Geese on the Pond

A pair of geese,

Mates for life,

Have nested on the bank of the pond.

Although people come near

And dogs and coyotes

Roam freely in these

Hills and woods,

They are not deterred.

They alternate sitting on the nest,

Each one taking a turn

To paddle on the glassy surface,

An ever-widening “v”

Following its wake.

The days that follow are too long.

The predators too hungry.

Before life can come to the full

The nest is breached.

The pair,

Unaffected by sorrow,

Rise together,

Flying off into the blue expanse

That seems endless.

Today's prompt was to write a sad poem.

A New Song

April is National Poetry Writing Month, and I have once again taken up the challenge of writing a poem a day for the entire month.  My first two efforts are not blog-worthy, but I'll post this one for day three.

Prompt:  Write a poem that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time.

A New Song

The record spins
And plays its tune,
Its melody etched in each groove,
The perfect performance every time.

There is some satisfaction in that perfection.
No need to change a thing...

Until a scratch
Impedes the progress
Of the needle,

And a word or note
Repeats
Repeats
Repeats

A New Song emerges
Alive
Varied
Improvised
No longer
Restrained or confined.

The beauty of the New Song
Steels my heart.

Is this the Amazing Race?

Many of you know that I've been creating my own Amazing Race.  This past week Phil and I traveled to New Orleans for a fun vacation.  In the past all the legs I've counted as my Amazing Race have had something to do with serving in some type of ministry.  I've had to make a decision about if trips for fun count as legs of the race, and  I've decided they do (especially since I'm just making this up as I go along).  So here's a run-down on our fun little trip.

On Tuesday we spent the afternoon at Oak Alley Plantation just outside of New Orleans.  To step into such a place is quite an unsettling experience.  It was a beautiful place with lovely grounds all around.  But there was no escaping the reality of all the suffering that took place there.  This was a sugar plantation, and the work was hot, dangerous and brutal.  In peak season slaves worked 18-hour days, seven days a week.

Oak Alley Mansion

The pathway leading up to the mansion was lined with spectacular live oaks.

Several slave cabins were on exhibit.

In the evening we walked down Bourbon Street and heard a lot of live music along the way.  It was not very crowded, and I think I wouldn't have liked it at all if it had been.  But it is quite an experience.  We visited an art museum and the huge WWII museum, had coffee and beignets at Cafe du Monde, walked along the Mississippi and just took in the sights and sounds of NOLA.

We had lots of good food and this
is one of the places we ate.  Here
I had shrimp and grits Napoleon.

You just see how little it would take to flood this city.

Phil with one of the museums in the background.

Andrew Jackson

On our way home we stopped in Montgomery and took in the Legacy Museum and the Peace and Justice Memorial that pays respects to all the people who have died by lynching.  It was a somber place to be on the holiday weekend, and great to walk the streets where the bus boycott that really started the whole civil rights movement took place.  

Every county in the United States that had a
lynching had one of these markers and the names
of the victims engraved on them. This one is
for Hamilton County.

Bledsoe County

Rhea County

The man behind this monument is Bryan Stevenson.  I learned about him and his work through his book, Just Mercy.  I have great respect and admiration for this man, and I highly recommend this book.

Poetry, Prose and Pie 3

I have been remiss in that I have failed to keep up with my activities here on the blog.  Back on December 29 I hosted another edition of Poetry, Prose and Pie.  Once again we had a good turnout of about fifty people.  Many guests contributed pies this time which was a welcome treat.  I need to remember in the future to have someone take pictures for me because I have only a few and none of the speakers.  It was another wonderful evening filled with art, music and beautiful words.

Ruth Burton, a friend from Pikeville, read the beginning of her book, The Benefit of Grace. It is available on Amazon if you'd like to read it.  It is a very enjoyable story.

Anthony Sullivan, a freshman at Lee University and one of my former students in Bledsoe County shared the story of learning to make biscuits with his grandmother and shared his passion for becoming a teacher.   Natalie Jenkins Kimball read portions from her wonderful short story called "The Wedding Dress."  Denis Kiely shared a memoir about his grandmother, which was sweet and poignant.  One of the friends I invited to share was not able to attend at the last minute.  Margaret Lane was gracious enough to step in and share two short stories, one about her family in Sullivan's Hollow, Mississippi, dubbed the meanest place in America by Life Magazine, and the other about how to hypnotize a chicken.  I was able to fill the last spot of the evening with some of the poetry I have written over the past year. 

In addition to the writers, Marsha Pickett displayed several of her paintings for our enjoyment. Ashley Cofield and her uncle, John Cofield, shared their talents on the violin and guitar.  These elements rounded out the evening nicely.

Some of Marsha's art on display

Ashley and John sharing a song

I can't tell you what a pleasure it was to share my poetry, and it gave me so much joy to host this event once more.  It has come to be one of the things I enjoy most in my life right now.  I am so thankful for the opportunity to make a space for art, music and literature that is locally created to blossom in our community. I can't wait to make it happen again!

Blessed are the Peacemakers

Today at church I was asked to do a reading during the song "Let There Be Peace on Earth."  Here's what I wrote.

 He came into the world as Prince of Peace

And called us to be peacemakers,

Said we would be blessed.

And so,

Out beyond the right-doing and wrong-doing

Of all the types of people we are–

Liberals and conservatives,

Rich and poor,

Strong and weak,

Wise and foolish—

Out beyond all our differences

There is a field.

“I’ll meet you there,” the peacemaker says,*

“And there we will walk and talk

And find a way forward.

There we will do the hard work of making peace.

And once we make that peace between us,

Once we build our bridge,

We will BE the peace we seek,

And we will be called Sons and Daughters of God.”

*This quote is based on thoughts from a poet named Rumi.

A Happy Anniversary

On the Friday after Thanksgiving thirty-nine years ago, before there was such a thing as Black Friday, Phil and I got married.  

At church last week, after everyone sang “Happy Anniversary” to us, someone asked Phil how long we had been married.  He answered quickly, “Thirty-nine.  Twenty-five of them happily.”  

“Sounds about right,” I chimed in, and we all had a good laugh.

When I’ve told others about this exchange, a few friends seem a little appalled. Most often people have asked if I know which years were the happy ones and if they were consecutive.  The answers to these questions are we are pretty aware of the years that were the hard ones and which ones were happy, and no, they weren't consecutive.

The truth is Phil and I feel very fortunate to be as happy as we are at this point in our marriage. When we think about being happy for two-thirds of our marriage, we figure we’re ahead of the game, and much more fortunate than a lot of people, whether they stayed together or gave up on it altogether.  

When we took our wedding vows we said, “For better or worse,” and for sure, there’s been a lot of both.  So today begins our fortieth year together, and we spent it with Madeline, laughing and playing.   I expect to add it to the happy side of the marriage ledger.  

Seeds

Just a weed,

            But even a weed can tell a story.

Dried leaves and stalk

Stand alone

As autumn consumes them.

And yet

Tufts of white spring from branches,

Seeds

Ready to fall like snow

When cast on the wind.

Our fallen ones

Left seeds behind;

Our fallen ones

Left seeds,

And already

Life is springing from those seeds.

But in truth,

Those we have lost

Are seeds themselves,

Planted in death,

Ready to put on immortality,

To be clothed in incorruption,

Awaiting the resurrection

That is sure as the spring.