The Delightful Butterfly

It’s been one of those couple of months.  Just cold.  Really cold.  Last year we experienced extremely cold temperatures as well.  I was inspired then to write a poem to Old Man Winter.  It was a bit satirical and very sarcastic.  I gave him “what for.”  Don’t get me wrong, I like the seasons – all of them.  But extreme cold sucks.  I prefer a snowy winter with temps in the 20’s.  Heck, I could even handle the teens at this point.  But single digits and below zero can kiss my ice cold ass.  I am anxious for spring and warmer weather.  I am longing for a landscape with some color instead of the drab grays and browns.   I long for the warmth of the sun instead of the blanket of dreary clouds or the blinding glare of a taunting sun that is incapable of warming anything.  I long for the caress of a breeze instead of the slap and the sting of the bitter cold wind.    I want to wake up to the birds singing and not the plow tearing up our street.   I want my kids to play outside for longer periods of time than it took for them to get ready.  I want to see my neighbors for crying out loud.  I was lost in a daydream today.  I recently wrote an article on monarch butterflies and I have been toying with the idea of raising butterflies with my students.  So butterflies have been on my mind.  It stands to reason, then, that my daydream was a scene that has played out time and again for me.  It was about butterflies in the summertime.  Something that always grabs my attention and always gives me pause.  So I jotted, well typed, this poem…

The delightful butterfly so inspiring
Seems such a merry playful thing
Fluttering about impetuously
Showing off the colors in its glorious wings

Darting about hither and yon
In jagged bursts to lead you on
As if uncoordinated and impaired
Then stalls and glides effortless and silent through the air

Enchanting for the child whose spirit thrives
Giving chase with limbs flailing and eyes wide
Winded and weary the child gives up the pursuit
As the butterfly spurts and sputters out of view

It hangs in the air and then gracefully descends
To settle upon a bloom at meadow’s hem
There it finds its repose and takes its share
Of nourishing nectar abundantly spared

Thistle and phlox and succulent milkweed
The prairie a wide banquet from which to feed
Once sated the butterfly meanders in its unfettered style
And becomes the wonder of the next curious child

 

Catharsis

I was inspired this morning.  This inspiration came from within; from the heart.  I presume that we all have some sort of inner struggle or struggles that we deal with throughout our lives.  Whether they stem from insecurity, a crisis in identity, relationships, fears etc; they can sometimes get the best of us.  Most days they are likely tucked neatly away behind the vast collection of preoccupations that keep us in step with our daily routines.  Some of us may not even know that they are there.  But sometimes an idle mind will suddenly be upon us and the gears begin to turn.  The things you may or may not dwell on daily will find their way to the forefront of your mind and haunt you.  They tend to make me feel fragmented, conflicted and broken.  I’ve talked with my girlfriends about some of these things and they have shared their struggles with me as well.  It is comforting to know that we all have weaknesses and it helps to have a sounding board.  I tend to write about these things as well.  It is cathartic for me.  I don’t claim to harbor any talent with regard to the written word, but it is a necessary tool for me to thoughtfully express myself on my own terms.  It allows me to reflect, to analyze, to attempt to find resolution or to simply come to terms with whatever I happen to be wrestling with at the time.  Some of it I may share and some of it I keep to myself.  I’ve always found it interesting how differently people may interpret the written word,  especially when it is deliberately delivered with subtle vagueness, or more profoundly, with acute ambiguity.  I’ve read many poems from many poets and I’ve found that I’ve interpreted the same poem differently at different times.  It can be very subjective in both the writing and the comprehension.  Depending on the topic, I will often write with a great deal of ambiguity.  It is my way of expressing myself AND maintaining a certain level of privacy.

Words

 The ink runs from my pen

as tears of inspiration

trace the contours of my face

until they fall,

leaving stains of emotion

upon my words

in small, blurred, imperfect circles.

.

My words and their abstract character

are but a vague confession that is lost in interpretation,

and therefore, it is without consequence.

They are my solace, my refuge,

my heart and soul open and exposed.

An honesty that I presume will be lost

to anyone who attempts their deciphering.

.

It is most often a matter of the heart

that moves my pen.

Love given to an echo.

Or the fear of loving fearlessly.

The want of love that leaves me hallow

and with an aching emptiness

that lingers within me.

.

The remedy is in the doing,

but the doing is costly.

I try to remind myself that, like a flower,

we are most beautiful when we open up.

But I’ve never been brave enough

to bloom and show off my colors.

Instead I’ve sacrificed my heart’s content for yours.

Ode to Old Man Winter

I love the change of seasons. Each one has its charm. But this year winter is wearing me out for sure. It’s been a bit extreme.  My longing for spring has emphasized my disdain for winter, so yesterday on my lunch break, I took this inspiration and I wrote a poem to Old Man Winter. It is silly. Don’t judge.  I am not boasting a work of art or a fantastic literary work.  It was my lunch hour endeavor after all.  But it really says it all with regard to my yearning for spring at this point.

Ode to Old Man Winter

My dear old man winter

You have put on quite a show

You have blanketed the landscape

With a glistening few feet of snow

 You have given us a white Christmas

A fine powder upon which to ski

We went sledding and made snowmen

We even cheered on a musher mushing his team

 We sculpted frozen pants

On one of your sub-zero days

And hiked through the forest

During your 20 degree heat wave

We sipped on hot chocolate

And we reminisced by the fire

We made soups and stews for dinner

And painted portraits on the frosted slider

So thank you for this winter wonderland

You’ve been generous to say the least

I expect that you’ll be leaving soon

To embark on your northerly retreat

I can’t say that I’ll miss you

You’ve lingered far too long

I don’t mean any offense you see

But here, no longer do you belong

To be honest you really over stayed

And left a terrible mess in your wake

You’ve chapped my lips and cracked my hands

And my joints, they sure do ache

My feet are cold despite socks of wool

And with you we’re susceptible to colds and flu

I can start a car with the static in my hair

Short days, cabin fever,  I want to hibernate like a bear

 The pot holes are ridiculous

You are tearing up the streets

And snow days will keep my kids in school

Through mid-June, and that sucks if you ask me

I’m tired of being cooped up

My body craves the natural D

I want to feel the sunshine on my face

And smell the scent of spring that hangs on a breeze

My dear old man winter

Will you please take a hint

I don’t want to be rude

But my opinion of you has grown grim

Please excuse yourself at once

And let your sister, Spring, advance

Take your baggage with you please

And don’t forget to kiss my ass

Kids and Potty Talk

I don’t know about you, but my kids think that anything that is remotely related to flatulence or feces is hilarious.  I did too when I was a kid.  Heck, I find it a bit funny now at times.  I even have a fart machine to prove it.  But never mind me.  I’m an adult.  I am supposed to discourage such behavior, right?  Well, I try.  But it is usually with a snicker under my breath or a smirk on my face.  We have had many a dinner when conversation unexpectedly (or shall I say expectedly) turns to bodily functions.  Somebody’s new favorite song suddenly has new lyrics that involve excrement.  The last of the ketchup being forced out of the bottle produces a sound that instigates a round of mouth farts.  The question “How was your day?” is answered with “Poopy.”  I don’t dare serve beans because it always leads to the song Beans, beans, the magical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot…  You get the picture.  My husband is king of potty humor when he is with his buddies or co-workers.  But when it comes to the dinner table, he prefers to keep the potty talk off of the table.  I agree.  It is important to instill good manners.  But it gets away from us every now and again.  It really cracks me up when “serious dad” is trumped by “sophomoric dad.”  We all have a silly sense of immature humor at times.  It keeps us light.  It is a good thing.  I wrote a poem that reflects many moments we have had at the dinner table.  It’s  a children’s poem – part of a collection that I hope to, one day, see in print.  I hope that everyone enjoys some good, family belly laughs at dinnertime – at least once in a while.

Potty Talk

“You’re a butt crack.”

“You’re pooh.”

“Can you smell my fart?”

“Did you hear me toot?”

“Stop!” dad says.

“I’ve had enough of this talk.”

“Mind your manners

and knock it off.”

Giggles and chuckles

and snickers and snorts

came from the children

in a garish retort

“Hey dad, knock knock”

mischief made them smile

“Who’s there?” dad asked

suspicious all the while.

“Ken.” “Ken who?”

and so the joke goes

“Ken we do some pooh

voodoo on you?”

Dad gave them a glare.

The kids fell silent and still.

Then dad’s lips quivered

and his cheeks began to fill.

He mused silently for a bit

to the delight of his kids.

And then he laughed out loud.

The joke was a hit!

Embracing the Light

Through social networking I have become familiar with and became involved with many “causes.” I have used social networking to further some causes that are important to me. There is a cause that stands out for me. It hits home simply because I have children. It is any parents’ worst nightmare… to lose a child. Whether it be from an accident or a horrible disease, it is a parents’ biggest fear. It is mine. Through Facebook I have become familiar with a story of a boy by the name of Carter Kettner. I didn’t know him personally. I didn’t know his parents. I am a friend of a friend and it was through my friend’s Facebook posts that I got to know Carter and his family. I cried at every update. I cried whenever I saw his picture posted. I am crying right now as I write this. You see, Carter was diagnosed with a malignant tumor in his brain stem when he was just 5 years old. He passed away on May 12, 2010, just over a year after his diagnosis. I followed Carter’s story as it unfolded.  I still do via posts about the charitable foundation that was founded in his memory – Cancer Kiss My Cooley – http://www.cancerkissmycooley.org/ .  The most recent posts have been regarding the third annual gala to raise funds for CKMC.  Seeing these posts stirred my emotions.  I am not sure if Carter’s family knows just how far his story, his inspiration, his life, his strength has reached.  I am a perfect stranger to them, but their son, Carter, has affected me profoundly.

Quite some time ago, when my occupation was that of police officer, I had encountered a family whose daughter was terminally ill.  I was deeply affected by that encounter.  I didn’t have children at that time so I didn’t fully understand the bond between parent and child and I couldn’t fully imagine what it might feel like if that bond were to be forever severed by circumstance and horrible misfortune.  Of course I felt incredibly sad for them.  I felt frightened for her.  I couldn’t understand why these things happen to children.  I still don’t.  But I just couldn’t imagine how profound and deeply devastating the loss of a child could be until I had my own.  Once you have children, your perspective on everything changes.   But nevertheless this experience clung to me.  I couldn’t shake it.  And then one night, while struggling to stay awake on the midnight shift, I wrote a poem about this girl, her family, her fate.  It is written as if she were the author.  As far as poems go, it is nothing spectacular artfully speaking.  But I promise you it was written full of emotion.  It was cathartic for me, as most writing is.

The promotional posts for the  CKMC gala has brought Carter to the forefront of my heart and mind.  I revisited this old poem, tweaked it a bit and thought that I’d share it.  I would like to dedicate it to Carter and his family and I hope that you all visit the CKMC website via the link embedded above in order to get a full portrait of this brave little boy.

Embracing the Light

 lend me your ear

I have something to say

I am uncertain how this came to be

but I know that I cannot be saved

this reality is frightening

it seems I am dying everyday

fate has ordained me an angel

at such a young age

this disease is such a burden

a jagged, bitter pill

I can’t believe this has happened

life is so suddenly still

mother, she cries silently

and father, he is so brave

might I share with them tomorrow

or will God have me today

brother and sister

i’ll soon say good-bye

i’ll live on in your memory

i’ll watch over you from the sky

there must be a reason

i’ll not be afraid to die

the angels gave me my halo

I must allow my soul to fly

as I take my last breath

please hold me tight

as my ghost leaves my body

and my spirit embraces the light