Sometimes we have to grow into
the words we read.
I remember
puzzling over
Faulkner’s words and asked my teacher
how there could be
such a thing as
victory through
surrender. He paused before he
said, softly, “In
time you will come
to understand.“
JDG
After a life of gathering
books and notions,
tools and potions,
I find myself
drawn instead to the dance of wind
in trees. What moves
the most is what
is new. The leaves
quiver with the slightest breath while
strong roots and trunk
support the sway
of limbs and leaves.
JDG
Demands and dramas, great and small,
do not stop or
even pause when
we are forced to
journey deep within and wrestle
myth and meaning
from the hold of fear.
With nothing left
to give, we shake ourselves awake
and pay the bills,
fix the leak, feed
the cat and take
our rest in that.
JDG
It’s in their blood, this love of words,
those of others,
and their own too.
Son and daughter,
grandkids too, all freely share what
they’ve read and what
they’ve written – puns
and quips, rhyme and
rhythm. Some love the silky sound
of silence. Not
my tribe. They love
words well spoken.
Below are two short poems my eleven year old granddaughter, Sami, wrote recently.
A chosen path,
a winding walk,
a rumbling brook,
a screeching hawk –
how lovely is the world.
This one was written in response to the poem, INVICTUS.
To be a master of your fate
and a captain of your soul,
your soul must be an unsinkable boat
as the oceans of sadness
take their toll.
Out for an early morning walk,
my dog and I
startled a pair
of Canada
geese as they made their way across
the pond, stately
but no longer
serene. Scolding
us harshly for our misstep, they
continued on
their morning course
and we on ours.
JDG
Warm days and rain leave me knee deep
in green, pleasing
to bugs, bunnies,
and butterflies,
but not to my neighbors driving
by and not to
me. Around here
the rites of Spring
begin with the steady drone of
mowing, adding
new voices to
an ancient song.
JDG
After the rain, before the sun,
we wonder which
way the weather
will turn. It’s hard
to say if the clouds will clear or
how much light they
will let in. And
so we wait, caught
in between, watching the slowly
shifting light for
any sign of
what is to come.
JDG
The now we see is only ours.
Even in those
moments shared, each
sees differently.
The past bleeds through and shades our view,
lighting up what
others may dim.
We walk into
the future, holding the past by
the hand and this
very moment
is only ours.
JDG
When the dark winds blow and the rain
won’t stop, when a
high and steady
ground can’t be found,
I wrap myself in the solace
of small things and
take refuge there –
in the gentle
purr of a sleeping cat, a dog’s
soft nudge against
my outstretched hand,
a child’s laugh.
JDG
“He’s gone,” she said, and I am left
to pull apart
the threads I wove
to catch a dream
and then break free. The threads themselves
are real enough
and now begins
the harder task
of gently taking things apart
and letting threads
be only threads
and nothing more.
JDG
