Remembrance Day Poem

What We Lost

Standing in the wind

Shivering in the falling rain

Surrounded by uniforms

Decorated men and women

Solemn faces

Downcast eyes

How many lost?

Young men

Courage in their hearts

Fight for their beliefs

Their country

Their families

Futures lost

Young women

Nurture in their hearts

Mopping blood

From open wounds

Innocence lost

Mothers

Fathers

Sisters

Brothers

Wives

Husbands

Fear in their hearts

Bolster bravery

With letters and love

For heroes

Family lost

Communities

Celebrate valour

Parades and banners

Send off

Barbers

Carpenters

Bakers

Mechanics

Colleagues lost

God

Looks down

Conflict and war

Over pride

Greed

Selfishness

No uniform colours

No nationality

No sides

No right

No wrong

Precious children lost

We stand

And remember

What we lost

The tears on our cheeks

Blending with the gentle tears

From the sky

As God remembers

What we lost

November 11, 2007

Mountain Dulcimer

For Eric Angus Whyte and Rich Mullins

As the song is introduced

And the band

Gets ready

An image

From my dreams

Comes into view

My heart flutters

Double take

Could it be?

Are my eyes playing tricks?

My wondering

Cut short

By the intro bars

Sweetly harmonious

The sounds

That tug on my memory

The strings of my

Creative dreams

This Cape Breton musician

Connects to my

Musical past

A long wished for

Desired

Instrumental delight

As the hammers strike

Precisely tuned strings

Call forth an ancient

Artist

Could this talented musician

Possibly feel

The same connecting chords

As I?

After the music dies

I ask him

Mentioning a revered name

One that lights

A spark

A flame

In his eyes

A connection

Reaching across

Time

And space

Thru the love

Of music

Rich music

Brother and sister

Now

Not only to each other

To that artist

The link

The songwriter

Immortal lines

Living on

After his spirit

Has gone home

His legacy

In a small

Cape Breton town

Connecting

Kindred spirits

August 15, 2007

Down the Drain

The water pours over me

Rushing through my hair

Rivers running down my bare arms

Contained only by the enamel walls

Of the tiny tub

I close my eyes

The shower water blending

With my own tears

Hiding the shame

No guilt for breaking down here

Standing in the shower

Letting the water rush over me

Entirely

Trying to drown the day’s sorrows

My personal turmoil

In the hot, clear water

The haughty customer

The back-biting co-worker

The anxiety of the days to come

The sorrow at losing my family

Chains binding my heart

Weighing my every thought

I scrub now

Using soap

Shampoo

Body wash

Specialty deep cleaning products

Nothing reaches deep enough

My skin is raw

Pink and red

My fingers are tiny prunes

I cry from frustration now

Desperate

To be free

Suddenly

The stupid love songs running through my head

Stuck from repeated radio performances

Are replaced my a simple hymn

“Lord, send the rain”

I start singing out loud

The words pouring from my memory

Each verse building on the last

Until my tears choke the words in my throat

Tears of sweet relief

Overwhelmed

“He knows my name”

New words with pungent meaning

All the petty worries

The trite experiences

Seem insignificant in the light of this

Newly remembered

Never truly forgotten

Truth

Nothing they can do

Nothing I can do

Can change that

God loves me

Me

More deeply

More intensely

More completely

Than I can truly understand

These moments

When my voice is raised

In humble words

To an exalted King

These are the moments when my heart

Feels the most full

Connected with someone

Outside myself

Yet inside

I leave the tub

Watching my burdens

Swirl down the drain

August 12, 2007

Grandpa's Card

I found a card at my grandparents that I made for Grandpa's 58th birthday (1999). I liked the verse inside, so here it is

Grandpa

I found the perfect card for you.
I used some scissors, tape and glue.
Some parts were missing, ripped or torn,
A little bit ragged and somewhat worn.
When it was done, finished and through,
It kind of reminded me of You.
It wasn't perfect and far from new,
But it's better that way and
I love you!

Two Worlds

From clanging metal

To laughing children

From the power of a diesel

To the energy of a six-year old

From creations in steel and aluminum

To art in construction paper and popsicle sticks

Two separate and distinct worlds

Could not be more different

Yours takes you far away

To see vast oceans

And new coast lines

Listening to the repetitive chug

Of the engine room

Living in small quarters

On a large

Floating structure

Surrounded by water

Rising and falling with the waves

Tossed on the whim of the weather

Yet you love it

You love this job that takes you from me

You love that your hands

Can combine with your mind

And blend into skills

To form a lasting creation

One that can be admired

Useful

My world is smaller

My home is constant

There are people who depend on me

As others do you

But my dependants are little

More willing to show their appreciation

With a hug or a smile

(What Chief engineer would do that?)

My creations are not lasting or useful

They are beautiful for the moment

Handprints in paint

A flower made from coffee filters

Something to grace my world with color

And life

But they will be replaced

With new life

Changing life

My world is tossed about

By the growth of my children

Who change by the minute

With far less predictability

Than the weather

Whose emotions

Are young and sensitive

Still untainted by societies advocacy

For stoicism

My world will wait

As it always does

For your world to come back

To join my own

My world is constant

Yours is in flux

But is unchanging in its changeability

Constant in its rhythm

I do not desire to be in your world

As I know you do not desire to be in mine

But as we love each other

We admire each respective world

With awe and disbelief at the choices

Of our partner

Yet

It is these distinct worlds

Which reflect our personalities

And abilities

Drawing these opposites

Into a more complex

Relationship

With weaknesses overcome

And strengths celebrated

A Larger and fuller world

Than either has the ability to create

Alone

July 22, 2007

Someday

For Kyli-Anne

Tiny fingers grasp

Someday they will create a masterpiece

Tiny feet wiggle

Someday they will run a marathon

Tiny eyes follow

Someday they will see a million stars

Tiny ears listen

Someday they will hear an unwritten symphony

Tiny lips pucker

Someday they will kiss away another’s hurt

Tiny child thinks

Someday she will know the mysteries of the universe

But for now

In this moment

She is lying in my arms

A tiny miracle

My own piece of

Someday

July 2007

Rumination on Birthdays

There is a single day in the year which is just like any other in character. The sun rises. It sets. The weather can vary from sunny to cloudy to rainy to snow. Time passes at the same rate as any other day. The people of the world go about their business in the same way they always do, completely oblivious to the significance of this twenty-four hour period.

On this day twelve, twenty-nine, fifty-six years ago a new person was added to our world. Someone who would become a mother, a sister, a doctor, a cashier, a thief. This day is directly connected to the significance of that life. Without this day, that person would not exist. Would not be able to leave their fingerprints on the lives of the rest of earth’s occupants.

To some, birthdays are a hassle. The day reminds them that they are one day closer to death. For those people, it is easier to ignore the day of their entrance into the world than to acknowledge how long it has been since that moment.

To others, it is a milestone. What child does not dream of turning thirteen and finally being able to be called a teenager. Those magic numbers that signify that time is passing and others will now recognize how mature and responsible they have always believed themselves to be.

Some view birthdays as a time to set aside the day-to-day struggles of living and enjoy themselves.” The crazy party or the expensive present to myself are all ok because it’s my birthday! I deserve a little break once a year.” Children look forward to all the presents and the parties that come with reaching each new birthday. They plan months in advance.

When my birthday comes, it’s not the party or the presents that are important. Certainly, I love to receive presents, but not for the reasons you may think. I love to get presents, no matter the value, because it tells me that I have left a mark on someone’s life and they are thankful for my birth. A thoughtful phone call or email shows that someone was thinking about me even if I wasn’t around and that they want to brighten up my day. It is the friends and family that I am thankful to have gathered over the passing years that make my birthday special.

I take the opportunity on my birthday to send some appreciation to God for the past year and all of the successes and failures I may have faced; that I was able to learn and grow and live a little more. I also look forward to the next year and wonder, with a sense of expectation, what I will be thankful for this time next year. Will I have new friends? Will anyone remember my special day? What will I know that I don’t know now? Each birthday I pray for the strength to face each new challenge in the coming year with faith, strength and optimism, trusting that God will bring me through to another birthday with even more to be thankful for.

So that is where you will find me on my next birthday. If you stop in, be sure to bring along a homemade card and I might share with you some cake and my newly acquired experience.

July 15, 2007

More Poetry (by others...)

In The Morning by Jenn Carson

Absolutely beautiful
The way your smile slides sideways
with those shy eyes
shy eyes
that tell me so much
so much you cannot
will not
say

Absolutely, achingly beautiful
Like a thick pulsing raindrop
hanging off the edge of a leaf
waiting
waiting to hit the ground
and be blown apart

You surprise me in the morning
when you roll over
to wipe the drool off my chin
and the sleep from my eyes
being careful not to breathe in my face

And you kiss my forehead
rub your beard against my cheek
and I feel everything tingle
running up the inside of my thighs
out my fingertips
and I shiver
I shiver
because I cannot contain my excitement
at knowing that I have been
blessed with holding
something so precious
so real
so so so
beautiful





I Listened by Jenn Carson

Like a forty-year-old menopausal housewife
I got to the point where I didn't know who I was
Not because I cooked every meal for my ungrateful husband
Not because I taxi-cabbed my children to the mall and the skating rink
But because you told me how to think
how to think porperly
because I didn't think properly
and stupid me stupid me
I listened

Like a handicapped child who couldn't go to the bathroom alone
I got to the point where I didn't know how to function
Not because I was making faces on command for immature classmates
Not because I wasn't taught how to add or subtract
But because you told me how to act
how to act properly
because I didn't act properly
and stupid me stupidme
I listened

Like a wounded basset hount kept on a leash
I got to the point where I didn't know how to obey
Not because I kept chasing the neighbour's cat from the yard
Not because I buried black birds and dead doves
But because you told me how to love
how to love properly
because I didn't love porperly
and stupid me stupid me
I listened



An Our by Jenn Carson

I look forward to watching you age
watching your hairline fall away
and your skin dry and wrinkle and change pigments

I look forward to you fondling my droppy breasts
and rubbing my strech-marked belly
and laughing over all the memories

And that means so much more to me
than the delusional revolving-door
of a fling-filled perpetual youth

I look forward to
sharing a future
to knowing
to having
and

our

Inspiration

So I was rereading a few of my favorite poems last night and decided to share them. These are by some of my fellow ABU grads, as published in a book called "Lunch: My Favorite Season" that was presented to me by Dr. Mantz upon graduation. I will say in no uncertain terms, these poets have inspired me to write my own poetry. Thanks.

In the Choices by Jenn Carson
I hate heels
like Marion walking sideways down the stairs
they don't let me get where I'm going fast enough

I hate pantyhose
they dig into my stomach
never keep my legs warm
and they itch

I wear men's work pants
because they have lots of pockets to hold my things
but

I still come home from a long day
to a pile of dishes no man will wash
and put on my black lace negligee
so I will look like a woman for him



Bathtub Song for You by Jenn Carson

I'm determined not to sensationalize this
The last thing the world needs
is another sad love poem
gushing in the glory of separation

I'm sitting in the bathtub
I'm not really dirty
or cold
though I did find it chilly today
but more because
I need the kind of warmth
that a blanket doesn't provide

I've been in here so long
that is keeps growing tepid
abd I keep scalding my toes
by adding more hot water
I have to remind myself
to let the old water out

I'm eating a piece of stale
room temperature
raisin bread toast
with peanut butter on it
it's dry and it sticks
in the back of my throat
I wash it down
with a mug of skim milk
that was sitting on the bathroom floor

I'm not even hungry
I just keep putting things in my mouth
because it's empty
because your mouth isn't here

And soon I will have to climb out
of my porcelain uterus
and make my way to the bed
and stare at the ceiling
imagining you hovering over me
like you do in the mornings
surprising me with your warm
thoughtful eyes

And I will think about
how I have to wake up
and do this all over again
for what feels like a million lifetimes
until I can hold you in my litle arms

And I contemplate drinking
all the rum and wine and vodke
in my kitchen
or chain-smoking
until I burn a hole through my lung
or accidentally falling asleep
while I hold my breath
in this lonely barren bathtub

And I'm determined not to sensationalize this
But fuck multum in parvo
there's no way to say
how much I miss you
in a stanza or even a paragraph

It's just me without you
and this tub
and this emptiness

And I wait

And I wait

what a phone call!

So my best friend Kathryn and I have an interesting relationship. We love each other dearly and often go months without seeing or hearing from each other. I'll be kicking myself for not calling her, when I realize that she could have just as easily called me. When we finally get in touch, we fill in all the gaps and it's like we've never been apart. We are a lot a like. Our personalities fit very well. Even our husbands are alike, which speaks highly for the choices we both made. It's funny because I'll forget in the time gap how well she understands me until we talk. For example, I told her that Scott will be away from mid-June until the end of September. She said "oh, that's not bad." as opposed to the usual reaction... "Wow. that's a long time!" She knows the choices we make. During their second year of marriage, she and her husband lived in separate provinces and were only together on the weekends...sound familiar. The eerie, yet potentially exciting, part is that she may be moving to Ontario sometime next fall or winter...hmmm. that also sounds familiar. I would be the happiest woman in the world if I could end up moving half way across the country and just to end up within a few hours of Kat. *sniff* makes me teary just thinking about it. Another strange coincidence is that we both wrote-off our cars within three months of each other...mine had snow and hers didn't, but mine was repairable, hers was NOT. Oh, well. It's so nice to have someone with whom you can be completely comfortable. Who cares about you and what's going on in your life. And who you can cut through the preliminary explanations and get to the meat of the story, because you know the background for the story. I love catching up with Kat and my life is richer because of friends like her!

Salt Dough

find the recipe
pull out the ingredients
measure carefully
throw them into the bowl
pour in the water
now comes the fun
fingers as mixers
squish and blend
knead and push

forming a beautiful ball of dough

plop
one in front of each child
watch their eyes
even if their lips say nothing
watch their eyes
wide as saucers

at first
fingers touch
hesitantly
not liking to press the norm
drilled about clean hands
sticky dough
clinging to tiny fingers

shape
mold
create
something funny
something beautiful
something unique
one of a kind

so hard to leave it be
to let it dry
to make it immortal

mistakes erased
blended back into the dough
crushed
to begin again

a lasting piece
of imagination
in globby form

Sleep

A few thoughts on this sacred institution.

-"Sleep, no I never get enough, always waking up tired"
-There are many mornings I wake up looking forward to my afternoon nap
-There is no ailment, no emotion, and no issue that sleep can't solve, or at least put off until later.
-Sleep is the best procrastination tacktic available. You can completely forget about all the things you need to do and get away to your own private paradise.
-If you have a comfy bed, curling up under the covers can be as relaxing as a full-body massage, without the uncomfortable element of a stranger touching you.
-Why do people say "catching a few z's" when not a single person I know snores with a "zzzzzz" sound. Unlike the calm bee buzzing that the comic strips imply, most snoring sleepers make noises that closer resemble freight trains, sawing logs, or grunting pigs.
-Isn't it interesting that as we fill our bellies up, our eye lids get droopier and droopier. Turkey must be the best sleep aid invented.
-I'll never understand why I cannot keep my eyes open to watch a movie on the couch, but as soon as I turn the movie off and stumble in to bed I am hit with a wave of insomnia.
-I would love to be a cat. Some afternoons, there is nothing better than to curl up in a patch of bright sunlight and snooze away the afternoon. Purr!
-A Sleepover rarely fits the title. After hours of sweets, games, giggles and chatting, sleep is often hard to come by. If you do sleepover at a friends house, once your friends falls asleep, the unfamiliar atmosphere (noises, sounds, feel of the bed, noises) push out all ability to close your eyes, leaving you cranky and tired in the morning. Sleepovers are never as fun in the morning as they are the night before. A little bit like partying....a topic for another time.

-Final thoughts... sleep reminds me of an addictive drug...I am always striving for more...can never get enough...wishing to push aside all other aspects of my life to get it...and when I spend a day indulging in it, I rarely remember more than random moments.

Long time coming

This entry has been a long time int he making. How do you cram nearly a year into one little paragraph? Well, I will try to begin.
This past year I have grown from a fledgling teacher, full of self-importance and pride, to a full-grown educator. Yes, I may not have my own classroom officaially, but I have learned more about myself in the last year than in my lifetime. I started out the application process last year wondering why anyone would NOT want to hire me. I look back now and laugh at the idealistic answers I gave in my first interview. I realize now I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. God must share in that mirth as he looks down and gives me gentle disappointments so that I can be guided into the path he has for me. I would never have gleaned these gems of wisdom if I had been handed my own classroom last summer. I HAD to go through the exercise of trusting Him and following the lilypads to cross the pond.
I NOW feel ready to have my own class, yet that in itself is a terrifying prospect. I was not this intimidated last summer, and I hope that indicates my new maturity in the matter. I once heard that "courage is not the absence of fear but the determination to overcome it". Hopefully, that is the same with teaching. Maybe now that I understand the full scope of my reach as a teacher, this new awe and respect for the profession reveals that I can overcome it and grow into the "Master Teacher" I strive towards being.
As I prepare for tomorrow's lessons, I pray that god will give me the ability and wisdom to touch the academic and personal lives of these children in ways that will last.