Hospital stays are never pretty.
Patients surrounded by the dark and gritty
effort to save sinew and bone
and beating hearts wavering, so alone.
A constant metallic beep and buzz replaces
the sound of family and friends at home,
with laughing hearts and loving faces.
Grim falsity becomes another unknown,
where workers hurry to keep apace
while patients solemnly lie abed
filled with worry and becalmed dread
of what the next test will indicate
the next test to affirm the threat.
The test itself is no gift of nature,
but a torture device to be endured.
Patients find distaste and abhor
the endless infusion of poisonous brews
meant to enlighten the darkest space
within the sublime mystery of anatomy.
The test itself darkens the soul
desperately trying to stay whole.
Patients share their common litany
when nurses and aides walk out the door,
“ Just leave me be. Please, leave me be!
I cannot take this anymore.”
Good wishes and good intent well-meant
is not enough to meet patients’ wishes
to truly be seen for who they are.
But to see a person builds connections
which too often may break, despite intentions
to save that life hanging in the balance
and wrench away the peace of mind required
to cut an incision or suture a wound
of a real person and not just a body of flesh.
What more can anyone expect or be desired?
Health care soon becomes mired
in benign neglect, or outright disdain
for any patient who might complain
of treatment that robs one’s dignity
with the sacred promise of impunity
clothed in false smiles pasted on hurt faces.
The real issue seems to me
that we can never forget our common humanity.
That patients and medical personnel are both trying
to do their best to heal a body which is always dying.
Bodies begin to die from the moment they are born.
No time to waste as we embrace each morn.
The stakes are so high we often forget
the needs of the living-ill must still be met.
Gratitude only carries patients so far.
Hopefully, out the door and home once more.
Filed under POETRY
A collective grief
has settled over the land.
Only time can heal.
We may never know
nor fully understand why
our freedom must go.
We must be the heart
of miracles yet to be.
And bring freedom back.
It is ours to seize
from its darkest journey and
bring it back to light.
Courage is our friend.
Struggles are not the end, but
A new beginning.
And just like that, friends,
the weight of grief rises up.
Grief comes to an end.
I yearn to see you
happily and truly free,
breathing liberty.
I have lived through the Stone Age, the Bronze Age,
the Iron Age, the Middle Age, the Industrial Age,
the Space Age, the Communication Age.
I am human, so it seems,
and able to look back as well as forward;
a mere mammal trying
to become part of that thing
we like to call humanity.
How do we know who we are
when we do not know the neighbor next door?
How much effort does it take to explore
each member of a community?
We do not even truly know our family.
Strangers pose a serious threat
that we have not learned to handle yet.
We play with religion and philosophy
to understand what humans are meant to be.
We have become the source of inhumanity
around the globe we once thought flat.
The more we learn, the more we fear.
The less we know even where we are at.
We who do not know ourselves, can
never feel safe.
Without self we are never in a truly safe space.
Democracy is as fragile as we.
If we cannot trust ourselves, whom can we trust?
In a democratic republic, trust we must.
Demagogues know this is so.
Wealth and power are hard to let go.
To seize power from “no-nothings” comes easily.
Divide and conquer rallies laughingly.
It has become a right-wing norm
used by our nation’s enemies
who need never use their armies
to cross our borders, when we are so willing
to allow them to sway and inform us who we are
day after day after day after day after day.
Only because we do not know who we are, anyway.
Or, in any way useful to ruling ourselves.
Like human children, human adults vote to play.
Humans are entering a new age every day.
A I will now become the new me,
a me I never expected to see.
One I never knew, it is true.
A I will know me much better than I do.
It will write and speak and act for me.
Deep inside what I once felt was free
will wither and wonder if I could have become
the real human, the real man or woman
the real me.
Lady Justice is blindfolded
that she may not see
who stands before her
and makes a plea
to hear a case on its merits
that justice may be served
under the law, and in equity.
Both matter, you see.
You wear no blindfold.
You simply read
what others have printed,
others, like me.
Prosecution is discretionary
under the theory of equity,
where harm is measured
against circumstances and intent,
and restitution is made with consent.
Except, for those with big names,
when a message is meant to be sent,
Lady Liberty sometimes removes her mask
before the process is commenced.
When process becomes excess to prove a point,
or destroy a wrongdoer to punish someone else,
equity steps in to correct the abuse,
and set free one who was meant to be
as all others would be in the same boat.
This is done to keep justice afloat.
Once her mask is removed it is too late
to argue she must not take it off.
It was already off, right out of the gate.
Curing abuse is not itself abuse.
Do not be so obtuse.
Curing abuse is mercy.
Curing abuse is equity.
Curing abuse is absolutely,
irrevocably, undeniably necessary.
Precedent has been set, it is true.
That courts may show mercy
to me and to you.
Those who voted “Trump”
are jail-breakers, criminals
in their sad way, too.
I cannot wait to write a poem.
Let thoughts begin to roam
across the blank spaces
where I see only faint traces.
Whatever lurks beneath the surface
is always a surprising surfeit
of what has passed and is to become
a new creation time rolled into one.
Nothing it seems is ever lost.
Experience is the cost
of facing new challenges sent
across the waves of time unbent.
Around and round again I go.
Where I shall end up I never know.
And where I have been becomes new.
And where I go is merely a clue.
When I arrive I shall share with you
the route I took to be renewed.
I hope you will join me on the route.
That is what companionship is all about.
Knowing I shall return at the end of the journey
to your company holds me firmly
upright and focused with eyes wide open
to the beauty of words never-before spoken.
I play today to remind myself in this space
that there is always a time and place
to relax and let go, and just have fun;
to remind myself, I have just begun.
Filed under POETRY
It has always been
understood and too often
forgotten. Spring comes.
Yesterday I fell
by the wayside
where hopelessness dwells.
The journey upward felt
like a forced retreat,
no longer a climb
on confident feet
to reach the summit
where love presides,
where ego lives above false pride.
Instead, the slope had become slippery
and I,
and I,
and I
fell to my knees
my hopes subsided.
There is no time for this
I have decided.
I may slip again
and all my hopes fail
but, I will stay on freedom’s trail.
The climb ahead
becomes more rugged.
And I become stronger
the longer
I climb.
And I,
And I,
and I
will always go up
where skies are blue,
to reach others
willing to climb
up
from the other side.
This I promise myself
and I promise you.
MERRY CHRISTMAS 2024
Hope is the deep breath needed to sing Carols
heralding Jesus’ birth.
Hope is the breath first breathed into all living things.
Hope is the breath that softens
the hard contours of defended hearts.
Hope is the breath that soothes
the rough edges of fearful minds.
Hope is the breath that animates
the graceful move to gift our very selves.
Hope is the breath that lifts
the blindness of hateful eyes heavenward.
Hope is the breath that challenges
the world to dream of peaceful, new beginnings.
Hope is the breath that stores
the strength needed for moments when courage is needed.
Hope is the breath that brightens and enlightens
the darkness within each breathless soul.
Christmas is a time for deep breaths filled
with hope to face another moment, day, month, year.
Keep breathing is all that is required to fill
the world with Hope.
Each breath keeps Hope alive.
Merry Christmas with every breath taken
deeper in every way, every day
during the Jubilee Year of Hope.
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Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY
Tagged as breathe, christmas, courage, deep breathing, faith, good vs. evil, hope, Jubilee Year of Hope, opposition, poetry, Pope Francis, UNITY, war and peace