This is a poem I read when I was in college. Rod McKuen was totally a 70's poet (and doesn't get a lot of respect from academia) but I loved his thoughts, especially his Christmas carols. Let's take the "x" out of Christmas and leave the porch light on.
INVITATION
(Rod McKuen)
I’ve seen so many Merry Xmas signs
with Christ squeezed out by laziness
or the printer’s economic need.
The outrage that it once produced
has almost found its way into the attic
with nineteen-sixty’s broken toys.
(Had I not the faces of small children
to mirror Christ for me all year long
I might believe God dead, or sleeping anyway.
Though I doubt there lives a Lucifer
who could make September leaves to fall
or set the tails of dogs to wagging.)
God is living in the mountains,
a recluse from some people’s hearts.
but he’d drop by smiling in the chilly night
and celebrate his first son’s birthday
if we cared enough to keep the porch light on.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Intoxicated
The writing assignment for today was to write about something you would do if there were no limitations-
I'm telling you, it is hard to write by assignment rather than by an inspired thought. But I completed the assignment. And now I'm off to Santaquin (about 50 miles away) to have lunch with Linda and Carolyn and hear what science fiction/fantasy Linda will write about and the article Carolyn will write about the subject. It is fun to see how 3 completely different writers treat the same subject. (I am finding that it isn't lining the way that poem is really lined even if I go to a smaller font. Oh well...)
Intoxicated
Marilyn stretches out kinks of inhibition.
She’s never been adventuresome
but a map of varicose veins on her legs
looks surprisingly like Italy,
that boot of a place
where sunflowers bob their
swollen heads, grapes burst forth with
flavors of the earth.
"All roads lead to Rome"
and she finds that is true as she traces
one age spot to another.
Eyes closed, she hears the water splashing
in Trevi Fountain, throws a coin
over her shoulder for good luck.
Fortune is found in 341 flavors of gelato,
hundreds of types of olives, pasta
in every shape smothered in layers
of aged cheese. Oh, the food!
Ciabatta. Gnocchi. Prosciutto.
She has heard Italian women
do not gain weight
so she takes another bite.
It is wonderful, freedom unleashed,
to walk, to run the rambling paths
of CinqueTerre. Cobblestone winds
from village to village,
miles of layered terraces above the sea,
chock full of brightly painted villas,
sparkling like a postcard from Gauguin.
It is here she will plant
herself with fountain wishes
at the mouth of the Spezia,
the Poets’ Gulf. Like a drunkard,
she will swizzle the scent of basil and lemon,
get woozie while splashing canvas
in alizarin crimson and the deepest of ochre.
She a teetotaler, will give in to passion
completely seduced by that intoxicating
cerulean sky.
I'm telling you, it is hard to write by assignment rather than by an inspired thought. But I completed the assignment. And now I'm off to Santaquin (about 50 miles away) to have lunch with Linda and Carolyn and hear what science fiction/fantasy Linda will write about and the article Carolyn will write about the subject. It is fun to see how 3 completely different writers treat the same subject. (I am finding that it isn't lining the way that poem is really lined even if I go to a smaller font. Oh well...)
Intoxicated
Marilyn stretches out kinks of inhibition.
She’s never been adventuresome
but a map of varicose veins on her legs
looks surprisingly like Italy,
that boot of a place
where sunflowers bob their
swollen heads, grapes burst forth with
flavors of the earth.
"All roads lead to Rome"
and she finds that is true as she traces
one age spot to another.
Eyes closed, she hears the water splashing
in Trevi Fountain, throws a coin
over her shoulder for good luck.
Fortune is found in 341 flavors of gelato,
hundreds of types of olives, pasta
in every shape smothered in layers
of aged cheese. Oh, the food!
Ciabatta. Gnocchi. Prosciutto.
She has heard Italian women
do not gain weight
so she takes another bite.
It is wonderful, freedom unleashed,
to walk, to run the rambling paths
of CinqueTerre. Cobblestone winds
from village to village,
miles of layered terraces above the sea,
chock full of brightly painted villas,
sparkling like a postcard from Gauguin.
It is here she will plant
herself with fountain wishes
at the mouth of the Spezia,
the Poets’ Gulf. Like a drunkard,
she will swizzle the scent of basil and lemon,
get woozie while splashing canvas
in alizarin crimson and the deepest of ochre.
She a teetotaler, will give in to passion
completely seduced by that intoxicating
cerulean sky.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
When Spring Came and other tragedies
WHEN SPRING CAME and other tragedies
When spring came and the heads of crocus
Popped brilliantly out of ground
It was all I could do to keep mine
Propped on a pillow...what with antihistamines
decongestants
aspirin
Not to mention a wastebasket full of soggy Kleenex.
When spring came and the tulips found
Morning sun excuse enough to lift their faces,
I was still searching for some to justify
Unwashed windows...what with smog
pollution
blustery winds
Not to mention 40 adolescent fingers eating peanut butter and jam.
When spring came and the streets and pathways
Became laden with joggers and cyclers
Sporting newly tanned legs,
I was still trying to find mine...what with flannel nightgowns
woolly ski socks
3" of cellulite
Not to mention 2 varicose veins that resemble racing stripes.
When spring came and the neighbors we haven’t
Seen or heard of since last summer drop in
Unexpectedly bearing charcoal briquettes,
I was still trying to decide between Early Girl
and Big Boy,
fertilizer ratios
Not to mention who last borrowed our power mower,
And remembering...when winter was so much easier!
Marilyn Darley Williams
When spring came and the heads of crocus
Popped brilliantly out of ground
It was all I could do to keep mine
Propped on a pillow...what with antihistamines
decongestants
aspirin
Not to mention a wastebasket full of soggy Kleenex.
When spring came and the tulips found
Morning sun excuse enough to lift their faces,
I was still searching for some to justify
Unwashed windows...what with smog
pollution
blustery winds
Not to mention 40 adolescent fingers eating peanut butter and jam.
When spring came and the streets and pathways
Became laden with joggers and cyclers
Sporting newly tanned legs,
I was still trying to find mine...what with flannel nightgowns
woolly ski socks
3" of cellulite
Not to mention 2 varicose veins that resemble racing stripes.
When spring came and the neighbors we haven’t
Seen or heard of since last summer drop in
Unexpectedly bearing charcoal briquettes,
I was still trying to decide between Early Girl
and Big Boy,
fertilizer ratios
Not to mention who last borrowed our power mower,
And remembering...when winter was so much easier!
Marilyn Darley Williams
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Kiddo Day
Mondays I usually have two of the kiddos. I had promised Hallee Babe forever that we would go to Build a Bear to get a new pinkie bear since the last one we built was absolutely dead (disgusting.) She was finally ready to let go....and this time chose "Floppy" the bunny (the name is still under consideration but she kept exclaiming on the way home, "She is so darling- I LOOOOVE her so much!") Addi has more stuff animals than she knows what to do with so she was content with a ZhuZhu pet. We had lunch and were thrilled to learn the Easter Bunny was in-house! I reminded the girls of my favorite story. When I took Tanner to the Easter Bunny (age 5) and he acted all pouty. When I asked him why, he replied he knew it wasn't the "real" Easter Bunny....he could see he was wearing a mask. He said, "I think it was Santa Claus dressed up like the Easter Bunny just trying to trick me!" I think that story is so funny. My 4 and 6 year old didn't get it. They didn't even laugh.
Sometimes the kiddos just tolerate me.
Like Sunday, poor Joshua mentioned he really like mythology. I immediately shared with him the story of the god Cronus, who worried that his children would grow up to dethrone or kill him. I was going on and on....and even when I saw Joshua's eyes glaze over, I didn't stop. Oh no, I had to keep going how each time Rhea would have a child, Cronus would swallow them up. That kind of got his attention but then he went back to glaze. So I continued. Finally, Rhea, aching for a child, had a baby and hurried and substituted a stone for the baby and wrapped it up in the baby's blanket. Cronus swallowed the blanketed stone and Rhea spirited the baby away to safety on an island. Of course the baby, Zeus, grew up and eventually was the ruin of his father.
As if that wasn't enough, then I had to drag out an old poem of mine that I wrote, inspired by that story.
BREAKFAST ISN’T FOR SISSIES
Sally skimmed headlines while stirring lumpy batter.
Shooting By Student. Car Jacking Kills Bystander.
She pulled the plastic seal on the orange juice,
squeezed the concentrate into the blender.
Teenager Sues Parents Over Car Rights.
Music from the radio do-si-doed around the kitchen
until a newsflash told of another tornado.
A baby had been whipped from his mother’s arms,
had yet to be found in the rubble.
By the time the bacon was sizzling, (Gang Fight At Local Mall),
Sally was in a heap on the table.
That’s when the children came in for breakfast,
sleepy-eyed and rosy, AND when Sally decided THEY
would be breakfast.
Quickly, like Cronus, she swallowed her children,
one-two-three, ignoring the huge lump in her throat,
knowing now she would have nothing to fear
except indigestion. She reached for the Tums.
When Frank came into the kitchen with briefcase and overcoat,
he shook his head at her new, lumpy figure,
wiped the tears from her cheeks and said, "What, again?"
Sally just held on to Frank for dear life.
"What else could I do?"
"Only those who never love, never hurt," he reminded her.
Oh, it was hard. Hard to lay your heart out on the alter
each day like a shiny beating apple,
where the children, running out the door to world
could volley it back and forth,
oblivious that any given bite of life
could diminish her core.
Sally sniffled, then blew her nose real hard,
looked up at Frank with swollen eyes
and said, "Okay, you’re right. Can you help me out?"
And Frank gave her a squeeze, the Heimlich really,
and out popped the kids. One. Two. Three.
And the children scrambled to their chairs,
laughed over the pancakes with lopsided Mickey Mouse ears
and Frank gave her a wink and a pat on the rear
before he headed out the door, just as a glass of juice was spilling,
and the day began again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Josh was truly sorry he had even brought up mythology. David just stood there shaking his head, hoping someone didn't mention hummingbirds or elephants or Beethoven or my other topics of the month. Like I say, sometimes my kiddos have to just tolerate me. Like David. (to be fair, Josh did laugh at the line "Frank gave her a wink and a pat on the rear.") (He's such a boy!)
Friday, March 5, 2010
Tasting Crime
Yesterday was lunch with my two writing friends. I've told you that quarterly we get together....and have a writing assignment. I've been shaking my head since our last get-together because "someone" came up with the topic of M & M's! Really? I have to write a poem about M & M's (or at least mention them?) I really do love to see what comes from these assignments (not necessarily mine but what Linda and Carolyn write) and I wasn't disappointed today. I love everything these two friends write. Mine was just tolerable but I'll share it here anyway.
Tasting Crime
Out in the country
you couldn’t afford to be
picky about friends.
I made it
to their front porch
before packing boxes
gathered dust in the
living room. The
dad nodded indoors
with his can of brew,
while puffing Marlboro’s
on the rickety stoop.
The pin-curled mom
putting away groceries,
expressed thanks
for the jam and apologized
for the mess.
After introductions,
the girl pulled me down
the short hallway
to a cell of a room she shared
with her younger brother.
From underneath her sweater,
she pulled out the prize, a large
package of M & M’s,
that staked her position in
the neighborhood.
"I stole’um" she bragged,
"while my mum was getting
milk."
She was only two months older
than me, but at that moment
I was a mere child,
believing each candy color
was flavored differently-
not yet knowing the passion
that was green,
trying hard to remember that crime
didn’t pay. All the while,
my mouth was watering.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Mirrors
Since I've had the computer down for a couple of days (cut phone lines....) and I need to hustle out and work in the war zone (demolished backyard) I'll quickly share something I've wanted to journal.
I never mentioned what happened when I went to my art "lunch" when the cover for the poetry journal would be decided. It was a busy day since company was arriving that afternoon ...but I ran to the restaurant....not knowing who I was looking for....and waited and waited and waited. I had already been sick-to-my-stomach nervous....you know that. It was frustrating since I didn't have her number (she doesn't have a cell) and the two other people that she told me she had invited I couldn't reach by phone. I waited for about 40 minutes then came home. I tried the gal's home several times and when I finally reached her, she said that she thought it had been scheduled for another day. The "another" day wouldn't have been a day I would have/could have chosen but, oh well. My schedule's nuts so we decided that the following Wednesday, we would meet at the restaurant again...but I told her I couldn't have lunch since I was meeting my poetry friends in Kaysville that day. Carolyn C. and I were driving to meet our 3rd friend for lunch and writing (we do this every 3 months if this is confusing.) So, I picked up Carolyn and headed to the restaurant, still looking for someone I did not know. Again, no show. I'm ticked this time. I don't get it. And part of my being ticked is that I'm worried that I'm losing it. I know I could have messed up the meeting date the first time but surely not twice? Luckily Carolyn was with me so I didn't scream and wail and gnash my teeth. I waited until I got home to do that... We drove on to Kaysville where we had a great afternoon. I have mentioned these writing friends. We took a writing workshop together about 30 years ago. Carolyn actually lived in my Ward when we bought our first home. She suggested we take this workshop together....and I knew Linda from BYU and invited her so we all wrote together for about 3 or 4 years. The workshop ended but we continued to get together once a month, with a writing assignment and lunch. Eventually the group dissolved to just lunch (Carolyn is a professional writer so naturally she continued...) and then because of moves, we quit for a few years. Our assignment this time was "body images." Linda loves science fiction and actually wrote TWO (over-achiever!) excellent short stories about mirrors that do bio-feedback positive images. (who THINKS of that???) Carolyn wrote an article about being frustrated with curly hair her entire life....until she about loses it. She always has articles coming out in various publications...one at Halloween about people who actually think they've been abducted by aliens. She meets the most "interesting" people!
And me? I'm the slacker. I didn't have a minute to concentrate in the past 3 months to write a poem. So I shared an older one. I can't remember if I have shared it here (since I can't keep appointments straight either...although, I might add, that when I reached the gal....she confessed she totally blew it....) (maybe I'm NOT losing my mind!) (and I realized that this gal has health issues so I need to cut her some slack....like I've never forgotten anything before.....)
My kids constantly say I sound JUST like my mother. Well, I don't just sound like her.....
AFTER ALL THIS TIME
Before I wore glasses,
before the Big E on the
chart had fingers pointing
to a horizon away from her,
before first steps walked
from her hands
to the outstretched arms
of another,
she was the barre of my plié
a constant on which to focus
so expanding boundaries
kept balance.
Before I was educated
in the rudiments of world,
she was life’s vocabulary,
the vowels and consonants
rearranged in recognizable
patterns of our day.
She was the connecting verb
between my father and I-
my brother,
a dangling participle.
That was before I was
educated, before I could
read between the lines
of her face.
In the beginning, she was
the creator of worlds-
goddess of ocean belly,
giver of earth’s nourishment,
reflector of first light.
She was the cornerstone
that cradled my edges.
I knew her face before my own,
trace it now before the mirror,
recognize evolution,
the cycle of life.
I outline the lips
from which her words fall.
The veins of my hand pulse
with the blood of her heart.
I trace pattern upon familiar
pattern.
After all this time,
I have come back home
and she is born again.
Marilyn Darley Williams
I never mentioned what happened when I went to my art "lunch" when the cover for the poetry journal would be decided. It was a busy day since company was arriving that afternoon ...but I ran to the restaurant....not knowing who I was looking for....and waited and waited and waited. I had already been sick-to-my-stomach nervous....you know that. It was frustrating since I didn't have her number (she doesn't have a cell) and the two other people that she told me she had invited I couldn't reach by phone. I waited for about 40 minutes then came home. I tried the gal's home several times and when I finally reached her, she said that she thought it had been scheduled for another day. The "another" day wouldn't have been a day I would have/could have chosen but, oh well. My schedule's nuts so we decided that the following Wednesday, we would meet at the restaurant again...but I told her I couldn't have lunch since I was meeting my poetry friends in Kaysville that day. Carolyn C. and I were driving to meet our 3rd friend for lunch and writing (we do this every 3 months if this is confusing.) So, I picked up Carolyn and headed to the restaurant, still looking for someone I did not know. Again, no show. I'm ticked this time. I don't get it. And part of my being ticked is that I'm worried that I'm losing it. I know I could have messed up the meeting date the first time but surely not twice? Luckily Carolyn was with me so I didn't scream and wail and gnash my teeth. I waited until I got home to do that... We drove on to Kaysville where we had a great afternoon. I have mentioned these writing friends. We took a writing workshop together about 30 years ago. Carolyn actually lived in my Ward when we bought our first home. She suggested we take this workshop together....and I knew Linda from BYU and invited her so we all wrote together for about 3 or 4 years. The workshop ended but we continued to get together once a month, with a writing assignment and lunch. Eventually the group dissolved to just lunch (Carolyn is a professional writer so naturally she continued...) and then because of moves, we quit for a few years. Our assignment this time was "body images." Linda loves science fiction and actually wrote TWO (over-achiever!) excellent short stories about mirrors that do bio-feedback positive images. (who THINKS of that???) Carolyn wrote an article about being frustrated with curly hair her entire life....until she about loses it. She always has articles coming out in various publications...one at Halloween about people who actually think they've been abducted by aliens. She meets the most "interesting" people!
And me? I'm the slacker. I didn't have a minute to concentrate in the past 3 months to write a poem. So I shared an older one. I can't remember if I have shared it here (since I can't keep appointments straight either...although, I might add, that when I reached the gal....she confessed she totally blew it....) (maybe I'm NOT losing my mind!) (and I realized that this gal has health issues so I need to cut her some slack....like I've never forgotten anything before.....)
My kids constantly say I sound JUST like my mother. Well, I don't just sound like her.....
AFTER ALL THIS TIME
Before I wore glasses,
before the Big E on the
chart had fingers pointing
to a horizon away from her,
before first steps walked
from her hands
to the outstretched arms
of another,
she was the barre of my plié
a constant on which to focus
so expanding boundaries
kept balance.
Before I was educated
in the rudiments of world,
she was life’s vocabulary,
the vowels and consonants
rearranged in recognizable
patterns of our day.
She was the connecting verb
between my father and I-
my brother,
a dangling participle.
That was before I was
educated, before I could
read between the lines
of her face.
In the beginning, she was
the creator of worlds-
goddess of ocean belly,
giver of earth’s nourishment,
reflector of first light.
She was the cornerstone
that cradled my edges.
I knew her face before my own,
trace it now before the mirror,
recognize evolution,
the cycle of life.
I outline the lips
from which her words fall.
The veins of my hand pulse
with the blood of her heart.
I trace pattern upon familiar
pattern.
After all this time,
I have come back home
and she is born again.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Disneyland and Fairies
We call them faerie. We don't believe in them. Our loss. ~Charles de Lint
Oh Happy Day! The kiddos are off to (codeword) DL (Disneyland!) I got a note from Brandi this morning just giddy.... they are probably landing in California right now! I'm so happy for them. Addison and I will have a wonderful time while they are gone. We started last night since the kids had to be at the airport at 5:15 AM....lots of books, a princess movie, too many gummi worms. I thought maybe I would sleep better if I slept with her in the guest room. How can a little two-year-old (three on Sunday) take up a WHOLE KING-SIZED bed??? Sleeping was unsleeping....she wiggles the entire night. This morning already we are ready to go. We've invited cousins Boston and Nash over to play.
Tuesday Carolyn C. and I traveled to Santaquin to have lunch with Linda M. (these are two writing friends that I get together with every 3-4 months.) Linda gave us all writing assignments to do...which was a stretch for me since-
1. the wedding after Christmas was overwhelming enough
2. I no longer write. I haven't written a poem for several years. I no longer have it in me.
So I just thought I wouldn't do it. Then I realized that with just three of us, they would probably notice! The assignment was "fairies." Linda really likes fantasy writing and she did a great little story about a little girl that grows a real fairy with seeds. Enchanting. Carolyn wrote an article (which she does best...she's written articles for about every magazine you can think of) about "The House Fairies" - an organizational house fairy. And then there was me. It was hard to try and discipline myself to channel into writing. I did write a poem. It isn't edited. It isn't fine tuned. It is pretty raw and really not that good....but it is a reflection of what is going on. And at least I tried!
After The Last Child’s Wedding
For days I hunkered, immobilized,
content to be paralyzed
while contemplating the word
unemployment
added to the surname of mother.
The house echoed emptiness,
silence rambled the halls
until
a note,
a sound,
like that of a beckoning
fairies flute, led me to the attic
of my mind filled with boxes
long forgotten.
The sparkling music
made tracks
through the dusty lid
of a box patterned
with a childish print.
It burst open, filled
with the imagination
of childhood.
At first I was frightened
but then I gingerly
fingered each color
of the rainbow, biting an edge
of star iced like a sugar cookie.
I shut my eyes and could feel
myself swirling in fresh cut grass,
my brother’s laughter
intermingling with my own. Oh,
to laugh with wild abandonment!
The second box was trimmed
in school colors, decoupaged
with paper hearts
and endless possibilities.
A garland of first kisses feathered
my neck and brought a blush to my cheek.
Quickly I replaced the lid and continued
the search.
Digging to the far reaches
I pulled an over-sized box to me,
straining at its weight.
While sitting on the floor,
cross-legged,
I carefully lifted the lid
where dreams were stored.
Inside, I saw myself,
sitting in a corner of the box,
squinting into new light.
We greeted one another,
myself and I,
like someone we once knew.
Finally she said to me with a grin,
"Well, it’s about time!"
Oh Happy Day! The kiddos are off to (codeword) DL (Disneyland!) I got a note from Brandi this morning just giddy.... they are probably landing in California right now! I'm so happy for them. Addison and I will have a wonderful time while they are gone. We started last night since the kids had to be at the airport at 5:15 AM....lots of books, a princess movie, too many gummi worms. I thought maybe I would sleep better if I slept with her in the guest room. How can a little two-year-old (three on Sunday) take up a WHOLE KING-SIZED bed??? Sleeping was unsleeping....she wiggles the entire night. This morning already we are ready to go. We've invited cousins Boston and Nash over to play.
Tuesday Carolyn C. and I traveled to Santaquin to have lunch with Linda M. (these are two writing friends that I get together with every 3-4 months.) Linda gave us all writing assignments to do...which was a stretch for me since-
1. the wedding after Christmas was overwhelming enough
2. I no longer write. I haven't written a poem for several years. I no longer have it in me.
So I just thought I wouldn't do it. Then I realized that with just three of us, they would probably notice! The assignment was "fairies." Linda really likes fantasy writing and she did a great little story about a little girl that grows a real fairy with seeds. Enchanting. Carolyn wrote an article (which she does best...she's written articles for about every magazine you can think of) about "The House Fairies" - an organizational house fairy. And then there was me. It was hard to try and discipline myself to channel into writing. I did write a poem. It isn't edited. It isn't fine tuned. It is pretty raw and really not that good....but it is a reflection of what is going on. And at least I tried!
After The Last Child’s Wedding
For days I hunkered, immobilized,
content to be paralyzed
while contemplating the word
unemployment
added to the surname of mother.
The house echoed emptiness,
silence rambled the halls
until
a note,
a sound,
like that of a beckoning
fairies flute, led me to the attic
of my mind filled with boxes
long forgotten.
The sparkling music
made tracks
through the dusty lid
of a box patterned
with a childish print.
It burst open, filled
with the imagination
of childhood.
At first I was frightened
but then I gingerly
fingered each color
of the rainbow, biting an edge
of star iced like a sugar cookie.
I shut my eyes and could feel
myself swirling in fresh cut grass,
my brother’s laughter
intermingling with my own. Oh,
to laugh with wild abandonment!
The second box was trimmed
in school colors, decoupaged
with paper hearts
and endless possibilities.
A garland of first kisses feathered
my neck and brought a blush to my cheek.
Quickly I replaced the lid and continued
the search.
Digging to the far reaches
I pulled an over-sized box to me,
straining at its weight.
While sitting on the floor,
cross-legged,
I carefully lifted the lid
where dreams were stored.
Inside, I saw myself,
sitting in a corner of the box,
squinting into new light.
We greeted one another,
myself and I,
like someone we once knew.
Finally she said to me with a grin,
"Well, it’s about time!"
Monday, May 5, 2008
Hummers
The sun is shining....the birds are going CRAZY outside. Yesterday I put out my hummingbird feeder....and was rewarded. I have a special love for hummingbirds....when I "used" to write poetry, I would go through my "phase" of the month.....I had a Mozart phase, a Monet phase, a Van Gogh. Then I had a moose phase, National Geographic phase and hummingbird phase, etc.. I fell in LOVE with hummingbirds. I identify with them because they are probably the only animal that consumes more than its weight in food a day! Got to love that! They are also the only bird that can fly backwards. They can hover like a helicopter, fly horizontal or vertical. Their metabolism is so great and they expend so much energy flying, hovering and dive bombing each other than they need to continually eat or they will die. At nighttime, they go into a state called torpor....which is like a near-death state. Their heart rate slows down dramatically so that they can rest and they don't use so many calories. I wrote a poem once comparing this state to my grandmother:
AT NINETY-FOUR
Grandmother rocks
torpid as the hummingbird
at night
sleeping on a limb
near death.
Night's chill
wipes the leaves of color.
Winds rob trees
of acorns, scatter thousands
of seeds
on the pavement,
seeking earth
and finding none,
becoming torpid
as the hummingbird
at night.
-Marilyn Darley Williams
Back to hummingbirds.....you can just mix your own sugar water solutions....you don't need to put red food coloring in the water. I usually mix my nectar about 1/4-1/3 c. sugar to one cup of water.
I had so many birds at my last home, I usually kept 3 large fillers going. One bottle would sit on my bedroom balcony and those birds would let me know it when the bottle was empty. They would all come to my bedroom window and get me out of bed cheeping. They sound like baby squeekie toys. I love them. But they are also very naughty. There would be 10 empty feeder spots and they all insist on fighting over the same one! Just like kids! Many of our Utah birds migrate to and from Mexico (some to Arizona)....so they are REALLY thirsty right now! Get out your feeders! (and no, that isn't me in the above picture.....I wish!!!)
AT NINETY-FOUR
Grandmother rocks
torpid as the hummingbird
at night
sleeping on a limb
near death.
Night's chill
wipes the leaves of color.
Winds rob trees
of acorns, scatter thousands
of seeds
on the pavement,
seeking earth
and finding none,
becoming torpid
as the hummingbird
at night.
-Marilyn Darley Williams
Back to hummingbirds.....you can just mix your own sugar water solutions....you don't need to put red food coloring in the water. I usually mix my nectar about 1/4-1/3 c. sugar to one cup of water.
I had so many birds at my last home, I usually kept 3 large fillers going. One bottle would sit on my bedroom balcony and those birds would let me know it when the bottle was empty. They would all come to my bedroom window and get me out of bed cheeping. They sound like baby squeekie toys. I love them. But they are also very naughty. There would be 10 empty feeder spots and they all insist on fighting over the same one! Just like kids! Many of our Utah birds migrate to and from Mexico (some to Arizona)....so they are REALLY thirsty right now! Get out your feeders! (and no, that isn't me in the above picture.....I wish!!!)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Surprises, Spring and Strep
Yesterday I got a surprise in the mail...a FedEx box with three books in it....the series of books called "A Banner is Unfurled" by Marci Gallacher and Kerri Robinson. They were addressed to me, and with a personal note by one of the authors, sent in a box from my brother’s company in Vancouver, Washington. Actually, the mailing address had some other guy’s name on the sticker. Is this just my totally awesome brother? But this is so puzzling because he isn’t active in the church...never has been. How would he even know about these books? I can’t wait to find out.
Yesterday was the most beautiful day! 80 degrees plus. It feels like spring. Then the wind blew off and on all day. Which cut loose hayfever like no bodies business! I’m itching between my ears and my throat is raw and my mouth itches......nuts! Yesterday I had Halle Babe and Addison.....and also Boston and Nash. Tenille’s grandma died this weekend and yesterday was the funeral. Nash actually slept the entire time but the other kids and I and sometimes David’s mom, played outside on the swings. I kept blowing up balloons and letting them loose to fly around crazy. Addison loved it and kept bringing back the balloons to do it again. And then she’d try to blow them up (she’s two) without success so she’d hand them back to me. When Brandi came to pick them up, she picked up Addi and said she was burning up. She took her to the Dr......she has an ear infection AND strep! Guess what I have to look forward to this week??!!! And I know it will travel through their family and they’ve had enough sickness lately!!!
David has always done our taxes. And we always do them the last minute. We talk about doing it earlier but he’s just so dang busy....and so it is tradition that we are the crankiest at this time of year. I HATE tax season! But we made it through and I think still like each other....
The sweetest thing that happened to me yesterday was Rylee calling me to tell me that my art teacher, Arlo Johnson, was in her class yesterday. I told her to be on the lookout for him. Arlo does Art in the School each year all over the valley. Then Rylee sang me a song...."I’m Trying To Be Like Jesus"....the whole long thing. It was so sweet, I about cried! What a blessing to have grandchildren being taught to love Jesus. Travis and I laughed later over some of her pronunciations (she’s 5.) Like "sometimes I’m re-tempted to make a bad choice....." She can’t say her "r’s" like her daddy at that age and it is just precious! Then I talked to Travis on the phone and he said that for home evening, they decided to go out for dinner with Tenille’s parents (since it had been a long day with the funeral.) At the last minute, Travis suggested that they call her grandpa (who is actually a step-grandpa)...the one who had just lost his wife....and see if he wanted to go as well. He was so surprised and delighted to go with them. Such a simple thing....but Travis said, "I just couldn’t stand to think of him sitting at home last night by himself." Can I tell you how blessed I feel to have children....each one of them....that steps outside of themselves to care about others? Last night was a payday.
Well, Jan will be here in a few minutes and we will clean our heads off. The hayfever is DRIVING ME NUTS so I had bettered dig through the cupboards and find some relief. And hopefully I can work out in the yard today. There is sure a lot of work to be done before the "Spring Celebration!" Here’s a little spring poem I dug out to share....when I used to write in my Judith Viorst-style.
WHEN SPRING CAME and other tragedies
(Marilyn Darley Williams)
When spring came and the heads of crocus
Popped brilliantly out of ground
It was all I could do to keep mine
Propped on a pillow...what with antihistamines
decongestants
aspirin
Not to mention a wastebasket full of soggy Kleenex.
When spring came and the tulips found
Morning sun excuse enough to lift their faces,
I was still searching for some to justify
Unwashed windows...what with smog
pollution
blustery winds
Not to mention 40 adolescent fingers eating peanut butter and jam.
When spring came and the streets and pathways
Became laden with joggers and cyclers
Sporting newly tanned legs,
I was still trying to find mine...what with flannel nightgowns
wooly ski socks
3" of cellulite
Not to mention 2 varicose veins that resemble racing stripes.
When spring came and the neighbors we haven’t
Seen or heard of since last summer drop in
Unexpectedly bearing charcoal briquets,
I was still trying to decide between Early Girl
and Big Boy,
fertilizer ratios
Not to mention who last borrowed our power mower,
And remembering...
when winter
was so much easier!
Yesterday was the most beautiful day! 80 degrees plus. It feels like spring. Then the wind blew off and on all day. Which cut loose hayfever like no bodies business! I’m itching between my ears and my throat is raw and my mouth itches......nuts! Yesterday I had Halle Babe and Addison.....and also Boston and Nash. Tenille’s grandma died this weekend and yesterday was the funeral. Nash actually slept the entire time but the other kids and I and sometimes David’s mom, played outside on the swings. I kept blowing up balloons and letting them loose to fly around crazy. Addison loved it and kept bringing back the balloons to do it again. And then she’d try to blow them up (she’s two) without success so she’d hand them back to me. When Brandi came to pick them up, she picked up Addi and said she was burning up. She took her to the Dr......she has an ear infection AND strep! Guess what I have to look forward to this week??!!! And I know it will travel through their family and they’ve had enough sickness lately!!!
David has always done our taxes. And we always do them the last minute. We talk about doing it earlier but he’s just so dang busy....and so it is tradition that we are the crankiest at this time of year. I HATE tax season! But we made it through and I think still like each other....
The sweetest thing that happened to me yesterday was Rylee calling me to tell me that my art teacher, Arlo Johnson, was in her class yesterday. I told her to be on the lookout for him. Arlo does Art in the School each year all over the valley. Then Rylee sang me a song...."I’m Trying To Be Like Jesus"....the whole long thing. It was so sweet, I about cried! What a blessing to have grandchildren being taught to love Jesus. Travis and I laughed later over some of her pronunciations (she’s 5.) Like "sometimes I’m re-tempted to make a bad choice....." She can’t say her "r’s" like her daddy at that age and it is just precious! Then I talked to Travis on the phone and he said that for home evening, they decided to go out for dinner with Tenille’s parents (since it had been a long day with the funeral.) At the last minute, Travis suggested that they call her grandpa (who is actually a step-grandpa)...the one who had just lost his wife....and see if he wanted to go as well. He was so surprised and delighted to go with them. Such a simple thing....but Travis said, "I just couldn’t stand to think of him sitting at home last night by himself." Can I tell you how blessed I feel to have children....each one of them....that steps outside of themselves to care about others? Last night was a payday.
Well, Jan will be here in a few minutes and we will clean our heads off. The hayfever is DRIVING ME NUTS so I had bettered dig through the cupboards and find some relief. And hopefully I can work out in the yard today. There is sure a lot of work to be done before the "Spring Celebration!" Here’s a little spring poem I dug out to share....when I used to write in my Judith Viorst-style.
WHEN SPRING CAME and other tragedies
(Marilyn Darley Williams)
When spring came and the heads of crocus
Popped brilliantly out of ground
It was all I could do to keep mine
Propped on a pillow...what with antihistamines
decongestants
aspirin
Not to mention a wastebasket full of soggy Kleenex.
When spring came and the tulips found
Morning sun excuse enough to lift their faces,
I was still searching for some to justify
Unwashed windows...what with smog
pollution
blustery winds
Not to mention 40 adolescent fingers eating peanut butter and jam.
When spring came and the streets and pathways
Became laden with joggers and cyclers
Sporting newly tanned legs,
I was still trying to find mine...what with flannel nightgowns
wooly ski socks
3" of cellulite
Not to mention 2 varicose veins that resemble racing stripes.
When spring came and the neighbors we haven’t
Seen or heard of since last summer drop in
Unexpectedly bearing charcoal briquets,
I was still trying to decide between Early Girl
and Big Boy,
fertilizer ratios
Not to mention who last borrowed our power mower,
And remembering...
when winter
was so much easier!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Shepherds
Sunday in nursery, I was telling the nativity story with puppets to the children. There were 5 little children enthralled with the story. I went through the angel coming to Mary, then Mary riding a donkey to Bethlehem. I told them when they got there, there wasn't any place for them to sleep. I told them, "You be the innkeepers. When I knock on your door, tell them there is no room." With each child, I would knock and say, "Can we come in and stay with you?" Each child said yes.
And I guess that God is still asking that question. Can His child come in and stay with each of us? Oh, that we can become as little children.
THE SHEPHERD AFTER THE PLAY(Mariyn Darley Williams)
This Christmas Eve,
I found him, half asleep,
huddled in shepherd’s robe,
perched on the edge
of the window seat.
“Mom,” he whispered.
“If I had lived then,
I would have let them stay
in my room. I could have slept
on the floor. You would have fed them,
Mom, I know you would. Fixed up
a casserole like you took to Mr. Hutchings
across the street,
with some fresh bread
and jam.”
“Mom,” he continued. “I’m glad
I didn’t get Herod’s part,
even if he did get to wear
that cool armor
and I had to wear this old
bathrobe. I couldn’t have been
the Innkeeper. I would have cried.
When I saw the baby, all I wanted
to do was to tell him how much
I loved him. And you, Mom. And Dad.
Wishing so hard that Grandma
and Gramps were here to see.
Then, the lamb started pulling
me...Can you believe they had a real lamb?
Then the angels came and my part
was over. I had to move offstage.”
Quietly, with stars reflecting,
like a thousand mirrors,
the Christmas light,
I tucked one drowsy shepherd
into bed, kissed his head.
Thought of the baby,
the lamb that was real.
Felt, soft as a kiss,
the brush of angel’s wings
before they soar.
Gave thanks
for this holy place
where shepherds still sleep
with an open door.
Merry Christmas, dear great-great-greats. Know you are loved in our family. Know that we know that God lives and loves us individually.
Merry Christmas to my sweet friends and neighbors and blogger friends. Isn't this a wonderful day. Isn't this a wonderful season? May you have a peaceful feeling of God's love for you and your home!
And I guess that God is still asking that question. Can His child come in and stay with each of us? Oh, that we can become as little children.
THE SHEPHERD AFTER THE PLAY(Mariyn Darley Williams)
This Christmas Eve,
I found him, half asleep,
huddled in shepherd’s robe,
perched on the edge
of the window seat.
“Mom,” he whispered.
“If I had lived then,
I would have let them stay
in my room. I could have slept
on the floor. You would have fed them,
Mom, I know you would. Fixed up
a casserole like you took to Mr. Hutchings
across the street,
with some fresh bread
and jam.”
“Mom,” he continued. “I’m glad
I didn’t get Herod’s part,
even if he did get to wear
that cool armor
and I had to wear this old
bathrobe. I couldn’t have been
the Innkeeper. I would have cried.
When I saw the baby, all I wanted
to do was to tell him how much
I loved him. And you, Mom. And Dad.
Wishing so hard that Grandma
and Gramps were here to see.
Then, the lamb started pulling
me...Can you believe they had a real lamb?
Then the angels came and my part
was over. I had to move offstage.”
Quietly, with stars reflecting,
like a thousand mirrors,
the Christmas light,
I tucked one drowsy shepherd
into bed, kissed his head.
Thought of the baby,
the lamb that was real.
Felt, soft as a kiss,
the brush of angel’s wings
before they soar.
Gave thanks
for this holy place
where shepherds still sleep
with an open door.
Merry Christmas, dear great-great-greats. Know you are loved in our family. Know that we know that God lives and loves us individually.
Merry Christmas to my sweet friends and neighbors and blogger friends. Isn't this a wonderful day. Isn't this a wonderful season? May you have a peaceful feeling of God's love for you and your home!
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
OCTOBER
"Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn. "- Elizabeth Lawrence
I wanted to just capture a few thoughts about October. Fall is a season I don’t think I appreciated as a youth because I never wanted summer to end. Now, as much as I hate summer to end, I LOVE the precious moments we get with fall. And I realize that I am probably in the fall of my life. I always thought this time would be miserable and unproductive and "over the hill." I had no idea that this would be the happiest season of my life.
I’ve already mentioned that I take pictures almost everyday of the mountain changing. Our Utah mountains foliage is mottled...I think it looks like a buffalo hide sometimes. In poetry I’ve compared the mountain colors as "relish" at this time of year. I love the musty smell of leaves and sleeping with the french doors open and snuggling under the comforter because the air is so crisp. Fields of pumpkins send me over the edge. I love pumpkin pie, pumpkin roll-ups, pumpkin pie squares, pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies and pumpkin soup. I love to write poems about fall. Here is one:
The Turning
Leaves dance wildly
in streets
like blithe spirits
barely skimming earth.
October is full of surprises,
like a mouse caught in the grain barrel.
Fields with frozen vines showcase pumpkins
like crown jewels.
It is the last bike ride,
the last wash of color,
the last song sung
around the fire.
It is the chatter of squirrels,
the absence of hummingbirds,
all in preparation
for a covering of snow
that will lull us to sleep.
October is autumn’s last supper;
prayers ascend to heaven
in spirals
of woodsmoke and ash.
Marilyn Darley Williams
I love soups in the fall. One of my favorite soups is the clam chowder at Market Street Grill. It is a thinner chowder and the spices are different than like a Bratten’s clam chowder. Since we have a Market Street not too far from us, oftentimes I will just swing by and get a couple of containers of soup to bring home for dinner. But I do have the recipe as well. It is worth a try...and if the thinness troubles you, just thicken it up.
Market Street Clam Chowder
3/4 c. butter, melted
1 cup flour
1 cup diced potatoes (sometimes I double the potatoes)
1 cup diced celery (sometimes I double the celery)
1 cup diced onions
1 cup diced green pepper
1 c. diced leek
3/4 c. chopped clams
3/4 T. freshly ground pepper (ha!)
1 ½ T. salt
3/4 tsp. thyme
6 bay leaves (I have a bay tree out in the greenhouse. Borrow as much as you like!)
1 tsp. Tabasco sauce
3/4 c. cooking sherry or bouillon
2 c. water
3/4 c. clam juice
2 qt. half-and-half
Combine melted butter and flour in oven-proof dish and bake at 325 degrees for 30 minutes. In large saucepan, combine potatoes, celery, onion, peppers, leeks, clams, ground pepper, salt, bay leaves, Tabasco, sherry, water and clam juice. Simmer until potatoes are thoroughly cooked. Add butter and flour mixture to chowder and stir until thick. Mixture will be slightly less thick than cookie dough. Remove chowder from heat. Stir in half-and-half until blended. Heat to serving temperature, stirring occasionally. Serve immediately. Serves 12.
David and I were talking yesterday about October. If an octagon has 8 sides, and "oct" means 8, then why is October the 10th month, not 8th? This is what I learned:
October, the tenth month of the current Gregorian calendar and the second month of Autumn’s rule, derives its name from octo, the Latin word meaning “eight,” as October was the eighth month of the old Roman calendar.
I wanted to just capture a few thoughts about October. Fall is a season I don’t think I appreciated as a youth because I never wanted summer to end. Now, as much as I hate summer to end, I LOVE the precious moments we get with fall. And I realize that I am probably in the fall of my life. I always thought this time would be miserable and unproductive and "over the hill." I had no idea that this would be the happiest season of my life.
I’ve already mentioned that I take pictures almost everyday of the mountain changing. Our Utah mountains foliage is mottled...I think it looks like a buffalo hide sometimes. In poetry I’ve compared the mountain colors as "relish" at this time of year. I love the musty smell of leaves and sleeping with the french doors open and snuggling under the comforter because the air is so crisp. Fields of pumpkins send me over the edge. I love pumpkin pie, pumpkin roll-ups, pumpkin pie squares, pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies and pumpkin soup. I love to write poems about fall. Here is one:
The Turning
Leaves dance wildly
in streets
like blithe spirits
barely skimming earth.
October is full of surprises,
like a mouse caught in the grain barrel.
Fields with frozen vines showcase pumpkins
like crown jewels.
It is the last bike ride,
the last wash of color,
the last song sung
around the fire.
It is the chatter of squirrels,
the absence of hummingbirds,
all in preparation
for a covering of snow
that will lull us to sleep.
October is autumn’s last supper;
prayers ascend to heaven
in spirals
of woodsmoke and ash.
Marilyn Darley Williams
I love soups in the fall. One of my favorite soups is the clam chowder at Market Street Grill. It is a thinner chowder and the spices are different than like a Bratten’s clam chowder. Since we have a Market Street not too far from us, oftentimes I will just swing by and get a couple of containers of soup to bring home for dinner. But I do have the recipe as well. It is worth a try...and if the thinness troubles you, just thicken it up.
Market Street Clam Chowder
3/4 c. butter, melted
1 cup flour
1 cup diced potatoes (sometimes I double the potatoes)
1 cup diced celery (sometimes I double the celery)
1 cup diced onions
1 cup diced green pepper
1 c. diced leek
3/4 c. chopped clams
3/4 T. freshly ground pepper (ha!)
1 ½ T. salt
3/4 tsp. thyme
6 bay leaves (I have a bay tree out in the greenhouse. Borrow as much as you like!)
1 tsp. Tabasco sauce
3/4 c. cooking sherry or bouillon
2 c. water
3/4 c. clam juice
2 qt. half-and-half
Combine melted butter and flour in oven-proof dish and bake at 325 degrees for 30 minutes. In large saucepan, combine potatoes, celery, onion, peppers, leeks, clams, ground pepper, salt, bay leaves, Tabasco, sherry, water and clam juice. Simmer until potatoes are thoroughly cooked. Add butter and flour mixture to chowder and stir until thick. Mixture will be slightly less thick than cookie dough. Remove chowder from heat. Stir in half-and-half until blended. Heat to serving temperature, stirring occasionally. Serve immediately. Serves 12.
David and I were talking yesterday about October. If an octagon has 8 sides, and "oct" means 8, then why is October the 10th month, not 8th? This is what I learned:
October, the tenth month of the current Gregorian calendar and the second month of Autumn’s rule, derives its name from octo, the Latin word meaning “eight,” as October was the eighth month of the old Roman calendar.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Vis-a-Vis
I mentioned that when we were young marrieds, Elaine and I wrote with a small group of friends. I did write some poetry, mostly funny, ala Judith Viorst, who was my favorite. When I started writing workshops, my instructor, of course, crucified it because it rhymed. Oh well. I still like it. (note: vis-a-vis means face-to-face)
Best Friends Vis-A-Vis
My best friend subscribes to House Beautiful;
Her hair style and clothes are strictly in vogue.
I, on the other hand, buy National Enquirer
And empty garbage in my old terry robe.
My best friend serves petit-fours for snack time;
I mix brownies straight from the box.
For dinner I serve Hamburger Helper,
She serves cheese, bagels and lox.
My best friend is an experimental artist,
She truly is avant-garde.
I am into experiments with fertilizer
Puttering around in my suburban yard.
My best friend had dalliances with musicians,
A cross-country skier and an actor named Raoul.
I, on the other hand, get compliments from the butcher
Or the crosswalk attendant at my first grader’s school.
My best friend is teaching me chanting;
I’m doing my best to help unclog her sink.
Our friendship’s unique, a study in contrast
Complete without envy...I think?
Marilyn Darley Williams
Best Friends Vis-A-Vis
My best friend subscribes to House Beautiful;
Her hair style and clothes are strictly in vogue.
I, on the other hand, buy National Enquirer
And empty garbage in my old terry robe.
My best friend serves petit-fours for snack time;
I mix brownies straight from the box.
For dinner I serve Hamburger Helper,
She serves cheese, bagels and lox.
My best friend is an experimental artist,
She truly is avant-garde.
I am into experiments with fertilizer
Puttering around in my suburban yard.
My best friend had dalliances with musicians,
A cross-country skier and an actor named Raoul.
I, on the other hand, get compliments from the butcher
Or the crosswalk attendant at my first grader’s school.
My best friend is teaching me chanting;
I’m doing my best to help unclog her sink.
Our friendship’s unique, a study in contrast
Complete without envy...I think?
Marilyn Darley Williams
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Sunday
It is Sunday morning and I’ve been busily preparing a talk for the Single’s Ward today about the Joy of Service. As you know, from my past reports, serving has been on my mind. And I realize that whenever I get a handle or think I get a handle on a certain principle, Heavenly Father then gives me a bump...something that startles me into realizing that I don’t know as much as I think I know, and He has more to teach me. I think I have learned some valuable lessons in the past couple of months about service...and I am humbled to the core, and thankful for His guidance- even His rebuke, in wanting me to be and become a better person. I would share my talk here but as I looked through it, most of what I plan on saying, I have shared here in the past 6 months since starting this journal. So much has been a reflection of Elder Busche’s quote, where my blog name "Constant Growing Amazement" comes from...that I have repeated over and over here because it means so much to me.
That truly-
When we consistently follow the Holy Spirit, in a continuous, constant spirit of prayer, the world of miracles is open to us now, in this life. A life of adventures, of constant, growing amazement, of surprising vision, of new aspects of life, of new dimensions of joy and peace will be the consequence.
Elder Busche "The Only Real Treasure"
And I am, truly, constantly amazed.....
Last night, FINALLY, we were able to go out to dinner with Kirk and Cathy. And of course, we talked about the mine disaster. I can’t believe that we have been friends forever (when I was called as her Visiting Teacher) and although I know she lost a brother about 10 years ago, I had forgotten that it was a mining accident as well. Because both of them are from Orangeville, they have been affected by the mining community. Kirk said that they realized, that they have lost family members (between them) in every mine in the counties of Emery and Sanpete since the early 1900's, beginning with Kirk’s Great-great-grandfather and 3 sons who died in a mining disaster. Poor Cathy, who has lost both her parents in the last 5 months...and is still grieving, now is faced with this very sad reminder of her brother as well. Her (ex) sister-in-law, widowed by the accident ten years ago, ended up marrying his best friend, who has graciously helped raise their 6 children. He was actually the head of the second rescue team that intended to go into the current mine after the first crew went in the other day and lost more people. Can you even begin to imagine the terror that she was feeling...that any of these people are feeling? And yet, as my sweet friend, Marilyn B (or Mama Bawden) reminded me, in her comments yesterday, that prayers are needed here, in China and elsewhere and Ann S. reminded me that prayers are needed in Jamaica, as they prepare for the hurricane, and ...... and I know we all have personal sorrows and needs. I’m so glad that Heavenly Father’s arms are so large, so long, they can fit around each of our needs.
We have a wonderful sister in our Ward, Ruthie...that I love. She succeeded me as Ward RS President and was recently released. Before she was the RS President, she led our choir...and one time I was so moved, by the singing, but also mesmerized by her long beautiful arms leading the music. This is the poem I wrote for her that day.
HEAVENLY CHOIRS
Sister Spangler leads the choir
with long, flourishing arms.
Her hands have celestial powers
as she draws music from young men.
Her army of boys fidgets in unison
in Sunday armor of pressed shirts,
uncomfortable ties.
The young women sing parts.
They sing like angels.
I picture them all as that Heavenly Choir
that rejoiced at the Savior’s birth.
Sister Spangler would have been dressed
in iridescent white,
her robes draping the earth
like cumulus clouds.
The young men stood tall, their armor bright.
Light shines from the young women,
faces illuminated by the new star.
Sister Spangler gathers all the notes
of heaven with those wonderful arms.
I love her arms. They remind me
of God’s arms,
long enough to touch eternity,
yet encircle each of us
with love.
Marilyn Darley Williams
That truly-
When we consistently follow the Holy Spirit, in a continuous, constant spirit of prayer, the world of miracles is open to us now, in this life. A life of adventures, of constant, growing amazement, of surprising vision, of new aspects of life, of new dimensions of joy and peace will be the consequence.
Elder Busche "The Only Real Treasure"
And I am, truly, constantly amazed.....
Last night, FINALLY, we were able to go out to dinner with Kirk and Cathy. And of course, we talked about the mine disaster. I can’t believe that we have been friends forever (when I was called as her Visiting Teacher) and although I know she lost a brother about 10 years ago, I had forgotten that it was a mining accident as well. Because both of them are from Orangeville, they have been affected by the mining community. Kirk said that they realized, that they have lost family members (between them) in every mine in the counties of Emery and Sanpete since the early 1900's, beginning with Kirk’s Great-great-grandfather and 3 sons who died in a mining disaster. Poor Cathy, who has lost both her parents in the last 5 months...and is still grieving, now is faced with this very sad reminder of her brother as well. Her (ex) sister-in-law, widowed by the accident ten years ago, ended up marrying his best friend, who has graciously helped raise their 6 children. He was actually the head of the second rescue team that intended to go into the current mine after the first crew went in the other day and lost more people. Can you even begin to imagine the terror that she was feeling...that any of these people are feeling? And yet, as my sweet friend, Marilyn B (or Mama Bawden) reminded me, in her comments yesterday, that prayers are needed here, in China and elsewhere and Ann S. reminded me that prayers are needed in Jamaica, as they prepare for the hurricane, and ...... and I know we all have personal sorrows and needs. I’m so glad that Heavenly Father’s arms are so large, so long, they can fit around each of our needs.
We have a wonderful sister in our Ward, Ruthie...that I love. She succeeded me as Ward RS President and was recently released. Before she was the RS President, she led our choir...and one time I was so moved, by the singing, but also mesmerized by her long beautiful arms leading the music. This is the poem I wrote for her that day.
HEAVENLY CHOIRS
Sister Spangler leads the choir
with long, flourishing arms.
Her hands have celestial powers
as she draws music from young men.
Her army of boys fidgets in unison
in Sunday armor of pressed shirts,
uncomfortable ties.
The young women sing parts.
They sing like angels.
I picture them all as that Heavenly Choir
that rejoiced at the Savior’s birth.
Sister Spangler would have been dressed
in iridescent white,
her robes draping the earth
like cumulus clouds.
The young men stood tall, their armor bright.
Light shines from the young women,
faces illuminated by the new star.
Sister Spangler gathers all the notes
of heaven with those wonderful arms.
I love her arms. They remind me
of God’s arms,
long enough to touch eternity,
yet encircle each of us
with love.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Girlfriends Tribute- Cynthia
When we moved into our second home, the home where we did most of the raising of our children, it was a huge, growing, young Ward. Roger Christensen was called as Bishop and my husband was first counselor and the second counselor was Art Richards. Since we didn’t really know each other, we decided to go to the temple as a bishopric activity. That was really the first time I met Cynthia Richards. I remember coming out of the dressing room and Cynthia giving me the"look over", then she said, "I don’t know if it matters to you or not, but your dress is on backwards!"
And that was the beginning of our best friendship! Cynthia was the person that everyone wanted to be best friends with. She was a fabulous cook, gardener and party planner extraordinare. She was the person who saw the need and just DID it. Together we were a team. Every day was an adventure with Cynthia. She is who I need to be around when I take myself too seriously. She can poke fun at me with a smile. When she and her family moved back to Portland, I thought my heart would break. Really, I sobbed like she had died. For years, we talked long distance either daily or several times weekly. Then monthly. Then a couple times a year. But it didn’t matter. I always knew as soon as she picked up the phone, we would be back to where we once were. She’s that kind of friend.
The best thing is 2 and ½ years ago, my parents moved to Battleground, WA. which is just outside of Vancouver, WA. which is just over the bridge from Portland. So when I go and see my folks, Cynthia either picks me up at the airport and we play for a day or we’ll meet halfway. We didn't get together this time, but just talked on the phone because sometimes my mom doesn't like to share! (I wonder where I get that from?) Cynthia knows every fabulous place to eat, every unique store, where to find anything you've never seen before. My first visit to her, before my parents moved close by, she met me at the airport with a HUGE basket filled with the best of everything Portland has to offer. It was filled with flowers, gifts, chocolate, a boxed dessert, a book. It was unreal! After one such visit, I wrote this poem. When you read it, read it fast. Because that is how the day went. Breathless! (The street is really NW 23rd Ave. but that didn't sound very poetic.)
GIRLFRIENDS, BREATHLESS
That afternoon, squeezing out
one last adventure,
you raced through Bawden Street
saying, "See there. See there" and lucky!
We found a parking spot
and everything came at once.
The restaurant, painted like a Tai flag,
that featured Asian Blends,
the Dish n’ Dat--
a large layered wedding cake
with a 50's cardboard couple on the top
in the display window
and little wooden pushtoys
with a wiggling bride and groom.
And we bought
funky handmade bracelets
and laughed, because we knew
we had such good taste
but then you say, we need
to leave to catch my plane. But I begged to run
into one more store
and find hand-pressed paper
to make a collage in the colors of your room
and you run
into the corner delicatessen
because you know they have fabulous desserts.
And there isn’t time
to go into Three Monkeys,
Body Piercing and Jewelry, The Kite-eri
but it is enough to see
the psychic’s turquoise and yellow
painted door with moons and stars
and the droopy old man sitting
at the sidewalk table,
eating a wrap,
feeding pieces to a spotted dog,
the smell of curry blending
with the scent of patchouli coming
from that thin girl
with shiny black and purple hair,
and to see the sun bouncing off the shaved head
of the other one
and we laugh as we run
to the car, us at our age,
and you say "You need to come back soon" and
pull the car out in traffic, and we eat the dessert
from the white boxes with our fingers
(because you forgot the forks),
praying for a traffic jam or a missed plane.
Pleased with ourselves
that not everyone would do as we do,
eating one more bite,
laughing as we lick the last hurrah.
Marilyn Darley Williams
And that was the beginning of our best friendship! Cynthia was the person that everyone wanted to be best friends with. She was a fabulous cook, gardener and party planner extraordinare. She was the person who saw the need and just DID it. Together we were a team. Every day was an adventure with Cynthia. She is who I need to be around when I take myself too seriously. She can poke fun at me with a smile. When she and her family moved back to Portland, I thought my heart would break. Really, I sobbed like she had died. For years, we talked long distance either daily or several times weekly. Then monthly. Then a couple times a year. But it didn’t matter. I always knew as soon as she picked up the phone, we would be back to where we once were. She’s that kind of friend.
The best thing is 2 and ½ years ago, my parents moved to Battleground, WA. which is just outside of Vancouver, WA. which is just over the bridge from Portland. So when I go and see my folks, Cynthia either picks me up at the airport and we play for a day or we’ll meet halfway. We didn't get together this time, but just talked on the phone because sometimes my mom doesn't like to share! (I wonder where I get that from?) Cynthia knows every fabulous place to eat, every unique store, where to find anything you've never seen before. My first visit to her, before my parents moved close by, she met me at the airport with a HUGE basket filled with the best of everything Portland has to offer. It was filled with flowers, gifts, chocolate, a boxed dessert, a book. It was unreal! After one such visit, I wrote this poem. When you read it, read it fast. Because that is how the day went. Breathless! (The street is really NW 23rd Ave. but that didn't sound very poetic.)
GIRLFRIENDS, BREATHLESS
That afternoon, squeezing out
one last adventure,
you raced through Bawden Street
saying, "See there. See there" and lucky!
We found a parking spot
and everything came at once.
The restaurant, painted like a Tai flag,
that featured Asian Blends,
the Dish n’ Dat--
a large layered wedding cake
with a 50's cardboard couple on the top
in the display window
and little wooden pushtoys
with a wiggling bride and groom.
And we bought
funky handmade bracelets
and laughed, because we knew
we had such good taste
but then you say, we need
to leave to catch my plane. But I begged to run
into one more store
and find hand-pressed paper
to make a collage in the colors of your room
and you run
into the corner delicatessen
because you know they have fabulous desserts.
And there isn’t time
to go into Three Monkeys,
Body Piercing and Jewelry, The Kite-eri
but it is enough to see
the psychic’s turquoise and yellow
painted door with moons and stars
and the droopy old man sitting
at the sidewalk table,
eating a wrap,
feeding pieces to a spotted dog,
the smell of curry blending
with the scent of patchouli coming
from that thin girl
with shiny black and purple hair,
and to see the sun bouncing off the shaved head
of the other one
and we laugh as we run
to the car, us at our age,
and you say "You need to come back soon" and
pull the car out in traffic, and we eat the dessert
from the white boxes with our fingers
(because you forgot the forks),
praying for a traffic jam or a missed plane.
Pleased with ourselves
that not everyone would do as we do,
eating one more bite,
laughing as we lick the last hurrah.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Friday, August 3, 2007
SUNFLOWERS
Last night I took Trax into town to join my husband and another couple (and their young married daughter) for dinner and to see Mama Mia at the Capital Theater. As the train was racing along, I looked out the window, daydreaming, and saw a fabulous garden- rows straight, everything looking lush and ripe...and hanging over the fence were these incredible, tall sunflowers! Can I just say, if you love sunflowers clap your hands. I thought so. I love, love, love them. Sunflowers show up constantly in my life....I paint them, I photograph them, I write poems about them, I have arrangements of them in my home. So today, I thought I would pay homage to the sunflower...hope you don’t mind a sunflower poem (and believe me....I have more.) And a couple of sunflower pictures (and I have more) and a recipe with sunflower seeds.
SUNFLOWERS: A STILL LIFE“If one can only remember what one has seen,
one is never without food for thought
or truly lonely, never alone.”Vincent van Gogh
but with winter’s heavy mask,
Vincent’s are all I see.
I see them
capturing the joy
of the Mediterranean,
where the long, dry summers
in Arles turn aged wheat
from brilliant to old gold.
And when he discovered the sunflowers,
cultivated from seed,
it was as if he were drunk
on the color--
those swollen heads bobbing
on slender stems, trying
to make sense
of things
in that blinding yellow sun.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Brandi’s Ranch Broccoli and Spinach SaladDressing:
1/4 cup sugar
1 cup mayonnaise
1 Tb. apple cider vinegar
1 tsp. powdered Ranch Dressing mix
1 ½ lb. broccoli flowerettes
2 bunches spinach, torn
1 cup raisins or craisins
1 cup sunflower seeds
3 small green onions
8 strips bacon, cooked and crumbled
1 can water chestnuts, sliced, diced
Mix sugar, mayonnaise, vinegar and dry dressing mix and refrigerate. Mix
the rest of ingredients. Mix with dressing when ready to serve.
And finally, I love the symbolism of sunflowers. How they always turn their faces to the sun. How we should turn our faces to the Son. It reminds me of a little Shel Silverstein poem that says:
The Shadow Race
Every time I’ve raced my shadow
When the sun was at my back,
It always ran ahead of me,
Always got the best of me.
But every time I’ve raced my shadow
When my face was toward the sun,
I won
SUNFLOWERS: A STILL LIFE“If one can only remember what one has seen,one is never without food for thought
or truly lonely, never alone.”Vincent van Gogh
The instructor exhorts us
to paint from memory,but with winter’s heavy mask,
Vincent’s are all I see.
I see them
capturing the joy
of the Mediterranean,
where the long, dry summers
in Arles turn aged wheat
from brilliant to old gold.
And when he discovered the sunflowers,
cultivated from seed,
it was as if he were drunk
on the color--
those swollen heads bobbing
on slender stems, trying
to make sense
of things
in that blinding yellow sun.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Brandi’s Ranch Broccoli and Spinach SaladDressing:
1/4 cup sugar
1 cup mayonnaise
1 Tb. apple cider vinegar
1 tsp. powdered Ranch Dressing mix
1 ½ lb. broccoli flowerettes
2 bunches spinach, torn
1 cup raisins or craisins
1 cup sunflower seeds
3 small green onions
8 strips bacon, cooked and crumbled
1 can water chestnuts, sliced, diced
Mix sugar, mayonnaise, vinegar and dry dressing mix and refrigerate. Mix
the rest of ingredients. Mix with dressing when ready to serve.
And finally, I love the symbolism of sunflowers. How they always turn their faces to the sun. How we should turn our faces to the Son. It reminds me of a little Shel Silverstein poem that says:
The Shadow Race
Every time I’ve raced my shadow
When the sun was at my back,
It always ran ahead of me,
Always got the best of me.
But every time I’ve raced my shadow
When my face was toward the sun,
I won
Thursday, July 26, 2007
A NOT SO NICE WORD....
I just got back from my little women's retreat (you're saying "Again?!!! How much fun can one person get to have?") (and not little women as in Lousia May Alcott's Little Women) but our Relief Society focus group, called, for lack of a more artistic name- Utah Field Trips. In our year or so together, we have hit several museums, attended an art show in Wallsburg for an artist friend, Linda Curley Christensen, toured cool garden places and gardens, checked out favorite consignment shops in the valley, visited cemetaries and learned unusual Utah history, attended a 24th of July musical and had one of the stars, Michelle Baer, a FABULOUS LDS singer from Arizona (http://www.michelebaermusic.com/) give a special fireside for us. And, of course, we always explore the fabulous eateries the valley has to offer. This month we had a retreat at my friend and neighbor's cabin up in our beautiful mountains. An over-the-top wonderful time! I saw a baby moose (I love moose!), lots of deer, and I think even two wolves. They looked like wolves. They ran like wolves. They danced like wolves. Oh, I made that part up. But maybe they were someone's pets far from home. But then, I came back home and read another friend/neighbor's blog....about a mutual enemy. Here I was- happy and relaxed, spiritually uplifted and fed...and then I come home to her blog and it hit a nerve. It was about.....MAGPIES! (You can check out her full blog at(http://mamabawden.blogspot.com/) Can I just say, I am not nice when it comes to magpies. I think "magpie" is a dirty word. Here is my reply to her:
Oh my gosh...you've hit a nerve! I am battling the magpies as well. I've even written a poem about my feelings for the magpie. It's not a pretty poem.
THE MAGPIE WAITS
The magpie waits at Hell's gate
with piercing, steely eyes.
He dares the Son to infiltrate
and soothe my fevered cries.
Night images wring
my darkened soul,
spilling carnage
within full sight.
He hisses, "Justice is served"
then strips my flesh,
savoring every bite.
Okay, maybe a little too graphic. But magpies interrupt my morning snooze with their screeching, eat my squished little critters on the road, drive away the other birds, peck holes in my fruit crop. They are prolific because they eat what man eats-meat, fruit, vegetables, grain. Okay, I don't eat dog food or road kill. I told one of my boys last week I wanted him to build a potato gun and start pelting the magpies with them. They make me feel not nice. They bring out the worst in me. They make me feel not nice about me. I have "issues" with magpies. They don't have magpies east of the Mississippi. Someone brought a bird west as a pet. What were they thinking?!
Once, a friend was up at Sundance film festival and observed a crowd of people waiting on a corner, to cross the street, and their antimated concern that someone's exotic bird had apparently escaped and surely it was worth a lot of money and how could the bird be caught. My friend looked on with amusement when she saw that the "Eastern" folk were gazing at a magpie sitting in the trees. Don't let those "tuxedo" outfits fool you! They're a menace! Sorry, you pushed my buttons! Even though the magpie/buffalo story was lovely. I know magpies. Grrr!
Oh my gosh...you've hit a nerve! I am battling the magpies as well. I've even written a poem about my feelings for the magpie. It's not a pretty poem.
THE MAGPIE WAITS
The magpie waits at Hell's gate
with piercing, steely eyes.
He dares the Son to infiltrate
and soothe my fevered cries.
Night images wring
my darkened soul,
spilling carnage
within full sight.
He hisses, "Justice is served"
then strips my flesh,
savoring every bite.
Okay, maybe a little too graphic. But magpies interrupt my morning snooze with their screeching, eat my squished little critters on the road, drive away the other birds, peck holes in my fruit crop. They are prolific because they eat what man eats-meat, fruit, vegetables, grain. Okay, I don't eat dog food or road kill. I told one of my boys last week I wanted him to build a potato gun and start pelting the magpies with them. They make me feel not nice. They bring out the worst in me. They make me feel not nice about me. I have "issues" with magpies. They don't have magpies east of the Mississippi. Someone brought a bird west as a pet. What were they thinking?!
Once, a friend was up at Sundance film festival and observed a crowd of people waiting on a corner, to cross the street, and their antimated concern that someone's exotic bird had apparently escaped and surely it was worth a lot of money and how could the bird be caught. My friend looked on with amusement when she saw that the "Eastern" folk were gazing at a magpie sitting in the trees. Don't let those "tuxedo" outfits fool you! They're a menace! Sorry, you pushed my buttons! Even though the magpie/buffalo story was lovely. I know magpies. Grrr!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Evening At The Farm
Evening At The Farm
This place, comfortable
as worn cloth,
is quilted with chukkar
doing a fiddler's dance
among the moth mullein.
The fields of wheat take on
a fiery glow.
A shawl of crickets' voices clarifies
the air. The rooster sleeps.
Memory, still as a stenciled leaf,
calls to me in a voice
braided with many fabrics.
From the sagging porch, I hear
Grandmother singing the gospel;
the words, rich as crean,
spiraling the scent of blackberry pies.
I meander through open barn doors,
see Grandfather sitting
on an upturned bucket,
a row of black and white Holsteins,
udders full, patient with the pumping
of his hands.
I hear the rhythm of milk
hitting the tin pail in 2/4 time,
wince as a warm jet startles my face,
drools down my mouth.
I let the rough of Grandfather's laughter
surround me like old tweed.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Thursday, July 12, 2007
In the Middle of a Storm
There is a story in our Ward that I had heard about before we moved here. It happened to our current Bishop and his wife, Pam and their family. Pam and her little kids were sitting outside having a picnic when Pam went inside to get something for the baby. Her little boy came inside and said that Michelle had fallen into the water. A runoff stream went by the side of their home, and since this was springtime, the stream turned into a raging river. Little Michelle was about 2 or 3. She had wandered across the street where the culvert was and fell in. Pam was frantic as she was searching for her. Can you even imagine the panic? If she fell into the culvert, that meant she would be washed under the road and out the other side. Pam was hysterical and 911 was called. Hundreds showed up to help search for little Michelle. Because the stream/river was raging so savagely, rescue workers actually had to tie a person in a wet suit, with ropes, that workers would hold on to on either side of the stream, so he wouldn't be swept away while he was probing the waters and huge granite boulders with a long stick. Time kept ticking by and Michelle couldn't be found. Workers were lined up as far as the stream went, searching. Suddenly, the man in the middle of the stream struck something with his probe. Michelle's little arm came up. When they brought her out, she had been pinned under the water by a rock for almost an hour. She was air-lifted to Primary Children's Hospital, assuming she was dead. But she wasn't. I think she still reigns in the Guinness Book of World Records as the person who was "drowned" if that is the word, the longest, or under water and still lived. It is quite a miraculous story and was heralded in magazines and newspapers all over the world. Michelle recently served a mission in Boston and is a beautiful girl. Her whole recovery is filled with beautiful experiences. But there is more to this story than Michelle's story. About two weeks before Michelle fell into the stream, another little girl in the Ward was let off the school bus, here on our road. As the bus took off, the little girl turned and saw her kitten run under the bus, and the little girl ran after it. In one, a miracle happened. In another, it didn't. Although both stories are stories of faith, the second one, although not miraculous like the first teaches me even more about faith... the deep faith that occurs, when you continue to believe, even though your prayers haven't been answered the way you wish and you are left with why? Both of these families have remained faithful and their stories are shared. They both really matter to me. So why am I sharing this tonight? Today we received some really bad news about someone we love. And, once again I am reminded just how fragile life is.....and how every minute should count. I realize that miracles can happen, but I also know that death is a reality of life. Years ago I wrote this poem, trying to describe how the scriptures have helped me hang on to faith in the middle of the storm.
BETWEEN THE LOAVES AND FISHES
Feasting is what is done
at Thanksgiving. Nibbling
is nachos at midnight. She knew
the difference. So when she read,
Feast on the word daily,
she knew that would mean early
morning, before daylight stretched
and distractions toddled
in on slippered feet. When she read
about Mary’s wonderment,
she remembered the exact moment
she felt her own child move inside of her.
When Jesus healed on the Sabbath,
she recognized that the most difficult
choices are between good
.... and good.
From the rich man, she learned
true happiness doesn’t mean
wanting more, but desiring less.
And she grew fat on the word.
Then, somewhere between the loaves
and fishes and closet prayers,
night came. The lost child didn’t return.
She plead,
"Father, why has thou forsaken me?"
but still, she continued
to pray.
Marilyn Darley Williams
BETWEEN THE LOAVES AND FISHES
Feasting is what is done
at Thanksgiving. Nibbling
is nachos at midnight. She knew
the difference. So when she read,
Feast on the word daily,
she knew that would mean early
morning, before daylight stretched
and distractions toddled
in on slippered feet. When she read
about Mary’s wonderment,
she remembered the exact moment
she felt her own child move inside of her.
When Jesus healed on the Sabbath,
she recognized that the most difficult
choices are between good
.... and good.
From the rich man, she learned
true happiness doesn’t mean
wanting more, but desiring less.
And she grew fat on the word.
Then, somewhere between the loaves
and fishes and closet prayers,
night came. The lost child didn’t return.
She plead,
"Father, why has thou forsaken me?"
but still, she continued
to pray.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
The Refreshing
I thought of this poem after posting my last post....talking about how wonderful God is to see us as we are, not who we think we are sometimes. Repentance is such an amazing thing..... (and don't miss the sacrament/atonement image at the end.)
THE REFRESHING
She scraped the reddish-brown mud
from her legs, her arms,
then sprayed with a garden hose,
till the muddy water
pooled at her feet like blood.
She wished all cleansing
could be that easy. Have the kids
brings the dishes out
after each meal, toss them
on the grass, toss themselves
on the grass as well,
and then let’um have it
with a power washer. At first,
they would think it fun
and their voices would shrill,
but ultimately
the laughter would turn to tears.
The plates would shatter
into shards of pain.
She knew it was harder to turn
the hose on herself. That snake
with a mind of its own would
sense her weaknesses and blast
with one stinging breath.
What would be left? Where do sins go?
Do they circle the world like Saturn rings?
She knew the weight
of that gravity, spent her time
trying to forget, working the garden,
digging cumbersome clay and stone.
Every muscle now ached,
she wore the garden’s skin
but how wonderful the refreshing.
Soon the water would run clear,
and she could drink.
It would taste like heaven.
Marilyn Darley Williams
THE REFRESHING
She scraped the reddish-brown mud
from her legs, her arms,
then sprayed with a garden hose,
till the muddy water
pooled at her feet like blood.
She wished all cleansing
could be that easy. Have the kids
brings the dishes out
after each meal, toss them
on the grass, toss themselves
on the grass as well,
and then let’um have it
with a power washer. At first,
they would think it fun
and their voices would shrill,
but ultimately
the laughter would turn to tears.
The plates would shatter
into shards of pain.
She knew it was harder to turn
the hose on herself. That snake
with a mind of its own would
sense her weaknesses and blast
with one stinging breath.
What would be left? Where do sins go?
Do they circle the world like Saturn rings?
She knew the weight
of that gravity, spent her time
trying to forget, working the garden,
digging cumbersome clay and stone.
Every muscle now ached,
she wore the garden’s skin
but how wonderful the refreshing.
Soon the water would run clear,
and she could drink.
It would taste like heaven.
Marilyn Darley Williams
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Boy Talk
I've posted a lot of pictures of my girl kiddo's and I didn't want my posterity to think I didn't love my boys! I actually wrote this post several months ago in answer to the question, "Do you have a favorite poem that you've written?" Well, I don't think I could pick one favorite poem because each poem is one of my "babies" and also because most of my poetry is written to or about my family or friends. But the poem I am going to share here is one of my favorites. I didn't publish it earlier because, for some reason, my computer is not letting me access the picture that I wanted to share with the story. It is still not letting me, but oh well. This is a picture of Parker, my first grandchild or as he and I say, "You're the one that made me a grandma." He's the one that from the first he could speak, called us "On the Mountain Grandma" or "On the Mountain Grandpa" (to distinquish between "Basketball Grandma" or "Tractor Grandpa," etc.) He came home yesterday from his cub scout camp totally covered in dirt! The reason why he looks so grumpy is because he "has to take ANOTHER shower!" Such a boy thing! But isn't he handsome?! Here's part of his story:I had taken Brandi to Fetal Foto for fun, for her birthday, two months before Parker was born. We were just there to get a fun little video of the baby. As the technician was doing the ultra-sound, she got kind of quiet, then asked Brandi if she were going to have another ultra-sound before the baby arrived. Brandi said no since the first one looked okay. The Tech was sort of quiet for a moment and then suggested she call her Dr. since she saw some "shadows" on the baby's face that didn't look right. Talk about bursting the bubble! We had a long weekend before she could get a hold of the Dr. on Monday morning. When we found out Parker would be born with birth defects (specifically, cleft lip and severe cleft palate) we mourned for a time. Then, we picked ourselves up, followed Brandi's lead and became educated, then anxiously awaited the birth of our first grandchild! This poem is one I wrote before he was born and is one of my favorites. The epigram is from an Emily Dickinson poem "Hope is a thing with feathers....." comparing hope with a bird, whose song you can hear the strongest in the heart of the storm.
The Creation
And sweetest-in the Gale-is heard-
And sore must be the storm-
Emily Dickinson
My daughter’s belly
is a taut, smooth globe
that separates light from darkness,
rumbling oceans from dry earth.
It is a nautilus chamber
through which I speak love
in low tones,deep as sonar that reaches
the whales and dolphins
and fishes of the sea.
My first grandchild swims freely
inside that swollen belly,unaware
that through ultrasound,the doctors
are identifying
the problems he will have
when he casts off the first estate
of his mother’s womb.
I think of the whales
as I put my ear to the shell
of my daughter’s skin.
How a school of whales have been
known to carry one of their own
for weeks until wounds heal
and the hurt can swim on its own.
Dickinson never had a child,
a grandchild, but she knew
the strength in fragile things.
A seed. The bird’s song.
Hope, that feathered edge
that separates
light from dark.
Marilyn Darley Williams
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