My Legacy

When I am gone what do I expect?

Do I want people to miss me? You bet.

But not for long.

I want them to think fondly

Of whatever good I might have done

To recall interesting experiences we shared,

But then I want them to move on,

Forging their lives as the independent people

I hope they are.

My legacy is formed by my writing,

My singing, my service to church,

My work as a teacher

Being mother, wife, friend.

That’s enough for one person,

Don’t you think?

I pray that I won’t leave behind

Too many memories of mistakes I made,

Too many thoughts of things I said

That hurt feelings

The times I wasn’t empathetic enough

The times when I was so self-focused

That I failed to see the worry in those around me.

That’s not the legacy I hope to leave behind.

I don’t hope for fame after I am gone,

Which is good as there will be none.

I am an ordinary person who lived an ordinary life.

That’s my legacy and that’s enough for me.

 

 

Reliability

Am I reliable?

I certainly hope so.

If I say I’m going to do something,

I do it unless something prevents me.

I value reliability in others.

People who blow with the wind

Annoy me.

When they invite me to join them,

I question whether or not to commit

For they are unpredictable.

They may be decent, upright people,

But they cannot be counted on

To9 follow through on the most basic

Of pledges.

It

S not that they are corrupt,

but because of the shifting nature of their whims,

they are not trustworthy.

When I look back, I wonder how often

I let someone down.

I’m positive that my grown kids

Would be able to list my many offenses.

For all of them, I am sorry.

I wish that I could redo all my mistakes,

All the ways that I have not modeled

The very reliability

That I cherish in others.

So

While I cannot alter what has been done,

I can be reliable

From here on out.

For that is how I want to be seen:

Reliable.

 

Feeling Proud

I have never been an arrogant person.

For much of my life I’ve been shy,

Backward

Afraid to exude confidence.

Pride does not come to me willfully.

It sneaks up like a mouse in the night.

It catches me unaware, surmising me

When it calls my name.

Even though I’ve accomplished much un my life,

I seldom take an opportunity to brag.

Instead, when I do speak, I do so quietly

With an unassuming air

Because even I am surprised when

Something goes well.

There have been times when I wanted to shout out,

To proclaim loudly those things that

Fill me with pride,

But I haven’t.

Until recently.

I realize now, at my age,

That I have much to be proud of.

Every day of life fills me with such joy,

Such a feeling of accomplishment

That I want to brag about simply being here

On this earth.

Today I am bragging, just a little,

Because I am alive.

First Love

He sat next to me in Kindergarten,

A lovely, blond-haired boy

With tons of freckles on his cheeks.

His blue eyes sparkled

When he spoke to me.

I was so enthralled by him

That I was speechless.

Dumbfounded.

Mute.

But when he took my hand and

Led me outside to the sandbox

I followed with misty eyes.

We played.

He created roads for the plentiful cars and trucks

While I created castles with lopsided spires.

He said words that I did not hear,

But I loved the rhythm of his voice.

The pleasant vibe he created.

He made me smile.

At the end of playtime,

He offered me a red plastic ring.

He told me I was his girlfriend

And then held my hand as we lined up

To go inside.

I glowed.

Not only was he my first boyfriend,

He was my first friend.

His tenderness enchanted me,

A lonely kid who had felt unloved

Until the moment

When he reached out with such unabashed passion

That I could not resist.

He lit my flame, my passion

For love.

Unfortunately when the year ended

We went to different schools.

I never saw my love again,

But I never forgot the yearning I had felt

When so young that I didn’t understand

The meaning of his gestures.

First love.

A momentous feeling.

Cloud Watching

When I was young

I spent hours lying on my back

Staring at the clouds

And wondering what they were.

Sometimes a rabbit or cow.

Maybe an old man or woman.

Occasionally a car or truck.

Most importantly,

They represented an ability to dream,

An insight into a creative urge

To make sense of the world around me.

 

I still love to look at clouds

Even though I am officially old.

I no longer see shapes.

Instead I see beauty.

The wispy feather-like clouds

That streak across the sky.

Or the piles of cumulus clouds

That signal storms coming.

Or the thin stretches of clouds

That add depth and color to the sky.

They still represent creativity

Because they stir in me

A desire to put words to paper,

To make sense of the world

Through story and song.

 

I hope that I will always be able to see

Wonder in clouds.

That they will continue to speak to me

In verse and narrative

And help me to tell my version

Of what the world means.

 

So I will keep on watching clouds,

Like I did as a kid.

And keep on trying to make sense

Of the world.

 

 

The Ocean

I know that you are there,

But I cannot see you.

I hear the ever-changing pattern

Of your waves pounding the shore,

Over and over you crash against the sand,

Breaking it into increasingly smaller pieces.

You pull shells and seaweed and dead bird bodies

Out with your current

Adding them to the detritus encased in your deep.

The tide comes and goes

Sometimes with great force and others

With amazing gentleness,

A rhythm that calls me to come look,

Come see.

But I cannot see because the fog is so deep,

So encompassing that all traces of you

Are hidden.

I yearn to walk into your embrace,

But the dark skies remind me of how very cold you are

And so I stand back, listening to your repeated call.

I want to witness your power,

Not just be here, straining to see you.

But like all things, you have your day and time.

You choose when to reveal yourself.

I have to wait until then,

Feeling bereft and alone.

Little Red Revisited

Little Red didst blithely skip

in forest deep and dark.

Forgetting all had been warned

laughing as if on a lark.

 

She swung her basket to and fro

not looking through her eyes,

for dangers hidden in the trees

not thinking about a disguise.

 

Upon a hunter meek and mild

Little Red didst soon arrive.

With clear blue eyes she smiled

At him, so sweet, so clear, so alive.

 

He spoke of peace and gentle things

and she didst fall in love.

He promised not to hurt her heart

and swore to God above.

 

Red knew him not, but answered yes

despite what she’d been told.

And so struck out on her own

with step both confident and bold.

 

Ignoring signs of pending doom,

Red whistled as she skipped.

Right up to Grandma’s house

and in the door she slipped.

 

In bed poor Grandma slept

with fever and with cold.

Red tiptoed up to see her eyes

and Grandma’s hand to hold.

 

“What big eyes,” Red declared

when Grandma didst awake.

“To see, my dear,” she replied

and took a bite of cake.

 

“What big teeth,” Red did say

when Grandma opened wide.

“To chew, my dear, these lovely

cakes,” she sneakily replied.

 

“What furry arms you have,”

said Red, “but I remember not

when didst thou grow such

lengthy hair could be tied in a knot.”

 

“It keeps me warm on winter’s eve,

and dry during a spring rain.

I’d love to hold you in my arms,

to cradle you once again.”

 

“No, thanks,” said Red for she did see

that things were not all right.

For Grandma dear was way too dark

even in such poor light.

 

“I think I’ll go,” Red didst say

and hurried toward the door.

“You shall not go,” Grandma declared

and sprang feet on the floor.

 

She threw off her cap and gown,

revealing a wolf-like shape.

Red didst scream and run about

attempting to escape.

 

The wolf didst flash a mighty smile

and throw his arms out wide.

Intending to capture Little Red

without wasting even one stride.

 

Suddenly there didst appear

a man both tall and strong.

Red ran to him and told her tale

so he could right a wrong.

 

Listen now for you shall hear

the moral of this tale.

Go careful through yon forest deep

and whilst skipping through a vale.

 

Rescue might not come your way.

To perish could become your plight.

Unless you’re careful to observe

even on the darkest dark night.

 

While Little Red didst escape

and her story she soon didst tell.

You must listen and take care,

so for you things will go well.

 

You cannot walk and prance about,

with head adrift in the skies.

For on you might come, like to Red,

a murderous surprise.

 

Beware, my child, of strangers met

in forest, field, or glen.

For they might be a dangerous sort,

then we’ll not meet again.

 

 

 

 

 

Transformation

Dryer calls and dishwasher rumbles

Television shouts incessant noise

Old truck outside my window rumbles

Little girls harass those bratty boys

 

Underneath all, streams a golden tune

Music to relax my restless heart

Causes me to shiver, shake, and swoon

God’s simply blessing me with His art

 

I kneel before His glorious face

Feel His hands upon my troubled head

Wonderment cascades into my space

Gently eases a heart that once bled

 

Sounds that created tremendous pain

Now altered through God’s heavenly grace

Transform into a most welcome rain

While rainbows brighten glowering face

 

Nights and days with happiness are filled

Friendships bloom into colorful hues

God’s love now into my life is spilled

So no longer will I sing the blues

Lonely Heart

When you are by my side

My heart glows with happiness.

You and I are one,

Have been for many years,

But more so recently.

And so when we are apart,

I am not whole.

Half of me is missing,

Vanished. Disappeared.

As if magic has erased your caring,

Your tender touch, your loving.

Even though I know you are not far away,

You are not here, by my side.

My heart aches for you.

It is lonely until we are reunited

And then all is well again.