?

Do I belong to some young person in this vast abyss?

They have no idea.

I am happy in my little observation perch;

watching much like Jane Goodall watches

But instead of gorillas in the high Serengeti

I am watching all the movements of this urban race

they call “humankind”.

Only Take Three

Little did we know

So many years ago,

When Mom put the margarine in a bowl to soften on the stove;

That we’d remember forever how she mixed up the love.

When the margarine sticks were soft,

We dutifully measured sugar, brown and white;

As we knelt in the chair, “carefully,” as we were taught,

We stirred and mixed with all our tiny might.

Mom was patient as we stirred that dough;

She added the eggs, broke one, broke two,

Then it was easier to mix and away we’d go.

We didn’t know more would be added before we were through.

Ah, the dreaded flour, with soda, and salt,

And it would be too much for our little hands;

We didn’t want a lumpy finish to be our fault,

But the mix was accomplished with Mom’s help and her gentle hands.

The last ingredient, the most important by far,

Were the chips, the whole bag, maybe one or two for our tummies.

And when they were dropped in, we squealed with delight

Then into the oven, oh yummy, yummys!

Forget Famous Amos, Nabisco, and Keeblers…

Our chocolate chip cookies were the best in the land;

Made with Mom’s love and Mom’s own hands.

Now we all make our copies to remember the best;

But Mom’s were originals and we were blessed.

Fear Is

Fear is.
Fear is all for some
and "nuthin'" to others.

For those for whom fear IS,
There are mountains to climb
and raging rivers to be crossed.

I see an Olympian
battling the wild canyon rivers
in a tiny kyak
with faith and determination.

This is the way I drive
the major highways with
cars like boulders to be avoided,
blinding rain like cascades of water
to be maneuvered through.

But when the Olympian finally
reaches the finish line,
safe and secure,
these are my accolades....

"It's about time you got home!"

Together/Alone

You know me but you don't know me.  You've passed me on the street, sat beside me in church, checked out at the cash register ahead of me, and followed behind me in your car.  I could be you; but, I'm me.

I'm your friend, your co-worker, your mother, and your friend.  You've seen me on TV; you've read about me in the newspapers.  I've gone to school with you, danced with you, loved you, and hated you.  You've envied me, scorned me, laughed with me, listened to me, and preached to me.  We've bathed together, swam together, and been baptized together.

We've supported each other, taken from each other, appreciated each other, mourned together, and we were born together; but in all this, you have not really known me even though all along the way I've been the same as you.  And all that time I have not known you either.

When you look at me you think, "Now there goes a person who's handling this life; a person who takes care of business, who handles their responsibilities, who looks put together -- hair done, nails done, clothes just right."  You think I eat the right foods, and say the right words at the right time.  I'm together, all right, on top, accomplishing, completing, and following through.  I've been there, done that, and done it well.

That's what you think.  That's what you see, hear, feel, Right?  Wrong!

I'm you, but I'm me.  I'm uptight, out of sight -- as Shakespeare says... a play actor on the stage of life -- just like you.  I have panic attacks, anxiety attacks, my pulse quickens, my adrenaline goes into overdrive putting my heart in 10th gear -- I'm going 200mph on the inside while my smile and demeanor are going 20mph on the outside.  You can't see the whirling dervish inside of me, spinning out of control with no brakes to apply.

There all of us are perpetuating the myth -- spinning tops in pools of liquid calm -- calm face to the world, wild face to the heavens.

STOP...take a deep breath...breathe out a true calm breath.  Look around; stop and really look around.  All of us are getting up each morning at base camp; strapping on our gear, and climbing our Mount Everests everyday - we think alone - but alone, we are together.

Let's link hands and hearts and minds to tackle these mountain ranges together.  Onward and upward.  On the other side lies the beach, the rippling waves, and the warm sand.  And let us do this with the sure knowledge that even though we are all different, we are all still the same.

The Beginning

O.K. I am attempting to enter the world of blogging.  Today is the day.  NOW is a good time.  The aim is to create a forum for my poetry.  Poems that have been on paper and in my mind for umpteen years.