The nation I call home seems to be in an uphill battle to love all who disagree, politically. An underlying prattle rumbling fiercely, rattling as intensely as a slithering serpent that can’t help but speak its small mind, as it seeks to find petty points that straddle your truth and strangle your certainty: callously, maliciously, never-so- gently.
__________________________________________ This was my first stab at a brand new poem form, created by Candace Kubinec (Rhymes with Bug). She titled the form Waltmarie, named for Buffalo poet Walter Wojtanik, and me. The honor of this is more thrilling than I can express!
The Waltmarie is a 10-line form of any subject. The even-numbered lines are 2 syllables, and must form their own poem when read separately. The odd-numbered lines are longer, with no syllable count restrictions. That’s it! This new form is loads of fun, but is also quite challenging.
Here is Candace’s new form, with her excellent examples: Waltmarie Poetic Form – rhymeswithbug. Check out other poems in her blog while you are there. She is a talented poet!
Also, Robert Lee Brewer, poetry editor of the Writer’s Digest, highlighted Candace’s new form for his Poetic Form Friday feature on February 12: Waltmarie: Poetic Forms – Writer’s Digest .
Some people think I am a kind and caring woman. The fact is that I have not chosen the hard roads … the selfless roads … that some I greatly admire, have. It takes someone very special to foster children. It takes someone willing to brace themselves to get their heart ripped out of their chest. Even the possibility of that happening right before Christmas. I’m thankful for those willing to do that. God forgive me, I have never been one of them.
Sam and Ian, just … just, so much admiration. You bring me to tears.
Never Have I Ever is a party game, where one says, “Never have I ever ___.” (fill in the blank) Those who have actually done that thing lose a point. Out of points? Out of game.
I’ll go first. Never have I ever seen early-voting lines, let alone those that extend for blocks, for days.
Now, how many of you are still in the game?
Truth is, it’s not a game. The stakes are high. The views, dissimilar.
What do you see in the distance? Hope? Fear? A kinder country? Loss of freedoms? Peace? Chaos?
Don’t answer that. Because, you know, never have I ever witnessed a greater loss of kindness and respect in discussions.
But, there is a vanishing point where the look-back perspectives align. Then we will see, and smile at the vanity of it all.
In the greater distance, I see celestial shores. No lines needed. We will know for the first time what it actually feels like to be united. To have no doubts in our King’s kindness, love, and justice. We will know for the first time what it actually feels like to be equal children of the Living God. To be home.
Never have I ever longed more deeply for a non-foreign Shore.
In my imagination,
I see the eyes of a nation
opening
focusing
noticing seeing each human being,
and agreeing their wellbeing
gives meaning to our own
as we bemoan our past
and hold steadfast
to our bloodstream’s dreams
of fairness for all
that made landfall
in 2020 –
not for the goal of the many,
but the whole of humanity.
It was said that Rabbit is made
of important things.
Piglet said, “Rabbit has brain,”
and, “Yes, Rabbit is clever.”
And that may be.
Yes, that may be.
But our smidgen-y Piglet is made
of weighty things –
nearly all of him being empathy
and oh-such-friendness
and how-can-I-helpness.
As Eeyore said
on that blustery day,
“Mind you don’t get blown away,
little Piglet. You’d be missed.”
And when you are missed,
you are weighty, indeed.
Christopher Robin’s friends
show us how to be ourselves
among others.
Being ourselves among others is
an important thing.
A weighty thing.
A Piglet-and-Pooh-and-Rabbit-and-Roo,
and Kanga-and-Eeyore-and-Tigger-and-Owl,
and love-me-for-me-and-I’ll-love-you-for-you,
significant, super-salubrious thing.
And so, little girl with your Piglet in tow,
be yourself as you grow,
and let others be so.
And when you’ve outgrown
your sweet childhood ways,
please hold Piglet at heart
for the rest of your days.
I.
You told me of the love in my eyes for you
when you first held me in your arms
the day I was born.
Is it any wonder.
I knew you, and had already experienced
the gentle warmth that was you.
II.
All my friends thought me the luckiest girl
to be able to call you mom,
even though you didn’t tolerate misbehavior
or disrespect. They saw the love right through
the discipline. I tried to emulate you,
but it seems that isn’t the same as
it being a part of who you are.
III.
I saw how the mention of you
brought warm smiles.
Your gentle demeanor,
laughter, and love
were contagious.
IV.
I understand being an introvert,
and I ponder with amazement
how you dealt with that part of you.
You could have written a “how to,”
I believe. I understand more and more
the sacrifices you made.
The way you encouraged others,
and always had a kind word to offer.
The way you treated everyone
with the same level of respect.
Fiercely loyal to those you were closest to,
in ways that had to have been draining.
But we didn’t see that you were drained.
You would simply go “rest [your] back
for a few minutes,” or “rest [your] eyes.”
V.
You were my moral compass,
and still are. I feel your nudges.
I hear your gentle voice. I pray
I inherited more of you
than I see in myself.
From womb to death,
and now beyond,
I thank God for the blessing
of you.
pictured words 