PRECIOUS POETRY: 2020

The Nightmare of Christmas

Twas the Nightmare of Christmas

In the year 2020

When the Grinch of all grinches

Deceived humanity

He didn't need to sneak in

The dead of the night

Robbing Christmas got easier

When Covid took flight

Instead of heisting the turkey

And making off with each toy

He just spread a little fear

And he made off with their joy

People lined up at the post office

Their gifts to mail

And stayed home alone

In their domestic jail

They accepted their doom

And didn't complain

All they said in response

"We are just being safe."

"Where are you, Christmas?"

No one's asking that now

They think it will be back

In '21 somehow

The Grinch said with pleasure

"What a rewarding day"

I didn't have to steal Christmas

They just gave it away"

Poet's Note: Written December 15, 2020... ten days before the worst Christmas for a lot of people.

January 6, 2021... I want to add something to my Poet's note. This is poetry, my expression of my frustration. I understand how polarizing our planet is right now, and I'm not trying to pick a fight. All year my sadness at the rampant fear has been no secret. I am pretty clueless to the reality of this whole thing right now... all I have is what others are telling me to believe... and for someone who struggles with believing in God, not believing in the thousands of interpretations of the Covid crisis is not a big stretch for me.

I want to believe in Love. Love is the only thing that has made a transformative difference in my life. So when I look at the year we've had and seen Love take a back seat to Fear... then I will write authentic poetry.

Christmas is gone, over, maybe we can hope that, like in the book, the "Grinch" will have a change of heart and will be "carving up the roast beast" in 2021. I think I have enough hope for that.

Be my son

Be my son today

My first born

Flesh of my flesh

My heart's true love

I have no son

Or one that wants to be mine

So I am asking you

Be my son

Stand with me

Beside me

Embrace me

Love me

As you would a mother

As you would a father

And I will love you

Son

Poet's Note: Written December 12, 2020. I feel like I'm writing poetry these days that can't be analyzed through a poet's note. I have nothing for this one either. Sometimes the poem must speak for itself.

I am not Safe

I am sick

Sick with dread that I've helped unleash a monster

I am sad

Sad that I couldn't stop the world I live in from becoming the world you live in

I am suffering

Suffering because in this moment, I feel helpless

I am sorry

Sorry for the pain that my silence caused you

I am stricken

Stricken with guilt for being silent

I am shamed

Shamed into silence

I am not Safe

Poet's Note: Written December 8, 2020 To anyone living in the future... this one is for you.

Someone

I wave my hands in the air

Trying to feel something

Something there

But how do I feel the air

And yet I’m told it’s there

I wave my hand around and around

Trying to find my solid ground

Trying to know

To understand

That what moves in and around my hand

Is more than nothing

More than air

Somehow

Something

Maybe Someone is there

Someone more than what I’ve been told

Someone not like the stories of old

But Someone beyond all knowledge and touch

Beyond is what I desire so much

Someone there all around

Maybe that is my solid ground

And not just around but somehow within

Now that is Someone I could believe in

I can’t trust my sight, my sounds or my touch

Oh, what I can trust in is not much

But maybe, oh maybe somehow there must

Be Someone that somehow I could trust

Poet's Note: I got a letter in the mail today from my godmother, and she wrote:

"Your month of silence is closing in on you and I wonder how it's going for you? Probably written a few or poems that you'll soon share with again!"

Well, Auntie Ella... I wrote one. And it landed on my fingertips on the last day of the month. Truth be told, I didn't really feel all that poetic this month.

I had been struggling for a while to visualize the Creator I was discovering on this journey. The picture was foggy at best. I had tossed all my previous visuals when I "deconstructed". If you have ever done that, you might understand how difficult it is to relate to "God" when you can't imagine "God".

There is a book I read a few months ago called "The Universal Christ" by Richard Rohr. If I was looking for some picture to enhance my imagination, Richard helped me do the exact opposite. He helped me let go of my imagination and my need to have a picture in my head of what "God" looks like. It is really not helpful especially when figuring that the Creator of the Cosmos has to be so much more expansive than any picture in my imagination. This poem is inspired by "The Universal Christ". I highly recommend this book for anyone who struggles with their picture of "God". It was very helpful for me.

Batman

He lives each day in darkness

In a world that knows no light

Wonderfully created

A servant without sight

Some would say his blindness

Is a disability

But they don’t know the man

Behind the eyes that cannot see

It’s only through the darkness

That he came to see the Son

It’s only though his blindness

That he sees the victories won

He touches hearts like no one can

For he sees beyond the skin

He reaches past the outer core

To the beauty that lies within

Equipped by God and gifted

He sees himself as blessed

Not hindered by imperfect eyes

He wants to give his best

Made special in his Maker’s sight

Though he has none of his own

Giving God the glory

For the seeds that he has sown

Poet's Note: Today, I am sharing a poem I wrote almost 25 years ago. Today, I got to remember a man I got to know who left an imprint on my life. Today, I was given a link to his obituary. He passed away in 2009. So today, I will post his poem as my way of remembering him.

In the summer of 1996, I got the opportunity to volunteer at Camp Chamisall in the Waiporous Valley. I was working at that time at the Colpitts Dairy farm in Springbank (in the outskirts of Calgary). Camp Chamisall operated it's summer program on volunteer staff. Each week there was a new collection of counsellors, program staff, camp director, cooking staff. It gave more people the opportunity to be a part of camp.

Wally Brown was someone I met at camp. Wally was a regular at Camp Chamisall. He was a story teller. I wish I had a collection of his stories. They were a highlight of my time there.

I titled this poem "Batman" because that was Wally's name at camp. Chamisall does something with their staff that I have never seen at any other camp. They give them camp names when they first come on staff at camp and those names stay with them for the journey of their time at Chamisall. Batman was Wally's camp name, because Wally was blind. He wasn't born blind, his sight loss was because of diabetes. I found this excerpt in Wally's obituary.

"Wally lost his sight in 1971 due to complications of diabetes, and although he faced adversity, he courageously persevered. Wally will be fondly remembered for having an incredibly positive outlook on life, regardless of the enormous challenges he faced."

It was one week, and it was twenty five years ago, but so much of my experience there was a beautiful one, because of him. I remember sitting with him at the dining hall table and just talking about him. I remember wanting to see inside his world. I remember him sharing his joys and his challenges with me. I even got a chance to go and visit him at his home in Calgary. He never ceased to impress me with his courage and joy.

Thank you Batman...I never want to forget you. Love Butter Cup

When I’m not there

Walk with me, daughter

Before the close of day

Walk with me, beside me

Right now, I’ll lead the way

I have guided you for a while

On your journey this far

I've been here each step

With you, just as you are

Soon you must walk

Without me at your side

But I trust you’ve learned well

You won’t need me to guide

Your faith, hope and courage

Will be your strength every day

From here on in

As you go on your way

When I’m not there

To wipe your fallen tears

Remember me

And our happier years

When I’m not there to walk with you

On your wedding day

Remember this walk and know

I am not far away

I will be as close to you

As the thoughts in your mind

As the photographs of me

That you've taken over time

And walk then with me

At the close of day

Know that I am a part of you

And I am not far away

Written October 28, 2020

Poet's Note: There is a father whose days are numbered. As much as he wants to keep hope alive, his face shows the cancerous predator within him. How can he prepare his daughter for life without him? Maybe he takes her on walks and leaves with her a memory of their steps together. Maybe he thinks of the day he won't be able to walk with her when she wants him, the most, by her side… on her wedding day. What does he tell her, today? Maybe they walk in silence.

I remember my last walks with my Dad. Cancer took him fourteen months before my wedding. Today it is twelve years and nine months since he passed away. I remember him in this poem, but not only him… there is another daughter who is taking her last walks with her Dad. I am thinking of her.

The Road up to One

From where I dwell

In the sand, in the dirt

Where life begins

Created from

I look to the stars

And wonder when

I might touch their beauty

Find their glow

But I dwell

In the sand, in the dirt

Oh star, I have disappointed you

Oh star, why do you intimidate me so

Do you see my chaos from where you shine

To climb to you, I need a rope

I need direction and a little hope

Shine on me and guide my way

Lift me up to where you stay

Oh, to know that which powers you

Which would help me on my journey too

Energy that seems so hard to know

To get close, to reach, this journey is slow

But if I look up from my pit I just might see

The falling star coming down to me

Written October 20, 2020

Poet's Note:

I saw a falling star this morning while I was in the hot tub. It was that moment in the morning when the light was just starting to push out the darkness. I had my head down for a time and was feeling heavy, but in a moment, I lifted my head up to gaze on the morning sky, and I saw it. A falling star. It was the end of this poem. Rarely do I start at the end of a poem. But today, I did - with a falling star.

A little Enneagram insight:

I think I heard once that the Enneagram is better taught, not in books or seminars, but in poetry. And I ask myself… what does poetry offer that intellectual thought and exposition don't? Maybe it is perspective. Maybe through poetry, I can find a way to understand the complexity of the Enneagram through the lens of a Four. But since not everyone is a Four… I offer thought and exposition in the form of a Poet's Note!

This poem is about that elusive energy of the One. That's right. As a Four… the One is the path to integration for me. I am yet a novice to the wisdom of the Enneagram, but my path to integration is still a mystery to me. It's not that the One is unknown to me… quite the opposite. I have been around that One energy for all my life. It just seems unattainable for me, in my space. What does it look like for a Four to integrate. The books, the seminars and the videos on Youtube will tell me… but this morning, I wanted the poetry to tell me why I find that One as far away as the stars.

The falling star... is the One coming to Four in stress. Now some teacher's remind me that the move to our stress number is not always a bad thing. So maybe in that light... as a Four... I have something to offer the One... I, too, have a guide to help when the One needs a place to hide, withdraw to, or retreat to.

A little Poetry insight:

This might be the first poem I've written (and I've written a lot) that combines free verse and rhyme. Free verse to me symbolized the chaos of the Four. Rhyme to me is more in line with the order of the One. So the picture of the path of integration in poetry made sense to go from free verse to rhyme. I also chose a font change to further portray the difference and the change in energy.