PLEASE, LISTEN

An email invitation to be a guest on Saturday morning radio

The topic: How did I find my writer’s voice?

Writer’s voice? What voice? Twelve solitary hours in the writer’s chair.

No food or drink.  No ideas or marvelous lines of rhyme and illiteration.

Provacateur requests a yes or no response in the morning.

Sleepless night. Tossing and turning. Groaning. Answerless.

Suspend the sunrise. Halt the Big Ben clock. Deny the deadline.

Crouched on the mattress edge. Black coffee steams on the night stand. How have I become a “kept

man?”

Daily devotion. God you owe me. Give me magic words.

Uh oh, silence becomes darker, more profound.

Takes personal hubris to challenge God. I never learn.

Agnes turns the radio to a classic station in Philly. A morning

ritual at 7:45.

Today’s stratosphere is different. Our kitchen is alive.

“ Mary Did You Know”? The beseeching melody which brought

us to our humbled knees at Christmas Mass  on the day

Karen boarded the train to Chicago fills the airways.

Just listen..Trust. Please He begs, listen.

 

MUSES TO SUSTAIN THE THOUGHTFUL LIFE

“lET US BE FREE TO LISTEN TO NATURE AND THE JOYS OF OUR INNER CHILD’S MEMORY

THE MYSTICAL HAND OF ART

 

Talents are somewhat appreciated, understood, applauded.

Somewhat?

Observers look at the external varnish  seeing superficial beauty

Unappreciative of complex artistry and cerebral gymnastics

Patrons groan oohs and ahhs as color schemes,

Lurid sunsets, mystical rainbows steal their superficial appreciation

of the muse talents in Apollo’s arena.

 

Fascinated by paranormal dimensions, engaged with 5^th world cohorts

Ensconced in brightly lit third floor writers dens and palettes  askew

Driven to capture the fleeting clouds of inspiration

Delighted by thoughts talking in middle night séances

Sweating to encircle darting thoughts, sunset images

Six-eight –ten hours of never tiring genius

Van Gogh, Mayer, Shakespeare are always present

Always, Always

To capture the candle scent of the masters of yore is

A blessing in ones vein.

 

Watching the ghost of creativity walk away into the

Foggy canyons of smudged palletes is a muse denied.

 

 

HAPPENSTANCE AND CIRCMSTANCE

The vagaries of life are many

Collision of fate, fame, finesse, fury

Are second to no other emotional coupling

Couched in anonymity muses gather

Celestial powers converge

Human chemical reactions explode

Rarity – once in a lifetime

Powers unleashed – rivers of passion overflow logic

Desire, attraction henceforth unknown

Uncontrollable

Rarity –once in a lifetime

So beautiful, challenging, caring, honest

A multitude of mystical colors surround her visage

Life changing – an understatement

Dusk arrives, darkness envelopes

The Goddess of life retreats

Her footprints in the sand leave a trail

Of  love’s never to be forgotten mystical gifts.

 

GOD’S PRESENCE

A glaze of snow on the mountain trail

Feeble red oaks bracing the winter winds

Too cold to trek

First day of winter?

Last sunrise of fall?

 

Snuggle,huddle,bridle inside

Hiding for 6 months

Nature smiles, humans are hiding

Animals and rodents run free

God’s country is God’s country again

 

Surrender the Poconos

Leave snow shoes hung in the garage

Surrender to the elements

Smells of hemlock hang with heavy snow

Surrender snow drifts, slashing neck burning winds

Surrender snowmobile trails

Grey tinged skies collage with the winter sun

 

To trek or not to trek. That is the question.

Cabin fever- higher level each week

House becomes prison like

Reflecting snow, one of God’s paintings

Staying inside- turning our backs on God’s goodness

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother’s Prayer

Mom always said ” a person’s eyes are the windows to their soul”.

A shard of motherly wisdom emanates from her desktop picture.

The closed smile of an intense, oh so knowledgeable keeper of the faith

Behind her spectacles, the soul’s aperture heard all things, saw all things,

celebrated -cherished-protected  her sons.

Celebrated-cherished-protected the men in her life.

Sentry like – she observes me every day in every way.

 

The inevitability of life’s end becomes more clear,

her parting phrase  ” I pray for you every day” speaks louder and more emphatic

as the wintertime sunset is longer, darker, all encompassing.

She said, ” I am tired, the Lord can take me home”.

What a wonderful surrender. Peace.

May I listen and surrender.

 

 

 

 

 

 

WORD POWER

The voice of a friend long absent

Crossing years, miles, life stories

Instantly recognizable.

Regional dialect –unmistakable

Five decades old greeting – “Howdy”

Conversation starter

South Jersey accent plain- clear-strong

 

Vowels travel through the marshland

On the wings of ducks and river geese

Descendants of English conquerors

Red coats hidden in colonial Anwar’s.

 

See ya!- goodbye-good luck, my dear friend

Lancashire elite ending fox hunts

Generations of country squires and ladies

Bid adieu to family/friends

Phrase fills new world lexicon

 

Playground, bedroom, dinner table

Words have meaning, character,  emotion

Mean what one says,

Stand behind subtle and obvious meanings

Doing less is deceit –dishonesty.

Doing more is ascending to higher thrones.

Timeless voice from years passed

Recognizable by trust, brotherhood, faith, accent.

 

 

BELL RINGING IN THE VALLEY

Sunrise in the snowy Alps

Tephrite stone church awakens

Brass bell once again ready to call

Out that Christ is ready to return.

Muscular boy pulls hemp rope

Legs vault skyward

Arms strain

Gong- gong -gong

 

Third generation bell ringer

Koblenz Alps

Noon time- mass time

Villagers pause, pray

 

Absent during WWII

No bells

Nazi troops in the streets

Family afraid of Krauts

Bell ringer family

Loaded on to box cars

Last stop – Auschwitz

 

WWII calamity ends

Noon times are quiet

Pews are tightly crammed

No bells

Generations of memory remain

Bell family burial plot is

adorned with votive candles

 

Bell rope is sacred, blessed

To be venerated, not touched

Some see blood stains

Others the face of Christ

 

Clear blue sky in the Alps

Town square empty

Church empty

Bell tower empty

 

Barely audible

One note – then another

Sweeping through the valley

God’s hand on the rope?

Gone, the sound is gone.

 

Saturday – market day

Meat and vegetable vendors

Cram the stalls – generational

Hundreds of shoppers –the souk

Bell tower sleeps as an after-thought

 

Noon – the hour of legends

Fairy tales

Songs sung discreetly, protected

all as memories, no written texts

Many have heard Teutonic tales

Imaginary bell sounds.

 

The Great I Am pulls the bell rope

Sounds not possible in human hands

A palpable “Come back to me”

In languages absorbed by the hearts of all.

 

Sunday – the boy Schneider from Koblenz

Pulls the rope

Every day thereafter the boy turned man

Engages the rope

Every day villagers pause, pray

Christ has returned.

 

BREATH

Pursuing the source of continuing energy

From whence does it come – and go?

Munificent clouds, weather trends,

Peoples of the desert, homeless in the city

 

Rolled paper fragments huddle on curbsides

Closely holding printed thoughts

Composed by 3^rd and 4^th generation authors

Huddled inside wind lashed stone cottages

Winter’s apparition paces nearby.

North Sea gales astride the House of Orange.

 

Life’s gift descends, or is it ascends?

A baby’s first breath, the final gasp of a dying elder

Molecules of words in the woods

Unknown, unseen,

Cherished and blessed

SHIPS IN THE NIGHT

 

Listen intently

Focus

Process each syllable, phrase,

Emphasis, modulation

What is said, inferred, implied.

 

Interpreting

What specifically is said

Or what we think is said

Or what we want to hear.

 

Emotionally tinged

Minds wander

Speaker continues, we lose focus

On he chats, we are left behind in interpretative morass

Losing the threads, the implications, the secret nuances

 

It’s our turn in this conversational dialogue

We’ve been preparing our response…

our chance to take center stage

Half listening

Half prepping to interject, intervene,

Respond intelligently, with appropriate gravitas

 

Words

We have a common language

Centuries of word development

Intermingling cultures, linguistics

Root words, historical context

 

“What do you mean”?

I don’t understand.

Common queries. Indicators of lack of understanding

Frustration, Unintentional knowledge gaps

 

Simplistic. The sender assumes the counterpart

Understands, comprehends, internalizes.

 

Complex. The receiver is in a state of confusion

Deepening morass of rising blood pressure

Partner speaking in foreign tongues?

Basic premise of communications is absent

He should know to mean what he says

Say what he means! Mean what he says

 

I’m so clear, precise, can’t be me

His glassy eyes, burrowed brow

Signal disdain, confusion:

We are not on the same page.

Ships passing in the night ! Ahoy