in memory of Virginia Heald

In memory of Virginia Heald

Haiku

gentle soul smiles welcome

bending to help without a word

but encouragement

                                    mjNordgren  2/16/2024 N

little ones of war

a set to rosebud lips

that speaks of never smiling

an impenetrable darkness

to once sparkling eyes

that says “I am too old

to any longer cry”

though the teeth are baby

and hair still wispy

but experience weighs

heavier than decades

missing the mark

consequences of sin will be visited

upon the third and fourth generation

not in vengeance but in assumptions

of what is of value for sin

is less about right and wrong

than it is in missing the mark

about what allows growth

toward fullest humanity

john s. thornton

gentle poet

who captures the anguish

of uvalde and ukrainian children

and their devasted familiesmplate.

kelley island memories

child in the island cottage on lake erie

builds pebble castle on the rocky shore

doggy paddles back to uncle-propelled

raft and sings with family and friends

around the campfire spurting sparks

to the night and burning marshmallows

pink-gold dawn

haiku

 pink-gold tinting grass

wrapping pigmented glory

of the very air

odd dome

 in the dark before dawn

near portland’s west hills

a low cloud lit from below

hovers like an odd dome

eerie, disquieting not to know

what it is or how it came to be

moment of glory

moment of glory

tiny jagged rock

seldom naked above the surf

sporadically catches the edge

of a pounding wave

heaving spray as a glistening

ten-foot, momentary tower

              Lincoln City

not alexei

i guess no one taught you manliness

so bluff, bluster and bullying

are all you know except to whine

when things do not go your way

blame is due someone else

anyone else but self, though you

claim credit for all that goes well

near you

no, despite your attempted comparison,

you are not alexei navalny

disgusted with both of us

despicable him

but frustrated me

unable to communicate

my disgust that his treatment

of persons does not disqualify

him from what had been

a high honor

haiku

whitish night bird whirs

startlingly out of darkness

slow release of breath

daughter, mother

over  lunch at filbert’s farm kitchen

laughter and pleas for ancestor stories

catching up on the kids’ activities

comparing perspectives on family

gatherings and the tales emerging

from them, more laughter

and moments of tender grief

daughter, mother share the joy

and pain of loving deeply

whispered thanks

another gray day but clear

so i can see across the valley

to portland’s west hills

and hints among the clouds beyond

of cascade mountain snow peaks

i whisper thanks to my earl

for his generosity and caring

in building our home

on this stubborn foothill

in fulfillment of my wanting

to watch each morning’s sunrise

fascinating new novel

heavy in my arthritic hands

the 600 pages of Pharaoh Across Time

finds itself cradled to be read

because i care about the characters

and need to follow their adventures

                                author:  Anne Stackpole-Cuellar

it isn’t courage

“You don’t have the courage to have an affair!” left me open-mouthed and staring

It isn’t courage that is required to betray

“Let Putin do whatever the hell he wants!” leaves the world gasping and shaking their heads

It isn’t revenge that gifts peace

healing greater than wounding

“Healing has greater power

 than wounding and inflicting pain”

implies that love has greater power

than fear, and i wonder at that

given that fear is so abundant

and primitive a newborn reacts

in fear to falling yet accepts warmth

and nourishment as part of self

so overcoming fear with love

is a learned response

but overcome, it does

for those with courage  

and it takes love to even attempt

to try to heal

a stitch in time

but we did not thread the needle

demanding truth, but giggled

at ‘alternative’ reality of self-serving

narrative and then chuckled at unkindness, whiny complaint, victimization and laughed aloud

at prejudice and hate, secretly, then openly cheered promises of revenge

“When is a monster not a monster?”

answer, evidently,

‘when he frees

the worst within us’

gray haze

gray haze between the hills

spread out and lingering

as though reluctant to rise

until touched by dawn’s warmth

prophet and loss

 sound-proof room needed

no inter-office e-chatter

to decide how much less expensive

it is when a patient has dementia

to deny medical treatment

for anything else

sound off

Rather than the power of words

which appeal to the mind

is it not the power of sound

and tone of voice of ranting

that stir the emotions

that give legitimacy to tyrants?

If we watched rallies

with volume muted and simply

studied facial expressions

would we be so persuaded?