Still there

Where is it?
The cancer…..
15 months ago
It came into me
It took over my every moment
Bringing illness, and fear
Prevalent in my daily thoughts
Ruling my existence

Then a new visitor arrived
Suddenly flooding my life
The cancer did not go away
It’s only hiding
Dormant now
Silently lurking
less important somehow
Behind my heart

Before them, pain
Crippling pain
Accompanying my walk
Sometimes debilitating
Quieting the music
And stopping my dance
Replacing it with screaming throbs

Cancer, you’ve taken a back seat now
I want to push you out the door
And I know you won’t go
Not on your own
And I am too weak to fight you
For now
But only for now

-----The day will come

Listen

And it just is…….
Life with all of it’s happenings
Surviving
The sorrows
Relishing
The joys
Riding the waves
Hearing the noise

Listen, it’s life!
Dare to embrace
And hold closely
The sounds
of laughter
and tears
The uncertainties
Keeping poise through fear

Each moment a note
Worth playing
Or singing
Mixed melodies
Sounds of learning
In a different key
Amplified together
so others can hear your symphony

And it just is……..

The music of life

Listen
Can you hear it…….

The Stalker's

I never know just where they are…..
or which one is is more powerful
to spread it’s darkness upon me
the silent walker’s, ever present as my shadow

When I turn or hide they follow
Especially in the light, but also obscured
My empty effort to hide from the ominous
My companions, my stalkers

Different in their tormenting ways
As I turn quickly to face one
The others manage to escape
Hiding yet lurking in the depths of days

Waiting, just waiting to strike
When I least expect them
Which affliction will show it’s face
And which one do I challenge the race

My People

My people
here with me.
I am defined
from generations past
and those of this moment.
Always there, always here
Always within.
They guide me they walk beside me
they follow me.

My past so clear
in pastures that reach to sunset
Gathering and candling eggs
In coops of life
Pioneers who forged the way
In huts of blood and prairies of toil.
Drilling rigs lighting days and nights
Digging thru sweat and pain
Pump jacks and well heads
Producing true and unseen energy.
My people, hard and tough
vulnerable and beautiful
Flowers, grease, laughter and tears
at my Mother & Dad’s side
Learning and growing from their survival
of the past.

Nature and pets of special creatures
all of God’s creations
that were a part of my
learning to love and care for.
Who taught me things
No human could.
Unconditional love
in it’s truest form
Strength in trees and rocks
A solid example of non penetration

Small creeks and oceans beyond
Beside me always.

I would be incomplete without

them.
An important part of
My people.

The present is harder to see
Those now beside, above and beneath me
because I forget to look and I take for granted.
My love, my other me, my connected soul.
Our daily interactions of simple knowing.
Our children, our years together
And our growing up together.
Joy, respect and all things good
and bad, that binds a lifetime.
My children teaching me now.
Who forgive my mistakes
and love me anyway.
Who now walk in front of me.
Grandchildren who carry the seeds
My chance to teach again
And love again with experience.
To watch love produce tomorrow
They are me, they form my steps
They are my tomorrow.
I forget to say out loud
So the world can hear me
Rejoice today and you.
what the present means to me
within the now.
Never ending love and pride
And total, deep fulfillment
In my heart.

In my people of today.

Friends who have shared
their people with me.
Who walk many of the same paths
Who know what obstacles are, and fun,

and memories of youth and growth.
Who have similar trails
Who in their distance spark
the lighted path we're on.
Who touch with words
of encouragement and support.
Who are sisters and brothers
that hold my hand
In yesterday, today and tomorrow.

And those strangers who walk different paths
Who share their journeys
Through education and research
and hard work that keeps today going

around the world.
They touch many they do not know.
I use their knowledge
I strive to learn from them.
Lessons learned from strangers
But they are still my people.

Ahead
I cannot see
the minutes which continue on.
Each one bringing birth.
Renewal of my efforts to grow
To accept and learn and survive.
I do not fear to look ahead.
What is there, will be what it is
and so much more.
And I will walk through it
with them at my side.
My people
With me…….
The path behind, and ahead
and the steps I take today

My strength is in being
Not alone

Night

Night
Beautiful black
Closing out the world
And the world rejoices
Doors are locked
Bringing peace of the day
And so much more
Time for reflection
And for ending
Time for celebration
And for rest
Time for renewal and respite
And for hope
Night
The time you can see light
Light lives against the backdrop of
Night
Beautiful black
A jewel in it's own right

The Hiker

He pitched his tent high in the mountains
With plans to follow the stream come morning
Drifting off to sleep neath clear, starlit skies
Feeling comfort and faith in nature soaring

Waking to sounds of ice falling 
Dawn of light showing layers of snow
The trail down and his path were covered
No guidance with what lay below

Nothing to guide him, but faith
To stay would mean certain death
Relying on his his own instincts
Fear sucked away his breath

A solid path covered in white
He knew not water from ground
Holes and dangers were hidden
Only trust as he was homeward bound.


I knew this hiker, he is my son and he indeed survived……The journey on foot that day was precarious at best. He was dressed only in light clothes wearing lightweight shoes. The storm had moved in quickly without warning, out of the seasonal norm, and left him vulnerable.  He was unprepared for the challenges he met that day. He did find his way down the mountain but with each step he took, he didn’t know if it would hold his weight, or take him over a cliff or into the icy hidden waters, as everything was level and white…… He hiked out on his own faith.

I think about his story a lot as we go thru life…… Sometimes we have no choice but to trust ourselves. We have very little to hold on to and very little to guide us. We can watch for the hidden dangers, and pray that God will see us thru but we have no obvious support. There is so much more to this story, but it’s message is to go forward no matter the dangers, no matter the measure of faith, no matter the outcome. Just keep going and hold tightly to your chances.

Out There

Out There

I went out there again
I seen, I played, I tasted
I touched the world and joined in
I did not let a moment be wasted
I laughed with you.

You welcomed me again
You offered your time
You showed me, you taught me
You gave me your prime
You laughed with me.

The comfort is now with me again
The world is quiet and content
The security I yearned for is mine
The satisfaction was lent,
The open door awaited me, and I am home.

Oh boy, there really is “no place like home”. We’ve had such a great time but it’s so nice to be back here in our own little world.

It was fun to see our old friends again at the reunion, and the new outfit was perfect…..The balloon festival was wonderful and awesome, our hosts were gracious and loving.

Returning home brought unloading the car, unpacking, chores to catch up on, and, an opportunity for rest. I’m sure it won’t be long and we’re be ready to get “out there” again……There is always "so much more" out there, and, here........ah, home.

The Baby Sitter's

My parents had to leave town for an emergency, there was an illness in our extended family and they had to go immediately. I guess I was too young to go with them, so at the last minute Mom called some friends to watch after me for a couple of days. The folks I stayed with were very good people. They were kind and loving and I felt safe with them…… however; there was a lot more to the story my parents never knew about.    I don’t think I ever told anyone about my exciting night out. We got home safely, in fact I think I fell asleep in the back seat…..I couldn’t have been very old but I’ll never forget it.

Chicken Fights

A darkened, smoky garage
Partly filled with bleachers
Crowded rows of men & women
watching, betting, drinking, yelling
some staggering, most watching
a circle below them.
Two animals trained to kill
each other, so
Let the games begin.
A kissing breath from man to animal.
In the crowd a little girl,
She watched, and knew it was yet
another part of life she didn’t want
To visit again.
She was sad for the chicken that lost
But she also knew it was a part of the game.

"Face on the Bar Room Floor"

For those who are not familiar with this poem, I will post it below, but first let me tell you a story about it. In my youth, we had friends who lived on the edge of town next to the railroad tracks.   Railroad hobo's  stopped off at our friends house quite often. “Ruby” always gave them food. They also had an old shack out beyond the garage that many of them would spend the night in before going on….. They had a favorite one who visited quite often. We were visiting there one evening and suddenly there was a knock on the front door. It was him. Banjo opened the door and called him by name and ask if there was something he needed. The old bum was staggering drunk, and his reply was “yes” I have a story to tell.

At that moment he stumbled into the living room, planted himself right in the middle, and proceeded to recite a very long poem, word for word from memory in a fashion that would make any orator jealous. Not only did he recite the words clearly, he used facial expressions, hand motions, and movements in his body while acting out the scene with the skill and grace of a shakespearian actor.   I set there as a little kid, simply amazed and very impressed. I don’t think I took a breath after the first four lines. When he finished, he ask if they had anything to eat. They fixed him a plate, and Banjo said it was time to go to bed and showed him out the door…… I never forgot that night, and think of the old hobo often.

Years later we traveled to Central City Colorado where the actual face is painted on the bar room floor, located in the historic Teller House hotel. I bought a copy of the original framed poem. That particular evening many years before then, spent with an old drunk was my first introduction to poetry and possibly why I love it so much today. I know there was so much more to the man who brought me to it. I wish I knew the rest of his story…..


The "Face on the Bar Room Floor"

Twas a balmy summer evening,
And a goodly crowd was there,
That well night filled Joes' barroom
At the corner of the square,
As songs and witty stories,
Came through the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in
And posed upon the floor.


“Where did it come from?” someone said,
“The wind has blown it in.”
“What does it want?” another cried,
“Some whiskey, rum or gin?”
Here Toby, sic’ em,
If your stomach is equal to the work,
I wouldn't touch him with a fork,
He's filthy as a Turk.


This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace.
In face, he smiled as though he thought,
He had struck the proper place.
Come boys, I know there’s kindly hearts,
Among so good a crowd,
To be in such good company,
Would make a deacon proud.


Give me a drink, that’s what I want,
I'm out of funds you know, when I had cash to treat the gang,
This lad was never slow.
What? You laugh as though you think, This pocket never held a sou,
I once was fixed as well, my boys,
As any of you.
There thanks, that’s braced me nicely.
God Bless you one and all. Next time I pass this good saloon,
I'll make another call.

Give you a song? No, I can't do that,
My singing days are past.
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out,
And my lungs are going fast.

Aye, give me another whiskey and I'll tell you what to do
I'll tell you a funny story and in fact I’ll promise two.
That I was ever a decent man,
Not one of you would think,
But I was, some four or five years back.

Say, give me another drink.
Fill'er up, Joe, I want to put some life,
Into this old frame.

Such little drinks, to a bum like me
are miserably tame,
Five fingers, that's the scene, and corking and whiskey too,
Well, here's luck boys, and landlord,
My best respects to you.

You’ve treated me pretty kindly,
And I'd like to tell you how,
I came to be this dirty sap, you see before you now.
As I told you once I was a man,
With muscle, frame and health,
But nor a blunder, ought have made considerable wealth.

I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks or wood,
But an artist, and for my age I was rated pretty good,
I worked hard at my canvas, and bidding fair to rise,
And gradually I saw, the star of fame before my eyes.
I made a picture, perhaps you’ve seen,
It’s called the “Chase of Fame.”
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds,
And added to my name.

It was then I met a woman, now come the funny part;
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sank into my heart
Why don't you laugh its funny, that the vagabond you see,
could ever have a woman and expect her love for me.

But it was so, and for a month or two, hr smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine, I thought I was in heaven.

Boys did you ever see a girl, for whom your soul you'd give,
With a form like Venus De Milo, too beautiful to live,
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor,
And a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, it was she, for boys there never was, another half so fair.


I was working on a portrait,
One afternoon in May,
Of a fair haired boy, a friend of mine,
Who lived across the way,
My Madeline admired him,
And much to my surprise,
She said she'd like to know the lad,
Who had such dreamy eyes.
She didn't take long to find him,
Before the month had flown,
My friend had stolen my darling,
And I was left alone.


And ere a year of misery had passed above my head.
That jewel I treasured so, had tarnished and was dead.
That's why I took to drink boys, Why I never see you smile,
I thought you'd be amused boys, and laughing all the while.

Why, what’s the matter friend? There's a tear-drop in your eye,
Come, laugh like me. It’s only babes and women that should cry.

Say boys, if you give me just another whiskey and I'll be glad,
I'll draw right here the picture, of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score;
You shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor.
Another drink and with check in hand, the vagabond began,
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon that shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture -- dead!
Written by Hugh Antoine D’Arcy in 1887

Guests

With a knock on the door you come into my life,
you brighten my world.
First with a hug and your very presence.
You come laden with many gifts….
Warmth, knowledge, laughter, and conversation
To feed my mind, and so much more.
Let my home become your home.
Let me take care of you, and offer love in return.
Let me fill your body and mind with comfort
Let me forever be grateful that you were here
and to that day you will come again.

I love to entertain; I suppose that comes from my great Aunt Lou, who came from Southern stock, in the New Orleans area. We visited her often when I was young. She regularly set such a beautiful table even for just a simple meal. Everyone always had their own individual salt & pepper wells, and butter pats. When meat on the bone was served she had matching bone trays to circle around the side of each plate.

She used to serve “bums” who would knock on the door asking for something to eat. Though they were not allowed in the main house, they were brought onto the back porch where a nice, but small table was set for them, and a paper sack was made available for them to take the left over’s. She never turned anyone down and always reminded them to eat heartedly as there was so much more, and she wanted them to leave full.

Her kitchen was her domain….. It may have looked dis-organized to a stranger, but she knew where every item of food was, where each utensil or pot & pan & dish was located. I was standing at her side once when she was filling a bowl of mashed potatoes to carry to the table, and she left some in the pan. I ask her why she didn’t add those to the bowl and she said “I wouldn’t want to over fill the bowl as it might appear pretentious to some”. She went on to tell me how many other things could be made from the extra mashed potatoes…. “cakes for supper another night, breads, a topping for baked dish, or warmed up for someone who might need them”.

I cherish the memories of visiting Aunt Lou and Uncle Frank, they made a great contribution to our world during the 100 years they were here until they passed away in the 1950’s.

Organizing

Items out of place
Priorities skewed
Life jumbled
Time to straighten up
add a smile to my face
Put it all in order
And start the race.


With “the appointment” over with, and a fresh outlook ahead of me, I am on my way. I have errands to run, a house to clean, bills to pay, laundry to do, so much more, and life to live. Now why are the salt & pepper shakers setting on my coffee table, dirty socks on the floor….. You are on your way to your respective locations! A call to an old friend who needs some support, a new appointment to make……..

The Base

In our attempt to reach out
to search for more
we grasp tightly behind us.
so as not to fall.
For that is what we are
The platform from which we grew
Thorns of fear, and weakened spots
but solid and strong by necessity
offering a molded base
from which to renew.


Once again last night as I lay to sleep, my mind drifted back as it has a thousand times to my childhood. How the “me” that I am, was formed and where I had been.

A little 8 year old black haired girl in pigtails tormented by a teacher, unaware that there were bad people in her little world. People of trust who could not be trusted. Her attempts to escape her captor.

Her fear over and over when she was caught…..in a darkened room.
Her knowing wrong but unable to do anything about it.
Her instinct of knowing but not fully knowing how to cope.

When the fear finally overtook her whole life, she finally told, and Daddy went for the gun. She hoped Daddy would kill him, but a neighbor stopped him and the teacher was exposed instead, and then the teacher left her world and nothing more was said or done. The little black haired girl in pigtails learned early lessons she carried with her throughout further growth.

She learned not to trust easily, she learned to sense danger, she learned survival when it was only her to defend her world. She learned fear early, much too early. She learned what protection is and how time and revelation can bring answers. She learned how to escape pain, physical and mental. She learned how mommy’s and daddy’s cry together and fight the outside world together. She learned so much more, but there is so much more the little black haired girl will never know or share with others. In early education she learned much and finally grew beyond what she had learned…..but it remained a part of her and made her stronger and allows her to hold on but have the faith to reach for help.