Thelma

Ninety-three
Once, so full of life
Now, breath by breath
Making room for another life

Still proud
Not in a vain way
But to have lived through so much
To have carried her cross the distance

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
Little she wanted in life
Nothing to want in death
Except to go home

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
No more evil to fear
No more valleys to walk
No death to await

All goodbyes have been said
Her angel has come
Sweet sunlight falls across Thelma’s face
A new star will light the Heavens tonight

Note: Thelma was a hospice patient. I sat vigil with her last week. She died on July 1st. I read the 23rd Psalm to her before she died, not knowing it was her favorite scripture, which her great-granddaughter told me afterward.

Morning Sun in the Garden

July morning sun
Creeping through the trees
Into the front flower garden
A young blue jay watches on

The jay understands
There is nothing to be done
Nowhere to go
Just observe, soak up the sun

Sometimes we make life too hard
Harder than it needs to be
See the sun streaking through the garden?
Such is life in each moment

Heaven

As a child, the better of two places
You might go when you die
A place with pearly gates
Where God and Jesus live

A place you imagined
When times were tough
A place giving you hope
For a better tomorrow

A place Grandma talked about often
Praying we may all go there someday
A rendezvous for family and friends
Like some magical tree house in the woods

And now, a frame of mind
Not a place anymore
But a way of being in any moment
Allowing life to pass through us

Nothing special
Or different than anything else
No need to be anything or anyone anymore
Just being for the sake of being

Like art, beauty for its own sake
Like beauty, in the eyes of the beholder
Like creation, unstoppable
Like now, Heaven

In the Arms of an Angel

Click here to hear Sarah McLachlan sing this wonderful song.

Gray Rainy Days

Gray rainy days
Why we need inner sunshine
Why we need inner focus
Bringing light to the world

We fret too much, this and that
Making unnecessary choices
After all, we’re here
It’s always now, never sooner or later

Bright pink azalea blossoms in sunlight
They’re possible any day
Come rain or shine
Always inside us, waiting

Outside my window—
A determined blue jay
Squawking about this and that
I laugh; that’s me

The rain subsides
Giving way to stillness
Even that nature provides
It’s ours, if we stop our squawking

Then there are the clouds
Hiding the sun
So nature’s tears can soak deep
Into the thirsty earth

Gray rainy days
Reminding us, listen, hear
The rain singing on the roof
Reminding us, bring our light to the world

A Special Place Inside Me

there is this place inside me
i find myself there quite unexpectedly
without ever trying

a happy place
warm with early morning sunshine
just the hint of a breeze
turning grandma’s petunias side to side
on her green and yellow front porch

this place is grandma’s living room
i’m always a little boy
playing on the floor
next to the screen door
maybe this place is a wormhole—
an invisible tube—
connecting me to who i am

often when i hear the engine
of a small plane flying overhead
the low-vibration sound waves carry me to this place
this special place of comfort inside—
a place my grandma created just for me

this is a place of peace
where the better part of me steps forward
leaving the other parts behind
it’s always a gentle landing
like a cloud drifting across a perfectly blue sky
on a warm summer day

i always feel just a bit sad
when it’s time to leave
eventually we must all go

Red Tulips

they knew me
turned their heads
looked my way
made me turn mine
there we stood—
face to face

i loved them
first moment i saw them
bright red dresses
decked out to the nines
voluptuous vixens
dancing in the wind

a bit of déjà vu
soulful remembering
strangely familiar—
the smell of fresh baked bread
the sweet scent of lilacs
a springtime long ago

they invited me to dance
sing out with them
red tulips touch us deeply
especially on a warm spring day
when the sun holds death at bay
and each moment is an eternity

Memories on Mother’s Day

she’s gone, my mom
her memories linger
like her sweet motherly scent
the enticing aroma of her cooking

mothers are magical
no way to be without one
how they love us, even when we’re bad
especially when we’re good

she died way too young
only 59 in 1986
wish we had more time
so many foregone memories

we reminisce more
the older we get
the more of life behind us
than ahead

boys and girls need their moms
to grow, become men and women
men and women need their moms
to remember the eternal child within them

Be Like the Flower

No greater honor—
Be like the flower
Face the sun
Let its warmth fill you
Overturning whatever steals your joy

Be like the flower
Proud, but ever humble
Never too straight
Always able to bend
Flowing with the wind

Be like the flower
Use the day to grow
Give back to the Earth
Use the night to rest
Rejuvenate from a hard day’s work

Be like the flower
Always ready to live
And when the time comes
Be ready to die
Making room for another

Click here to see the picture going with this poem.

Spring Beauty in Focus

Springtime
New beauty born
New beauty in our lives
Sharper focus on life’s becoming

Sometimes we try too hard
To be what we’re not
Possess what’s not ours
Fight who we are

Red tulips in a garden
No bucking the tide
Or clinging to anything
They simply are

We give the tulips our attention
They smile, their redness grows even brighter
We look beyond them
Life’s eternal fountain appears

We look inside ourselves
There our beauty lies
Eternal spring within our hearts
Our beauty comes into focus

Click here to see the photo that goes with this poem.

Secrets Locked Away Forever

So much inside us
Locked away
Inaccessible until
We discover the combination
Releasing deep secrets buried in the soul

These secrets
No mystery to the deepest part of us—
That part belonging to something larger
Yet out of sight they remain
Until the rusted lock and chain are taken away

Never easy
Dealing with the hidden
Even terribly lost parts of ourselves
But once in
So much more becomes known

Once we find our way
Even the deepest secrets—
Those buried in the cave of our heart
Become known
Releasing our grip on what binds us to eternity

Click here to see the picture that goes with this poem.

Daffodil Hill

There is this place
Called Daffodil Hill
Springtime magic covers it
Perky whites littering its base
A sea of brilliant yellows along the top

Sunlight graces this place
Touches your soul
Leaves you spellbound
Something larger ignites in your heart
When you hear the daffodils sing

I was a young boy once again
Speechless
No words to describe
Tears from nowhere filling my eyes
For an instant, connected to it all

Hard not to believe
In something divine, overwhelmingly powerful
Yet in its presence, a tenderness
Emanating from the magical chorus
On Daffodil Hill

Click here to view the photograph accompanying this poem.

New Life in Focus

New life
Emerging each moment
With each breath
Hope is born
Bringing our deepest desires into focus

New blossoms on the tree of life
Pure, virgin whiteness
Against a burning blue sky
Each blossom a breath
Each breath a new beginning

Programmed from birth
To become the fruit of life
Sustaining us
Transforming us
Like the rain and sun give us rainbows

No pain
Unless we resist
Stand in tomorrow’s way
Accept the gift—
New life in focus

Click here to see the photograph accompanying this poem.

Old and New as One

Time
Not separate
Never without something else
One dimension among many
Old and new, both parts of the same

Within you
A metaphysical clock
Keeps you ticking
Never forward or backward
Always moving in circles

Life
Experienced as time
But always timeless
Moving in circles
Old and new, both parts of the same

It’s Good to Be Alive

Last night’s star-filled sky sang me fast to sleep
This morning’s warm sun graced my windowpane
Awakening me with its hypnotic laughter
Looking in the bathroom mirror this morning I thought—
It’s good to be alive

Things don’t always go our way
At times they totally run amok
Defying our sense of justice
Showing us how vulnerable we really are
It’s good to be alive

At times, we delude ourselves—
A good life is about getting our way
Having things as we want them
Stirring my morning coffee, I thought—
It’s good to be alive

Have you noticed how spring sunlight
Completely transforms the needles on a white pine
And how the sky and clouds peeking through the forest
Appear like blurry blue and white diamonds
It’s good to be alive

Sometimes we gravitate too much
In the direction of our dreams
Failing to appreciate the beauty, magic of life
Just as it presents itself
Truly, it’s good to be alive

Click here to see the image going with this poem.

Depression Faces

Like ghosts
Their faces linger in my mind
Can’t forget them
No matter how hard I tried
They’re still there
Feeding on what’s left of me

Which faces?
The Depression faces
Dark, hollow, hungry
Haunting faces
Men, women, children
Especially the children

They sold their shoes
For pennies, a scrap of bread
Their filthy faces and feet
Dirtied by their worst nightmare
No washing away their pain

It changes you
Having nothing left to lose
Even worse
Having something and losing it
It changes you
Even looking back and remembering

Blue Spring Beauties

From a distance
I watched you dance
Like a sea of tiny blue stars
Dreamy circles you waltzed
Never missing a step
Perfect harmony with the wind

Inching closer
I saw your sweet smiles
Blue spring beauties
Forever in tune
With that something larger
Casting a spell over me

How lucky seeing you dance
Your heads held high
Identical green dresses you wore
Like velvet
Shimmering in the sun
Graceful as only a flower can be

I felt you so close
As only a chosen lover can be
Dance with you I did
My heart filled with glee
Now I must go
A date with Emily Dickinson to keep

Click here to see the blue spring beauties

Consider Life’s Outside Possibilities

Too easy
Looking in obvious places
Those we already know
Possibilities already imagined

Imagine an open window
In the midst of your darkness
A place where light is possible
An opening for outside possibilities

Get used to the light
At first too much for your eyes
Then new images take shape
Filling your soul with hope

In this realm
The inevitable disappears
Taking its place
With all other known possibilities

Let the obvious possibilities fade away
Take a chance on the unknown
Bet the farm on it
Walk into the light

Robin Egg Springtime

So much to delight about in springtime—
Fresh green buds on trees, crocuses, daffodils, tulips
But nothing matches a pastel blue robin egg
To ignite spring feelings within me

My robin egg infatuation traces back to first grade
When Miss Woods, using God and science in the same breath
Explained that robin eggs were blue to camouflage them
Among the sun-dappled leaves hovering about the robin’s nest

I decided then and there
That robin egg blue was my favorite color
Because it protected new life
And because it made me feel close to the sky

Even now, some fifty years later
Especially after a long hard winter
Spotting a robin egg shell on the ground
Makes me feel alive in a way only spring can do

We’re Never Really Alone

Given a magic wand
I’d rid the world of loneliness—
What isolates us
Marginalizes us
Disconnecting us from the rest of the world

Mostly we do it to ourselves
We think we are alone
Separate from what sustains us
And sure enough
Our connection to life is broken

Yes, others can break the connection
Escalating our deepest fears of being alone
Heightening the pain of our cancer
Amplifying the weight of our depression
But mostly we do it to ourselves

We’re never really alone
You’re not, I’m not
Something Higher connects all of us
In your darkest hour, reach out
Touch it, let it touch you back

We Wait Too Long

We wait too long
To do what’s most important
Things stirring our hearts
And riding the wild horses of our souls

The clock, time, busy schedules
Just excuses for not doing
What only we can do, and no other
Things making it all worthwhile

It’s gone before we know it
The best part of us
The things we equate to joy
Things worth doing for their own sake

It’s a mistake
To forget who we are
And then pretend truth was never there
Or something else was more important

We wait too long
To surrender to what really matters
To the only thing that can save us
From a life of hopeless despair and misadventure

You do it, and I see it in you
I do it, and you see it in me
If only we could see it in ourselves
Maybe we wouldn’t wait so long

Don Iannone on Live Internet Radio

Subject Line: Don Iannone on Live Radio/Webstream Show this Sunday, March 29th 4-5 p.m. EDT (1-2 p.m. PST)

I am joining a fellow member of Wisdom Workers, Dr. Zara Larsen, on her Tucson-based live talk radio and web streamed show this Sunday, March 29th from 4-5:00 p.m. EDT. "Circles of Change: Conversations on Change Leadership and Career Fulfillment" is dedicated to opening up positive conversations on personal career and organizational change to inspire and help others during these change-rich times. Zara has hosted over 100 shows in just over a year featuring guests from around the country. We will be discussing my portfolio career of leadership development and strategy consulting with Wisdom Workers (as Zara would say, "Your 9 to 5 life"), and creative life work in photography and poetry ("5 to 9, wanting to become more life!").

Join us live within the Tucson/Phoenix broadcast area on AM 1330 KJLL "The Jolt", or via web stream at your computer. www.tucsonsjolt.com/ If you are on an Apple/Macintosh computer, first circumvent Firefox and enter through Internet Explorer. Call-in questions to (520) 529-3508, toll free (877) 544-2580. Email questions can be sent to change@thelarsengroup.com

If you miss the live show, a recap and full podcast will be posted at www.thelarsengroup.com/ "Circles of Change Radio", 2009 Season left hand tab by Wednesday evening, April 1st, where you will also find the full complimentary library of thought provoking shows to date.

Thanks in advance for joining us!

Losing Myself Inside a Japanese Wood Poppy

Stepping inside a Japanese wood poppy
I took leave of myself
As some mad man might veer off the highway to work
Only to find himself fishing
Along the banks of an idyllic stream

Not often enough we surrender ourselves
To that something larger
Contained in even the smallest thing
Like a tiny blade of grass
Or the petal of a spring daffodil

Why quibble over a name, or anything
Standing between you and beauty
‘Tis better to be naked of all words
Even poetry
Than miss a flower’s healing kiss

Home but Still at War

So much, unsaid
Like all the mute soldiers
Returning from war
Wordless wanderers
Trying to forget themselves
What keeps them there

It’s in their eyes
Hiding under the lids
Like thunderstorms
Lurking behind clouds
Like numb fingertips
Wiping away frozen tears

More came back than didn’t
But even those returning–
Still there, in that place
The one they carried back with them
That’s now their prison
Life sentences, every last one of them

Will it ever end
War that is
Not over there
In here
It takes your words away
Then takes your life away

Dangling Winter Leaves

Dangling winter leaves
Strangers to each other
And to the world watching on
Quietly hoping for a sign
There is something more
Something worth dangling for

Dangling winter leaves
Strangers to reason
And that which it demands
Like leaves clinging to their branches
Each of us, you and me
Cling to each breath

Dangling winter leaves
Faded, tattered, icy reminders
Long past their season
Beyond all reason
Holding on to our gaze
As we hold on to them

Click here to see my photo “Dangling Winter Leaves”

On a Snowy Sunday Morning

Early Sunday morning, snow fell upon my world
Around and around it tumbled, oh how it swirled
Blinded by its beauty, its virgin whiteness ever brightened
An otherwise drab morning, I felt so full, so enlightened

Snowflakes are so different, like people I’ve come to know
Watching them dance together, spurs my love for them to grow
Even the lovely cardinals, upon the white blanket they sit
And cast tiny shadows, the hazy sun has lit

How could I not feel happy, utter Sagitarian glee
Snowflakes awaken my spirit, my sleeping soul set free
Amidst this snowy silence, God speaks just to me
Reminding me where is Heaven, that bluejay in the tree

Fort Lamar

Trees now grow where soldiers fought
Many died, more than we thought
Outnumbered Confederates, nearly three to one
Turned back Union forces, on their way to Charleston

Hallowed ground, fettered spirits still remain
Things the mind cannot explain
Yet in our hearts, their fear we surely know
Dying, not something anyone can forgo

Fort Lamar, the Battle of Secessionville
One fateful day, such a powerful clash of will
Hand to hand combat fought with pride
Brutal deaths, so many died

Towering oaks, yaupon hollies
Cover now the sins of war, its follies
Bay berries, pines now abound
The silence so loud, so profound

The Civil War over for most
Yet memories linger, some wretched ghost
A gentle breeze between the trees
The cries and whispers, only the heart does seize

Click here to see some photographs of the Fort Lamar Historical Preserve

Ines Langs’ Has a New Book

A German poet and photographer friend, Ines Langs, has a new poetry book. The book is about 50% German and 50% English. Here are two of her English poems to tantalize you.

Love Torture

Oh what a torture love can be
taken and given
driven
by all the spirits
of heaven and hell
choking on a yell
laughing and crying
living and dying
in sweet pain and ecstasy

Copyright Ines Langs, March 29, 2007

————————————————————-

I only need a soft breeze to lift me up into the skies

Softly I came down to rest,
lying still now for a while.
When the sun is turning West,
you can see me softly smile.

Morning sun will wake me up
with his tender loving kiss.
And a breeze will lift me up,
lets me fly again in bliss.

(Copyright Ines Langs, October 26, 2008)

Here is the information to buy a copy.

“Poesie ist Licht und Dunkel”
by Ines Langs
ISBN 978-3-8370-7692-9
available for order in every bookstore and online:
Click here to order online (sorry, only in German)

(title translation: Poetry is Light and Dark)

The book contains a collection of my poems from 1997 to 2008, poems in English as well as in German, and some fitting images.

To Those Who Took Their Pictures

Who will take their pictures?
Helping us remember the tired, hungry faces
Riding cold boxcars into the dark night
Ten long years before World War II

Who will take their pictures?
Of our parents, grandparents, the elderly man living next door
Lonely survivors, waiting with millions in long food lines
Selling a pair of shoes for only a penny

Who will take their pictures?
Those turned out in the streets
Dark silhouettes sleeping in dumpsters
Cardboard box villages under bridges to nowhere

Who will take their pictures?
Barefoot mothers clutching dying hopes
Child-like dreams of tomorrow for sale
Bits of filthy cloth left for the rag man to gather

Who will take their pictures?
Helping us remember
Hard times, here again
Set your price, all shoes and dreams once again for sale

Note: Dedicated to the wonderful photographers capturing the human side of the Great Depression. See more here.

November Songs

Rust colored leaves
Lonesome naked trees
Waving branches, wild dancing fingers
Reaching upward, gray skies, dark clouds above

Early snow, sparse gatherings here and there
Thin streams of streaky smoke
Lazily drifting from red brick chimneys
A sorrowful wind howls cold and lonely

In the distance, two bright red cardinals
Chirping November songs back and forth
Songs of plenty, winter solitude, thanksgiving
Melodies reunited strangers sing

I hope I never forget
How October brought us here
Just to hear the wind
And strangers sing November songs

Breathless Peppermint Sunset

A hint of cool peppermint
One wispy streak of fragile salmon pink
Lingering still, the far-off horizon

A skipped heartbeat
Awaiting the stars, the moon’s sweet embrace

Content resting in the moment
No wishing for a shooting star
No anticipation of what’s to come
Comfortable forgetting all that has passed

Even the wind holds its breath
Till it all fully touches us—
That momentary magic—
Being alive

She Left Me

She left me
All alone, so very blue
She left me
Reasons why, I never knew

She left me
Standing there by myself
She left me
All my dreams on some deserted shelf

She left me
Wondering where I go from here
She left me
Not so much as one tear

She left me
My lonely heart, oh so blue
She left me
Broke my heart in two

Note: Written in senior year of high school, 1969, St. Clairsville, Ohio. This poem was intended as song lyrics. They never made it, but I never really tried to use them in a song.

Pondering the Obama Victory

The neighbor’s dog chases a lone leaf
Gliding like an golden angel to earth below
Sitting at my window, I smile at the dog—
Now victoriously clutching the leaf between his teeth
He savors his prize
Careful not to destroy what was so hard won

Between calculated sips of my morning coffee
I try my best to imagine
What most Blacks are feeling this morning
After a resounding Obama victory last night
Victorious, validated, vibrant, perhaps vivacious
But surely now believing dreams come true

So much of life, chasing golden leaves
Seeking our special moment
A time to shine like the sun
Sparkle like a diamond
Twinkle like a star in full aliveness
Congratulations America on your choice

Consciousness Shift

“We’ve just experienced a profound shift in our consciousness.”

Comment by Oprah Winfrey to CNN News on Election Night 2008 in Chicago, IL

Personal Commentary by Don Iannone

Just finishing a new masters degree in consciousness studies, this quote by Oprah Winfrey grabbed my attention. What did Oprah mean by a consciousness shift? You would need to ask her to know what she really meant, but I will take a stab at what I think she meant.

What does a shift in consciousness mean? In an overall sense, it refers to a new awareness of the world–a more holistic, and integrated worldview; a new worldview that sees the deeper connections in our lives to all people and all things, and the inviolability or sanctity of all life.

This shift has been a long time coming, and not just conceived on Election Night 2008. We have been evolving in this direction for a long, long time. The shift is much more than a new political or economic vision for America, although new visions of both could come from the shift. It is more than a shift in ideology from a Republican regime to a Democratic regime. It is more than a shift from rich to poor, White to Black, Iraq and Afghanistan to the American Middle. The shift in consciousness is about the recognition of the enormous power of our ideas, what we believe, hope for, and dream of. It is a shift to seeing how we transform ourselves each moment through our consciousness of ourselves and our world. It is about the role of our consciousness in giving shape to our evolution as human beings and integral components of the whole of life.

I believe that is what Oprah Winfrey was speaking of when she spoke of a consciousness shift. I believe this is something that has been inside Oprah Winfrey for a long time, but she was given the courage to speak to the shift by her recent work with Eckhart Tolle, the author of The Power of Now and A New Earth. Learn more here: www.eckharttolle.com/eckharttolle

Watch for the signs of this shift in consciousness within yourself and your world. It’s there and it is profoundly powerful.

See the photographic version of this post on my Flickr website.

Election Day U.S.A.

Tuesday is trash day in my town
I voted

Monday

Monday morning, new week starting
Find your way, waters parting
So much ahead, to be done
Deadlines approach, under the gun

In all this busyness, don’t forget
Take it easy, why the sweat
We push ourselves at times too hard
Take a stroll in the yard

Remember who you are, why you’re here
Experience life’s magic, it comes so near
In you lies a child-like smile
Let it fill you for a while

Ride that smile to a laugh
Play a better game, second half
Mondays last just one day
On this one, let yourself out to play

True Knowing

Answers come, answers go
Questions linger, we don’t know
Deeper ones last forever
Definite answers, no not ever

All our schooling, our supposed knowing
Ignorance still abounds, and it’s growing
Some think they know, that others don’t
Resolve it all, the know-it-all’s won’t

Climb a mountain, the one inside
Where timeless answers always hide
Sit there quiet, in silence golden
Trust the moment, love unfolding

First Beginnings

I gaze upon her
Virgin as she is
But not for long
Her purpose from the start—
To meld, join, transform
Bring about what doesn’t exist
Birth new beginnings

First beginnings, I think
Eden, Big Bang, cosmic innocence
All other beginnings, only because
There was a first beginning
A starting point before all others
A single, untouched placeless event
From that point, all others

On Forgiving Anger

So much, I can forgive you for
But never your anger can be

Your loneliness, and its cries
Grow tears inside of me
Friends forever, we shall be

To your fear of darkness, amorphous anxieties
Heaps of reassuring hugs I give
Hoping to set you free

So long as you repent
I can always forgive
Your forgetfulness, poor memory

And so long as you love me with all your heart
Your clumsy way of showing love
Sets off a smile, healing warmth filling me

But your anger, sharp as a deadly knife
Cuts me deep inside
This I can never forgive
It sparks the same in me
No forgiveness there can be

Sunsets and Other Dying Words

At times, words seem so incomplete
Leaving us wanting
In ways we cannot describe
Pointing to things not things at all
Within and about us, directions, places with no words
Not now, or ever

Close your eyes
Recall the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen
Try your best to describe it—bring it back to life with words
How it became a sudden part of your life
How in between heartbeats
You even mused death also could be beautiful

Words will always be lonely—
Seeking the company of other words
So they won’t die a lonely death
Like souls need bodies to manifest life
Like the sun needs a reflective surface
To paint a sunset, signaling its departure

So why bother, you say
To replay our life experiences
Like some loved old movie
I have a hunch—
We want to hold on, to all of it
The sunset, even our words about death

Our Economic Angst

Times have gotten pretty tough
Perhaps a diamond in the rough
Everyone, feelin’ the pain
As the economy raises Cain

Working hard, no guarantee
Retirements washed out to sea
Rich and poor, both are losin’
As the markets take a bruisin’

Makes you wonder, when it’ll end
Empty wallets, blowin’ in the wind
Leaner times, here to stay
Easy money, not today

Easy to point a finger of blame
Don’t forget, we all played the game
Livin’ way beyond our means
Now we’re eatin’ more pork and beans

Lessons abound for everyone
Change ahead, won’t be fun
Go back to what really matters
Steer clear, all the idle chatters

Let’s re-envision the American Dream
It’s a busted old and tired machine
Let’s fix the planet, you and me
If I’m right, it’ll set us free

A Teacher

In some ways, more than we think
In other ways, much less
Someone who knows what you’re going through
Another who extends a helping hand, when needed

Not necessarily someone smarter
Or with more answers
After all, all questions in life are personal
A good teachers knows this

Good teachers are good students
Always learning
Never afraid they don’t know
Willing to see things in different ways

Living examples
Ones your soul wants to follow
Someone living their own life, not another’s
One knowing nothing lasts forever

One allowing students to flower
Become teachers themselves, in their own way
Finally, one getting out of the way of your learning
But there just when you need him

See Me, Love Me for Who I Am

So much torment, doubt, unwillingness to accept
More than I can imagine, withstand sometimes
If only the world were different
If only certain things didn’t matter
Like how I get lost in myself
How confusion descends upon me
Like a thick heavy fog hovering all about

Help me, please
So I can help you, or others, in return
Understand me, please
Cut me some slack
As you do for others, yourself
Try to understand that I’m different
No two snowflakes are the same

Hold me, please, when I’m terribly afraid
I will hold you, should the darkest night fill your days
Look into my eyes, clouded with tears, even this sunny noonday
I will look back into yours without judging what I see
See me just as I am, incomplete, without hope sometimes
When needed, remind me there is something larger—
Something always worth living for

I am who I am
Though this I never intended, but I am
As a young boy, overflowing with curiosity, laughter, happiness
This was the last thing I would have considered
This was the last thing I’d hope to become
Please try best as you can
See me, love me for who I am

Note: This is an empathy poem written in recognition of those who suffer from mental illness in its many forms.

My November Guest by Robert Frost

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise.

Ghost House by Robert Frost

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me–
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,–
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

From “A Boy’s Will”, 1913, Robert Frost

A Visit to Connemara, Carl Sandburg’s Home

Atop the rounded hill
Through the tall dark green pines
White, simple, modest, without pretense
Mimicking the man, the family living there
Three stories tall, seven bedrooms for dreaming
All woven as one on two hundred forty-eight priceless acres
Draped in nature’s earthy shades of green, brown, blue
Carl Sandburg’s home, Flat Rock, North Carolina

Named Connemara by its first owners
Meaning “of the sea” in Irish
A name the Sandburg family carried on
A national treasure in every way
Fourteen thousand books fill the walls
All read by the poet’s penetrating, dutiful eyes
Seeing through life’s clutter
Coming to rest always on what’s most important

His last ten books conceived, written at Connemara
That extra bedroom, even the living room, still speak the words
The typewriters, his favorite chairs, even the ashtrays
Remain filled with his spirit—
Known to us through Chicago, Grass, A Coin, his many other poems
I took pictures, but wanted to touch what he touched
And see what he saw, even the pain
Seeing his bed, I marveled at how his dreams came true

Leaving the grounds, I took one last picture
Of the lake before his home
I saw its unwavering stillness
How it reflected everything about it
I knew then why Sandburg’s last years were here
His conviction, strength, dedication
His inalienable sense of being a vehicle for beauty, truth, justice
Looking in these waters, it all became more clear to me

Under the Harvest Moon by Carl Sandburg

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

Poppies by Carl Sandburg

She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.
In a loose white gown she walks
and a new child tugs at cords in her body.
Her head to the west at evening when the dew is creeping,
A shudder of gladness runs in her bones and torsal fiber:
She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.

Let Your Pain Out

No refuge in your sorrow
Bear your pain, let it out
No escaping self-inflicted wounds
See the blood, your knife, your own hands

No refuge in your anger
Bear your pain, let it out
No dodging all the bullets
Lingering smoke, your own gun

No refuge in your fear
Bear your pain, let it out
No running from the shadows
Those you cast when in doubt

No refuge in your envy
Bear your pain, let it out
No covering up the lies
Unclog your drain, let your pain out

When a Factory’s Life Ends (Repost)

Foul gray smoke once belched
from tall red brick stacks
A bittersweet sign of life–
the old factory was still working

The smoke has now ended
along with the noisy metal-banging
that kept men busy
from sun up till sun down

The iron gates are chained shut
Never again, will they greet the dark faces
of hardened men with stale breath
from strong black coffee and cigarettes

Too easy to blame, too many strikes
for the factory’s foreboding silence
but hungry workers elsewhere, willing
to work for much less
and customers needing less metal
are just as much the reason
why the dark faces have grown much darker

The mill is history–
a cold, lifeless archeological ruin
So are the paychecks that paid the bills
giving small consolation to the two thousand men
laughing at each other’s lame jokes
dreaming of days
they wouldn’t have to work so hard

Now that day has come, and
their dreams and jokes both have ended.