The People, Yes

Lincoln?
He was a mystery in smoke and flags
Saying yes to the smoke, yes to the flags,
Yes to the paradoxes of democracy,
Yes to the hopes of government
Of the people by the people for the people,
No to debauchery of the public mind,
No to personal malice nursed and fed,
Yes to the Constitution when a help,
No to the Constitution when a hindrance
Yes to man as a struggler amid illusions,
Each man fated to answer for himself:
Which of the faiths and illusions of mankind
Must I choose for my own sustaining light
To bring me beyond the present wilderness?

      Lincoln? Was he a poet?
      And did he write verses?
"I have not willingly planted a thorn
      in any man's bosom."
"I shall do nothing through malice: what
      I deal with is too vast for malice."

Death was in the air.
So was birth.

Carl Sandburg

Abraham Lincoln was born on February 12, 1809

Spending the Day at the Volleyball Tournament

       How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.
    -- Annie Dillard

I want to spend my life
cheering for young girls as they learn
what they are capable of, learn
to trust themselves and each other,
learn to become a team. I want
to spend my life looking for new ways
to say, "I am thrilled with who
you are becoming." I want to support
other women's daughters, all of them,
some of them with my own hands.
It's so easy, really. A glass of water,
a hug, a word, a shoulder, a nod.
And if days are our currency, let me
spend them giving as much love
as possible, though it sounds like
a cheer, though it feels like
a pat on the back, though it looks like
a bagel, a headband, a double thumbs up.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, wordwoman.com, February 10, 2020

Blackbirds

I am 52 years old, and have spent
truly the better part
of my life out-of-doors
but yesterday I heard a new sound above my head
a rustling, ruffling quietness in the spring air

and when I turned my face upward
I saw a flock of blackbirds
rounding a curve I didn't know was there
and the sound was simply all those wings,
all those feathers against air, against gravity
and such a beautiful winning:
the whole flock taking a long, wide curve
as if of one body and one mind.

How do they do that?

If we lived only in human society
what a puny existence that would be

but instead we live, and move, and have our being
here, in this curving and soaring world
that is not our own
so when mercy and tenderness triumph in our lives
and when, even more rarely, we unite and move together
toward a common good,

we can think to ourselves:

ah yes, this is how it's meant to be.

Julie Cadwallader Staub, Wing Over Wing (Paraclete Press, 2019)

False Teeth

Walking back to her sister's house,
woozy from relief and Novocain,
she nearly trips on the B&O tracks.
Then she sees it. A $20 bill.

Not crumpled. Folded between the ties,
pleated into a little fan, as if arranged
by whatever tooth fairy looks after
30-year old women who lose all their teeth.

When she walks into her sister's and grins,
she scares the baby -- her swollen face,
the gums still bleeding, her words clotted
like the cries of an animal --

They think she's gone crazy with pain until
she holds up the money. The men are laid off
again, but she can pay the dentist
what he's owed, she can buy false teeth.

They say, "For every child, a tooth,"
and this is a story for children
whose toothless mother lost
and found and came out even.

Patricia Dobler, Collected Poems, (Autumn House Press, 2005)

Silent God

This is my prayer --
That, though I may not see,
I be aware
Of the Silent God
Who stands by me.
That, though I may not feel,
I be aware
Of the Mighty Love
Which doggedly follows me.
That, though I may not respond,
I be aware
That God -- my Mighty, Silent God
Waits each day,
Quietly, hopefully, persistently,
Waits each day and through each night
For me.
For me -- alone.

Edwina Gateley, There Was No Path So I Trod One (Source Books, 1996)

To One Now Grown

If we could start over, I'd let you get dirtier.
Place your face in the food, it's okay.

In trade for great metaphors,
the ones you used to spout every minute,
I'd extend your bedtime,
be more patient with tantrums,
never answer urgency with urgency,
try to stay serene.

In one scene you are screaming
And I stop the car.
What do we do next?
I can't remember.
It's buried in the drawer of small socks.

Give me the box of time.
Let's make it bigger.
It's all yours.

Naomi Shihab Nye, Honeybee: Poems & Short Prose (Greenwillow Books, 2008)

Poor in Spirit

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the realm of God.
                           Matthew 5:3

God, may I be an empty vessel for you.
Bless my willingness to have nothing to offer
except your presence in me,
and my trust in your grace in this world.

Bless my willingness to mourn for my losses,
to weep with those who suffer,
to lament the brokenness of the world.
I trust and await your consolation.

Give me courage to be powerless, to be inadequate,
to be weak, to depend on you,
and trust that in my emptiness
your grace is infinite and miraculous.

Give me faith to work for justice,
to be a peacemaker amid hate and anger,
to bear your spirit into fearful places,
for I am your child, your Beloved.

Steve Garnass-Holmes, unfoldinglight.net, January 28, 2020