Happy Memorial Day, Wishes, Writers and More

                  (image courtesy of happysankranthi2015.net)       

        What we now celebrate as Memorial Day, was originally called Decoration Day. This day is in honor and remembrance of those who lost their life in service for the United States of America. Many towns have claimed to be the birthplace of Memorial Day over the years but President Lyndon B. Johnson, declared Waterloo, NY the official birthplace in May of 1966

     Memorial Day reached official proclamation on May 5th, 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic. 

    General James Garfield made a speech at Arlington National Cemetery, on the the first Decoration Day. On this day, 5,000 participants decorated the graves of the 20,000 Union and Confederate soldiers buried there.

Please take a moment to pause, reflect and celebrate these heroes.

________________________________________________________________

In My World

I always enjoy sharing a story or two with you about my adventures but this time I am going to leave it up to your own imagination and interpretation. I have learned (rather slowly, I may add) that there are many items that you should not leave in the same area when you are visually impaired.

List one: Eye drops and breath drops

List two: Air Freshener, Lysol and Hair spray

List 4: Comet, Bartender's Friend and No Salt Salt Substitute.

List 5: Cinnamon, Cayenne  and Crushed Pepper

I don't think I need to say anything else :)

Other Happenings

As many of you already know, I lost my dear friend Barbara Wilcox last month. She is deeply missed by family and friends but her spirit is spotted around so many corners.

I am excited to continue testing so many wonderful visual aids to enhance the lives of those affected by vision loss. I look forward to sharing some of the reviews with you in the near future. 

Blessings

I know that we can all find ourselves struggling through life sometimes but I always find some peace and a gentle reprieve when I take a few moments each day to just reflect on life's blessings. Take a look out the window and breathe nature in. Isn't it a miracle? One of God's greatest!

Take a moment or two to share your blessings with others that may be struggling. It costs nothing to offer a word of encouragement or to send a smile. Drop by and visit a friend, visit someone in a nursing home or share a cup of coffee with a stranger. Your life will be far more blessed than theirs.

I leave you with the Writer's Corner...until next time.

The Writer's Corner

Featuring Ruth Poteet, pseudonym -Reason

I am a retired teacher with a love of poetry. I have three grandchildren who are the loves of my life..13 years, 9 years, and 14 months old. Such a joy to see the interaction between the three which ranges from jealousy to love to competition. My belief and faith in God through the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus, is the focal point of my life. I have been writing poetry since 1963 but mostly since I retired in 2001.

I am sure you will enjoy Ruth's work as much as I do.

Spider's Purse

Admire her casting, lines of silky floss;
survey as artist drafts her masterpiece.
Enclosing space invisibly across,
then single-handedly, she will increase
the center parts to form unseen valise.
A purse of unsuspected, vicious taint -
its straps in hand, she naps - a wily feint.
Artistic beauty flows which soon will ebb
when tender insects clutter her restraint.
Artiste awakes to wealth within her web.

© Ruth Poteet, 4 years ago

small town graveyard

small town graveyard
in the pauper's field
wild cornflowers 

© Ruth Poteet, 4 years ago

Whole 'Nother Worlds

In other worlds out there, 
kids hide and say a prayer.
Mom needs the mornings to snooze.
This child gets up alone, 
her hunger to postpone;
Dad's only care is his booze.
She must go to the bus 
without making a fuss;
there's no sense gettin' a bruise.

In other worlds out there, 
kids scowl and say a prayer.
"but everyone's got a Rebelle!"
This child grumbles in bed -
taking short breaks instead
from rising to throw a spell.
She picks at the menu 
no matter the venue.
School is where she catches hell.

In other worlds out there, 
kids toil and say a prayer.
Their sponsors relish hard work.
This child shifts to wheelchair 
from his bed to prepare
for days with many-a-jerk.
After being spoon-fed, 
a helmet on his head,
it's school where real trials lurk.
In other worlds out there, 
kids smile and say a prayer.
Dad helps with homework and play.
This youngster rejoices, 
mom cooks his best choices, 
pancakes for breakfast, hooray!
He goes to school filled up, 
and comes home to a pup
who brightens his sunny day

© Ruth Poteet, March 26, 2011

Robes of Righteousness

a kyrielle

Your Master’s righteous cloak is not
a bold retreat from evil’s plot.
In peaceful times and in discord,
You shall know that I am the Lord.

In busyness or when you’re bored,
in argument or in accord,
in health or in a hospice ward --
You shall know that I am the Lord.

Noah, a man, perfect and just,
built the ark displaying his trust
in full view of a mocking horde.
You shall know that I am the Lord.

Daniel, confident, skilled and wise,
kept on praying without disguise,
sentenced by a conniving board.
You shall know that I am the Lord.

Job, upright, blameless, God-fearing,
endured his friends’ steadfast jeering,
the goad to curse God, he ignored.
You shall know that I am the Lord.

These three, Noah, Daniel, and Job,
God, deemed righteousness as their robe.
Thru famine, wild beast, plague, and sword,
You shall know that I am the Lord.

Ezekiel 14: 12-23

© Ruth Poteet, Septermber 1, 2012

Alex Jordan's World

a roundel

One small part of his world of kitschy things,
Jordan's unique House on a Rock unfurls
a red merry-go-round mid angels’ wings -
one small part of his world.

Chandelier lights, some twenty-thousand, swirl,
while a mechanical orchestra pings.
Two hundred sixty myriad beasts twirl
but nary a single horse rides the rings.

Stand back a little, put your mind awhirl, 
the world's largest indoor carousel brings
one small part of his world.

© Ruth Poteet, August 19, 2013

Renewal, Bumper Stickers and the Writer's Corner

      I look forward to the blooming of my weeping cherry; those beautiful blossoms of purple and pink. In the quiet I will gaze at their beauty and  drink my first cup of coffee each morning. I have always loved that tree but we have a special bond this time of year.

      How can you not love the greening buds and the colors nature cloak us in? Hearts seem to rise with the temperature and the scent of renewal is in the air. 

     Each spring I like to re-evaluate my goals and plan a few challenges for the rest of the year. This year marks the third anniversary since I became a human bumper sticker. A few years ago I hit a car. I actually ran into it...on foot. It happens.

    Many things in my life changed at that moment, but the world did not end. In reality, it became more beautiful in ways than I can ever explain.

   This year's challenges will include tackling braille, sculpting and possibly taking a class or two. I am sure I will add many more things to the list before May turns the corner.  Spring is a great time to stretch your wings and learn something new. I would love to hear what some of your challenges are.

    I am testing some new visual aids that are still in their development stages. I am excited by what I have learned and the promises that they may be able to offer some with visual impairment. More on that soon.

    Let me introduce you to Stewart Brennan whose pen runs its ink in the riches of imagery beauty, wisdom and reflection.

  

Please take a seat around the writer's corner. You will find hope, faith,

 reflection and inspiration dancing between its light and shadows.

 Writer's Corner

Stewart Brennan is a former free lance DJ (1975 to 1985) that became a manufacturing specialist in the Packaging Industry after completing an Electrical Engineering Technologies program at Dawson College in Montreal. Stewart’s spare time is spent on maintaining three websites that contains his research in Alternative News, History, Philosophy, Spiritual study, and Music Promotion. (World United News, World United Awakening, and World United Music) Recently he has begun to put together his creative writing and photography to create a book of inspirational material.

Please visit the links below to learn more about Stewart Brennan.

Art & Expressions of SFBrennan
http://sfbrennanart.blogspot.ca/
World United Awakening
http://worldunitedawakening.blogspot.ca/
World United Music
http://worldunitedmusic.blogspot.ca/
World United News

http://worldunitednews.blogspot.ca

Answered Prayers

Unheard voices bring the night, our hopes return the day,
beings struggle for the light, in prayers we often say,

“Hear me oh most gracious one, I lift my heart to you,
I need you in these times of woe, a sign to guide me through.”

Empathy whispers, aglow within, candle flickers in the dark,
Prayers are thrust from the rain, while lost here on earth’s ark.

Close your eyes and listen, replies appear in sight,
truth comes with your answer, connections made by light.

Darkness wanes, the oceans true, the skies return their song,
No longer lost, your path in view, new sense that you belong.

Valley Bridge at Twilight

Fishing under Valley Bridge, where I’ll take my son today,
Beneath old wooden structure, in shadows our rods will prey.

The dirt road down the canyon, was steep and full of turns,
But that didn’t stop our excitement, or burden thoughts of return.

Our ancient village wonder, monolithic bridge with sturdy frame,
wide arches on either end of it, and Roman middle was its claim.

The aqueduct of Segovia, its brilliance before us stood,
With seventy-two small arches, double stacked and made of wood.

The early morning sun, was just rising over the valley,
it gave the bridge its shadow, with glowing light ray finale.

Whistle sounds a-distant, eerie wind to raise my attention,
turning to my boy, “there’s a story I neglected to mention”.

We sat down near the river, to watch the oncoming train,
our bridge just in the distance, the wood already a strain.

I began to tell the tale, that my father told me before,
Passed down to each generation, since our family owned the store.

It began with bridge construction, when horse and buggy ruled the day,
The railroad was being connected, to all the townships without delay.

The owners were in a hurry, seems progress wouldn’t be stopped,
the bridge was to be completed, so they worked around the clock.

The massive engine arrived early, its size did widen eyes,
packed in the cars that followed, a large bank vault, and town supplies.

The railway owner emerged livid, out from his special caboose,
“What’s the delay now conductor?” he moaned like a bullish moose.

“The bridge is not completed, we’ll have to wait a little while”,
spit the tobacco subordinate, to the boss man filled with guile.

“This train’s to move by sundown, it’s all the time you’ve got”,
the heritor slammed his door shut, horses spooked by anger wrought.

The bridge crew were almost finished, when sun set that afternoon,
but the iron track wasn’t ready, as the train left way too soon.

The town gathered at the station, waving flags and cheering on,
then in a jolting instant, the train pulled out and was gone.

The valley drop gave accelerated speed, the workers never saw it coming,
when brakes engaged like screeching nails, the thunder heard was numbing. 

A year had passed in village mourning, bridge completed months before,
Seventy two people had died that evening, more than in the great war.

Your great grand dad was there that day, just opened the family store,
He'd saved his money from work camps, and laboured with sledge no more.

It is said that when the sun sets, and angel rays touch the bridge,
You can see their silhouette’s and shadows, just there above the ridge.

Forest Sanctuary

I Stand before cathedrals forgotten, in awe of life’s magnificence,
forests old, deep and rare, storied in great beneficence.

Timber woods engage my eyes, and lift my shaman spirit,
connections made from long ago, secure my soul to hear it.

Civilization, behind grows quiet, the sounds returned are fair,
the path that lays before me now, my journey, each step a prayer.

Stretching out empathic thoughts, the marrow of my soul,
returning essence kindred, in phase to make me whole.

Spirits flowing through me, ancestor voices heard,
language wave impressions, “return to us” their word.

Thoughts do reach out further, all life returns reflection,
symbiotic spirit flow, our lifeblood makes connection.

Beings of energy fuse together, bonds broken long ago,
reconnecting age old spirits, to lift my heart aglow.

For in my mind, a secret place, forest sanctuary calls,
visions found within me, that long for hallowed halls.

Inspiring Moments

Inspiring moments, sending grace,
lifting spirits and warming face.
Connection made, to make you whole
Rays of light to fill your soul.

Our Little Miracle

Spring arrived early that year, in our little village of Rome,
as migration came much sooner, and livened up our home,
Life worked out a miracle, after the doctors we did phone,
and our family tree grew bigger, the couple no longer alone.

Just out back in our garden, where the family oak tree stood,
was a wicker basket carriage, with a white frilly hood.
There inside smiling, was our pride, and next generation,
our newborn baby girl, who would inherit our plantation.

My wife and I stood there, our arms around each other,
Smiling at our little one, who looked just like her mother.
If only dad were still with us, your mum, and father too,
We could take a family picture, when the flowers were in bloom.

The morning mist was lifting, as the birds were in full song,
they gathered in the trees above as more birds joined along.
Then landing on the carriage sides, two sparrows began to play,
their chirping brought more laughter, and chased the morning grey.

The clouds dissolved and parted, as the sun shone down its rays,
and there above the carriage, was a glow that seemed to stay.
Our little girl was looking up, something made her smile,
as if someone were standing there, talking to her a while.

I grabbed my little camera, took a picture of the beautiful sight,
I swear we saw three figures, winged, and filled with light.
And just as quick they vanished, as the clouds returned the shade,
But deep inside my wife and I, knew who came that day.

******

See you next time our paths cross again

Goodbye Winter, Hello Spring and Other Musings

I haven't written much lately as my muse has been playing hide and seek, but even he could not refuse the temptation of the first day of Spring. I look forward to the greening and preening and renewal found in the season.

Winter has been harsh in many ways. It was not just the ice and snow or the chill in the wind for some. Winter blows in the heartache for many including the homeless who live in my soup kitchen dreams. 

In my family, we lost a beautiful soul as heaven gained another angel. Growing up, Shela was my occasional babysitter, along with my cousin Danny. As the years went by I babysat their children until I moved to New England. 

Shela was always soft-spoken, patient, quiet and kind. I remember listening to Iron Butterfly as she introduced me to In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida
on Nye Street. More importantly she showed me a world of non-judgement as she shared her kindness with me in a turbulent time of my life. Truly her heart beat to the tune of "do no harm"

In the last year, I witnessed her strength, courage and enduring love. She fought a devastating battle with poise and dignity. Her strength is dearly missed by her husband and children...as well as the many other lives she has touched.

This brings me to my next thought. Isn't our lives really about touching others? We touch each other's lives everyday. Let's make them meaningful and uplifting. Share a cup of coffee with that stranger on the street, smile at someone as you turn that corner and sprinkle some encouragement along your path.

I will be sharing some information on vision loss soon and the technology that makes life easier for those who struggle with its challenges. I am reminded that my life changed in many ways after I ran into the car I did not see almost 3 years ago...and it has all been for the better, but that is a post for next time.

As most of you know, I began writing again about 6 months ago and I have had the pleasure of reading many fine works. I want to start featuring some of those writers here in my blog. I am going to label it the writer's corner. I would also like to post an encouraging story each time as well. It will be called beauty beneath the surface. Please feel free to make recommendations.

Please take a seat around the writer's corner. You will find hope, faith, reflection and inspiration dancing between its light and shadows.

Writer's Corner

Iff Ur Abs is the pen name of Steven Baruffi, a former basketball

player for LaSalle University (1970-1974) and a retired chemist from

Merck and Company, Inc. He started writing poetry seriously in the

Spring of 2013, less than two years ago. Steve spends his days

reading, writing and playing golf with friends...He is married and has one daughter.

Steven is one of the masters of rhyme, flow, reflection and humor. I know you will enjoy his pen as much as I do.

The Ballad of Poets Proper

Let's hope we're not a dying breed
Fearing of the technological rope.
We're different, true enough indeed,
Dreaming with our penned in hope.
Yet we're surely not a demon's seed,
We wear shoes and at times use soap!

If you dream it you may live it, true,
You won't know different till you try.
And should your dream end up in blue,
Be proud you had the will to vie.
And through your stab you shall imbue
Inspiration to those who live a lie!

Here in the midst of calamitous calm,
Ruminating on an average day.
My needs are trivial, that's a balm,
A continuance for which I pray.
For a life filled with doubt and qualm
Is a roadblock to your love I say!

So sit and write your poignant odes,
Your art is beauty yet unfinished.
And mail them out to all zip codes
So others may soon be replenished,
And when they reach the apt abodes,
The joy will be shared undiminished!

© 20 FEB 2015
(Ballad poem dedicated to Oscar Wilde)

Currents



The silt moved by the deepest river,
Undeterred by the rocks and sifted
By the currents of normalcy and insanity
Eventually, indefatigably,
Encounter the delta of spirituality
And mix with the ocean of the eternal.

Connected with this process, snows melt down,
Streams gurgle in, waves crash beyond
The rippled stillness of a pond.
Concentric dreams await a pebble
To be tossed.

When you are known to me
Our hands join together as one.
We roll towards each other 
In the middle of the night and 
The bliss is not mistakable
Under the umbrella of its silence.

When we let each other go it was not
Because of disappointment.
It was because our currents evolved 
And switched direction.
Without a word we knew we would meet again,
And our love was beyond
Definition.

© 04 FEB 2015
(Inspired by the prompt "Silence is the language of God.  All else is a poor translation" - Rumi)

The Fix


Lord, promise you'll fix me
Once more when I'm broken,
Through your intercessor
I will feel when you've spoken

Rise up like a phoenix once more

To fly again free, feel the I am
Everywhere feeling the love
On every wave and in each grain of sand
Over, around, and above.

It's a feeling that I need to restore.

Mentality Eastern says if twice you fall,
Rise up three times at least.
The broken get fixed when heeding the call
Of a world that is crying for peace.

Sometimes the best we can do is endure.

Promise a fix better than any drug,
Lay out the template for calm.
Shout out your love, embrace with your hug,
The broken can all use the balm.

Fix your wing, phoenix fly, evermore.


© 27 DEC 2014

Debbie's Kiss

Debbie and me, once had a date,
She was young, and I was a bum
Who met her on the beach...

But we're not here to preach,
I wasn't so awfully bad (If I say so myself),
In truth I was only a lad...

And she only a lass...

So I stepped on the gas
And we went out for a bite,
O what a good night...

We talked for awhile, shared her pretty smile,
And I was thrilled, the salad un-spilled,
The beer not slurped...

Like some kinda jerk.
The pizza locally known
To make young women moan.

And she only a lass...

And hands were held
Like two cards of meld,
On our little walk, with continued small talk...

Perhaps even a balk, and maybe,
Just maybe, there were two ice creams,
Watching baseball nines with "big show" dreams...

It all seemed so clean,
Not seedy or mean or anything else
That rhymes with obscene.

And she only a lass...

And it came to pass,
At the end of an eve, sometimes it's pure bliss...
You surrender your soul to one simple kiss.

© 24 JAN 2014

And here is one of my favorites

For the Love of a Daughter

(i)

May your love be the brightest
Star in the sky, the sun always
Unmoved, by tempests
Or earthquakes.
May refulgent light be reflected
By the shards of a thousand
Broken mirrors, and may
You dance amidst the
Splintered sunlight.

That is my wish.

(ii)

May the genius and clarity
Of Rilke,
Enter into your thoughts,
Be echoed throughout
The most silent canyons,
And ring repeatedly
While you sip
Ambrosia in the shade
Of the banyan.

That is my wish.

(iii)

May your happiness
Be steadfast,
Affected not by squalls
Hitting your windows
But rather, a reservoir
Waiting to be filled by them,
And the pools of your ecstasy
Be unburdened by
Evaporation.

That is my wish.

(iv)

May my wishes
Be translated into every
Language
And emoted by every
Actor
And practiced by every
Religion
And felt by every
Sentient heart.

That is my love.

© 26 FEB 2015

Living is what taught me to appreciate the subdued shades of gray...and 

just so you know, I would not trade the way I see the world... even for 

20/20 vision.

    Until next time...