OMA

Over now is my time with you, but I

Make the best of it

All my memories are all I have now

Once I had you near to me

My heart goes back to that place

A garden of beautiful flowers are there

Often I would wonder how you

Made such a beautiful place

All I could do was admire your handiwork 

Over here now, I have a garden

My flowers are my favourite 

A peony from you grows here

On the right side of the peony is

My other reminder of you

A magnificent array of bleeding hearts

Oma

My garden will never match yours

All I can do is remember you and yours and grow what I can

© Ruby Neumann

© Ruby Neumann

Poets Note: 

Written May 26, 2020.  

May 27 is my Oma's birthday, she was born 110 years ago.  If I could go back in time to any place, to any moment, right now, I think I would like to go back to Oma's garden.  She had such a beautiful flower garden.  I would walk around the pristinely marked paths, smell the aromas, and take in the visual array of colours.    

In my garden,  I have a peony plant that came from her. It's buds have not yet opened, but beside my peony, grow a beautiful array of pink bleeding hearts.  They are flowering for her birthday.  

The picture in this post has both flowers... the peony picture is from last year, the bleeding hearts picture is from today.  

Corona Church

There’s a local small town pastor

On a most exhausting search

For the answer to his question 

“When do I reopen my church?”

When he joined this congregation 

He never dreamed he see the day

He would have to close the front door

To keep his parishioners safe

A nasty little virus

Made pandemic worldwide news

And as a result of government actions

He had to empty out the pews

Two months have passed and rumour has it

That he may be allowed to open the door

But the powers-at-be have rules he must follow

Which makes his decision a chore

With a family of a hundred and twenty

Only fifty are allowed inside

But seniors and young families need to stay at home 

So there are only ten that qualify

That solves the social distancing

One person per two rows

But they are responsible to disinfect the pews

Before they head for home

There will be no need for a worship team

Because singing isn’t allowed 

But maybe they can watch a video or two

Of the Gaither Homecoming crowd

Instead of wine and bread

They would have water and Fisherman’s Friends

“No coughing of any kind allowed!”

The means justify the ends

All of these crazy rules aside

The pastor’s main concern 

“What am I going to teach them?

What will they want to learn?

They will be so stressed out with all the rules they must keep

They’ll be distracted and downcast

Missing hugs from their friends and families 

And longing for the past”

As the pastor weighs the pros and the cons

He whispers a little prayer

“Jesus, where are you in all of this

And do you even care?

How do I open the building

And leave the sick outside? 

When it’s clear that it was for the sick you came

And with them you still abide

I guess the question I really want to ask 

Is how can I be more like you?

Where would you be right now

By their bed, or in my pew?”

Now there’s a local small town pastor

On a less exhausting search

To discover the truth and allow himself 

To redefine the Church

© Ruby Neumann

Poet's Note:  Written Sunday, May 24, 2020

This morning, I am trying to verbalize my frustrations.  I haven't been a committed attendee of a building called church for over twelve years.  But I find myself frustrated at the circus involved for people to get back to those very buildings that I left so many years ago.  I realize the building is important to some very important people in my life… so I need to let my issues rest and chose to understand and empathize for the people who still find value in a building that they have been banned from.  

This "local small town pastor" is a character in a poem, but the question that is asked… "Jesus, where are you in all of this and do you care?"  is MY question.  "Jesus, do you care about the building?  What is your Church supposed to look like in this time?  How do so many move forward, instead of wishing they could go back in time when rules and policies and safety measures were more adhering to their social and religious needs?"

It is a question that, for me, still goes unanswered.  

(Please see attached Youtube Video log where  Ruby recites Corona Church ) 

The Unpraying Poet

I'm a poet, an honest poet and I need to say

That I'm a poet, a poet that cannot pray

The words I have are not for above

But the words I have are still filled with love

Words of beauty, words so true

Words of wisdom, words for you

Years have past, since I could pray

But I still would like to send hope your way

What hope can I give, what thoughts can I share 

To tell you I love you, to remind you I care

You've shared your struggles, your aches and your pain

Hoping I can send prayers to God again

But those days are done, those years are through

When prayer was a thing I could do

I'd rather be honest, than a hypocrite

It's not "I don't want to", I just don't believe it

I don't believe a lot of things, that much is real

But all that is irrelevant to what I now feel

I feel like I want to give you some love

In the words of a poem, and one day, a hug

No words can express my compassion for you

My heart breaks for what you are going through

Am I less of a friend because I can't pray

Or can I still send some hope and love your way

© Ruby Neumann

Poet's note: 

Written: May 23, 2020  

Poetry has a way of bringing out the truth that the poet would rather remain hidden.  And why is there a temptation to hide the truth.  Fear… a lot of fear… The fear of being known, the fear of being revealed, the fear of falling short, the fear of not measuring up, the fear of being week... 

But I have a greater fear… the fear of being a hypocrite.  That fear drives me to uncover a simple truth… the truth revealed in this poem.  This is not the first time I have revealed this truth, but after another prayer request came through today, I felt that I needed to reveal it again.  

I have no defence, only confession.  I don't need converting, I don't need fixing, I only need understanding and love.  

To Hug a Miracle

I got to hug a miracle
Today in the house of praise
A miracle snatched from death’s strong hold
On his journey’s first precious days

I remember the prayers that went to God
For that fragile baby boy
His life held in the hands of God
Desperate hope, his parent’s joy

Now over six years later
The joy manifests again 
As a boy now grown and healed
He plays as if life were his own best friend

What miracles are yet in store
For my arms to yet embrace
What joys can I yet pray for
In the coming days

Lord, grant me this holy prayer today
As my arms stay open wide
That I could hug another miracle
Before this day subsides

© Ruby Neumann

(poem written  March 15, 2009, the day I was at the Calgary Dream Centre and a little boy by the name of Denim Fry came to me for a hug) 

Poet’s Note

I was cleaning up a box of “stuff”... and found a some of my  journals.  In one of these journals, I found this poem that I wrote just two weeks before my wedding in March of 2009.  Reading the poem and the note that followed about Denim brought me back to that day.  I was visiting a Sunday morning church gathering and this little 6 year old boy that I had never met before gave me a hug.  When my friend Donnell told me that the little boy was Denim Fry, son of Jeff and Angie Fry, it all came back to me.  This is the boy, that when he was just a new infant, came to the forefront of my church’s prayers and fundraising efforts.  I have attached to this post, a copy of the article from CBC News in Calgary.  

This poem was me processing the gravity of that little one’s hug.  I can’t remember what was preached that day, or what songs were sung, because I spend the duration of the service writing a poem about a little boy who gave a stranger a hug.  And now, because of moment of poetic inspiration,   I have a most precious memory of that day, of that moment and of that hug.  

Had I written this poem today, it might be very different.  Still today, I am thankful for who I was back then, for in my gratitude and faith comes the beauty of those words.  


Transplant treats Calgary 'bubble boy'


CBC News · Posted: Jul 24, 2003 10:15 PM ET |

An infant in Calgary who was born with a rare, often fatal disorder can now look forward to a long life, thanks to a new procedure pioneered in the U.S.
Children born with DiGeorge syndrome have no natural immunity to germs. They usually die before their second birthday.
The disorder is rare, affecting one or two Canadian infants each year. Denim Fry is one of them.

Like others with the syndrome, Denim was born without a working thymus, an organ that transforms blood cells into infection-fighting T-cells. He had to live in a sterile environment.
"Denim had a zero level of T-cells," said immunologist Dr. Tom Bowen of Calgary Foothills Hospital. "No detectable immune T-cells at any time prior to being corrected."
Dr. Louise Markert of Duke University in Durham, N.C., developed a new transplant, giving a life to 18 of the 25 infants who had the surgery. During heart surgery, parts of the thymus are often removed and Markert transplants them into the thighs of infants like Denim.
At eight months, Denim is the youngest and most recent patient to have the procedure, and the first Canadian. The oldest is now 10. Researchers describe the transplant in the August 1 issue of the journal Blood.
"The survival rate is approximately two-thirds," said Markert. "The children are doing beautifully."
Immunologist Bowen said the transplant offers new possibilities.
"I would not be surprised to see some other centres, very large centres both in Europe and perhaps Canada pick up the technique and say, 'Well, what else might we use this for?'"
Since Denim didn't have a pre-existing immunity, there's no risk of rejection. Doctors expect it will take him two years to develop full immunity.