Latin, Pooh and You

POOH

Latin, Pooh and You

My what strong genes you have
Tethered am I to you
By DNA
Born into your love for Latin and Pooh
Child of nearly another, child
Your words came to you, then, started their great exodus
Early
Dementia is mastering the art of thievery
We’ve drawn swords
Suited up for the battle
We rise up in tandem
Fight it off and hold on to syllables, dim and faded
Stammering and garbled
Eloquent elocution, always
Grammatically correct until the end

I’ve accepted the passing, in the twilight, not the dawn
Complicated
But the baton is here
(I confide often, blush at my age, late blooming wanna-be poet,
Fighting off shame)

My what strong love you have
Leaving breadcrumbs, poetic syllables
In your life’s wake
Marking the trail
Leading me beside the still waters
Leaving our time by the raging sea
See
I have learned to listen
To poetry and you
And to love Flannery and her peafowl
(I named a Black Maran after you)
Some things you tend to forget
But these are branded into the everlasting
World without end
Amen
Pooh, Latin, poetry, and Maggie the Black Maran hen

The Mirror

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The Mirror

I look back
My eyes jump, dart, make every effort to look away
From  the chain of our DNA
Sitting here in the polar cold
It is time, while there is still time

Fingers frozen, numbed by the January winds
Blowing up through the hundred year old pane of glass
I pause my own poetry
Raise the mirror that shows me more, of her and me
And of our love for poetry

And with my nose, whose tip is cold
And with my fingers fighting hard to write
I fight back
At war no more
With the past

Warmed by old words I may have read
But never truly heard
I raise high my white flag
And rest my eyes, in peace on the page which holds years of her steady work with words

The echo of her heart and mind, mirror image of bits of me
For she penned words of beauty, in the back of her chapbook
Beside the photograph of her
Beaming bright, dressed in canary
Her color, not mine
Before dementia came and stole so much
I could close my eyes and swear
Swear, these words were mine
But I would not take, what is not mine
But she has given me, parts of her
I swear

“She takes delight in emptying on paper an
image that haunts her and carving it until
its beauty and truth emerge. Only then
does the poem speak.”

I could close my eyes and swear

The Art of Remembering

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The Art of Remembering

In a home
Frozen
In time
You will remember
Funny the fragments
That break apart
Aren’t we
Bound by memory
Remembering
While
Picking up the pieces
Remaking a life
Re-ordering the pages
Living in reverse
The mind rewinds
In fact
You can go home again

You too have a
Docent
Telling the story
Slant it lovely
Slant it real

Sift it in remembering
As you go home again

Virtual remembering
Physical changes in time
For us to pick up the pieces
The smallest of detail
Left in the dust
Off the places with the Pledge
Soaked cloth
Light as a feather
Dust off a memory
Here
One over there

All in the home
Housing your memories
You can look homeward

Angel
All of the memories
Are yours

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Encouragement: A Prayer, A Poem, A Cry

Mercantile MCVL

One phrase haunts me, chases me down daily.
There is nowhere for me to go but stare at it steely eyed daily.
Wrestle with it, sit with it, stare at it, and ponder what it means for me,
To do.
My recent past dredged this up, dredges it up from the silt daily.
Once I penned some words here, scratched out some heart thoughts.
They have taken on a life of their very own, a heart, legs and off they ran.
All around this interwebby world.
Words can run fast as the wind.
Lace them up with care and grace.

One phrase echoes daily on these pages, behind the scenes in the land of stats.
I can’t come here without seeing them there.
I wrote a piece one time or two, boldly with the words
encouragement, tucked in or standing out front.
That is it – the beginning and the end of this prayer, poem, cry.

When I ask Him what to do with my words
They become my true north but I stray
Clothe in grace, wrap in love, encourage.

The number is big, so I won’t say it, it changes almost daily.
Someone finds me here,
My words and me
Googling, encouragement
A letter of encouragement, encouragement for a friend
Words have wings and I pray
They find good here.

Prayerfully, thoughtfully, deeply I cry out
Oh Lord.

Take the clay of my words, Maker of My Soul.
Grab my pen and guide it while it glides along the page.

She is writing
It’s a work of Wordsworth and poetry and nature and High School English
And I can stand in my mother stance over my daughter dear
And say these words to her
We are two and it is intimate and close
Write it like you want to, just say what you mean
You can do it spills from my heart to hers.
She makes art wobbly shaky on a page.
And I know.

If you came here on a trail of encouragement, following bread crumbs
Find it, friend and grab it
He is standing over you, before you and around you.

God is loving, reigning, holding you in the heavenlies this day.

She is writing,
And it is a work in progress
Clothe her in grace and love.

I am the launcher of words, clothe me in guided grace.

We, lover of You and lover of words, steady each mark of our pen and infuse it and us with You.

Encouragement, may it always live here.
Tucked within the lines of poetry
And prose.

Amen? Amen.

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Joining my precious and encouraging friend Jennifer Dukes Lee today.