Category Archives: Poetry

Sunset Farewells

14 Monday Nov 2022

Posted by in Ocean View, Poetry

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Last in Ocean View series

This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Psalm 118:24 NKJV

With Seattle’s Best steaming from my coffee mug, and a fuzzy throw on my lap, my Yorkie and I watch the last comfortable morning move into the day, pushed by a north wind. It is November 11, Veteran’s Day, as well as the forecasted end of warm weather. We’ve enjoyed an extra helping of beauty and warmth this fall, even with the great need for moisture. Given my druthers I definitely take dry over too wet, so I’ve hung onto this fall, maybe too tightly. Some farewells, though expected, are just not welcome.

In the distance, I see trucks working to complete a highway project we had hoped never to see begun. Now we can hardly wait to see it finished. Over with already! Some endings are welcome!

One year ago, due to my sister’s wise planning, our brother and I met her for a Veteran’s Day lunch. The weather was drizzly, cool, and with his disabilities it was an effort he could’ve understandably forgone. Had he not joined us however, to honor his military service, we would not have this last good memory of brother’s time with us. Less than two months later he was gone. Some goodbyes are unexpected.

Like my brother’s old yellow wheelbarrow upended against my potting shed, I am now ready to resist cold rains (if they ever come). We’ve piddled in the lawn and gardens the last couple days; partly to prepare for winter and partly to just be in the presence of what we know must depart. Thousands of poets, nature lovers and old folk have described seasons as life cycles, and life cycles as seasons. I never grow tired of it. God’s hand of grace feeds my grateful heart season after season. Whether a daily departure of the sun’s glow, or a season-following-season farewell, nature teaches us the importance of seizing the day – to appreciate and use the time – but also to just take it in and be grateful.

One memorable moment of farewell for me was a September sunset on the beach. Here, the beach is its own kind of loud – the resounding wash-sh-sh, wash-sh-sh, wash-sh-sh of the ocean with the frequent seagull call and a distant helicopter’s clap clap clap. Voices and laughter more rowdy by day, are now subdued with sunset, and blend with the waves to form a quieter ‘white noise’, leaving you with your own thoughts. It pulls me in and I hear myself think more loudly than the din of the beach. It is more than a delightful sunset. It is the glow in my heart for the R&R with my husband and the satisfaction of enjoying something new. I think the secret of truly enjoying our time and being able to smile at “so-long”, is not planning too much; being still to allow ourselves to absorb the surroundings, being in the moment.

In our days and nights, in our seasons, and in our relationships, we tend to push so much into them, complicate them and force our expectations upon them. That is when we cannot say goodbye with ease; when we want length and fullness that were there, perhaps, but we missed it. Or, sadly, the length was not there, and for those of you, I wish you more; more length and breadth and glow.

I am not missing this autumn season. I have been ‘in the moment’ much more than in the past. In recent seasons of life I learned to choose my battles and I’ve let some go. I have silently observed loved ones, and actively cheered on others I love as well. If I’m distracted with what I think I have missed, I miss what I have. Life goes on, and someday it will go on without me, and without you. I hope my sunsets will be full enough to allow my loved ones to smile and say it was good for me to have been here. Most importantly, will I have helped another to face their farewells; to embrace their sunsets and stand strong against the harsh north winds.

Over the past two and a half years, I made four difficult drives with the sunset in my rearview mirror; two from Graves County – first, leaving my young brother in tears at a nursing home, and last, leaving from his home where he had passed away. The other two drives were from a Tennessee cemetery, first for my daddy who left suddenly November 13, 2020, and fourteen months later, for my brother. Though the goodbyes within the departures were heart wrenching, they never diminished the beauty of the sunset. In fact the sunset’s glow reflected my mood and warmed me at the same time, with hope and the knowledge that I was not alone. Whether expected or not, welcomed or not, farewells are as sure as the sunset. and sunsets offer us the glow of hope, and the beautiful promise of morning to follow. Trisha

Farewells
Goodbyes may come at sunset, some in the dead of night.
Some at break of day, and some in noon day's light.
Whether they are welcomed or whether met in pain,
A new day will be dawning, and there's sunshine after rain.
Live time in the present and embrace your given life.
For farewells surely come, whether in peace or strife.
Take courage and have hope, for love lives, and never ends -
'Tis the force that takes our endings to where new life begins.


Autumn Encouragement

New green wheat blankets the field where Spring's hope lies.
Fiery red hawthorn berries set off the deep blue sky.
Sweetly fragrant roses hanging on to the bitter end
All nod their pretty heads at the growing North wind.
One lone pink rose, a few glowing red, 
And two sunny yellows will soon be put to bed.
Happily present, not concerned with tomorrow -
Like the song birds' singing - full trust without sorrow.
Warm sun on my face, wind chimes in my ear;
Dried okra pods stand waving in the air so clear.
I envy Nature's graceful stance, in the firm face of change,
amazingly coaching us, encouraging and teaching us, to do just the same.

Dear Mama

16 Friday Sep 2022

Posted by in Family, Poetry

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“Strength and honor are her clothing; she shall rejoice in time to come. …Her children rise up and call her blessed;” Proverbs 31:25, 28a NKJV

September 16 is a nice time of year; nicer because it’s the birthday of my mother. Now, my sister always made Mama proud, and pleased her in so many meaningful ways. Our little brother had his own unique way of being dear to her heart. But for some mother-ish reason, Mama liked my words, written. So, all I’ve ever done that seemed to me, to honor her was write, for her, on her special day. Somehow it does seem better than the scorched toast and dry scrambled eggs with a bud vase holding a chigger weed or clover bloom, which in my youth I’d be serving for her today, on a tray. I can imagine the mess she had to clean up after I got it done. I share the words in her honor, and because she would want me to.

Dear Mama

If Mamas could sell every tear they cried

And if they were paid for how hard they tried;

If happiness really, could be bought

And children learned every lesson Mom taught;

There’s no end to how happy and smart I’d be,

Because you’d have bought them just for me!

You’d have spent the tear treasures on everyone else,

And, perhaps, some SAS shoes for yourself!

For your big loving heart would always know

Where needs were calling, and your sore feet would go. 

You would be 91 today and I am celebrating your life; recalling the beauty of your heart in spite of the pain. Thanking God with a smile on my face for His grace in letting me be yours. 

A grateful daughter, Trisha                                    9/16/22

The Fall Dance

27 Monday Sep 2021

Posted by in Nature, Poetry

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It is finally here! Autumn – my autumn, so full of sensory stimulation that I can for the first time in a long while, just be. Just. Be. Sitting still and soaking it all in; talking aloud to the sky, trees, or the Creator of it all, or not talking at all. Psalm 46:10 allows me to, as the inspired word from God not only says be still, but to acknowledge Him in the stillness. Stop to meditate on God’s creative hand, His wisdom and goodness.
This season pushes my buttons; to start projects, stare at nature, but most of all to write. So, unable to hold myself back here is a poem I wrote last year, as I try in vain to capture some of this amazing season’s music, and dance along with it.

          The Fall Dance

From the liquid blue sky as clear as glass, to the star flower tucked beneath the autumn grass;

From the sweet song of morning birds, and their return before sundown, to the splash and laugh of the bluebirds’ bath, a very happy sound;

From the dusty fuzzy pods in fields of  tan soybeans, to the new red berries of the Washington Hawthorn tree.

From the crimson Sumac along the fence row, to the purple wildflowers the butterflies own;

From the welcome relief of a cooling breeze as it brushes and flirts with the rustling leaves,

To the pumpkins piled high and chrysanthemums gold; this blessing called Autumn is a sight – a sound – a touch to behold!

Autumn takes her time waltzing into view, enjoying the stage, for her dances are few.

Welcome Fall Y’all

Grace for Guilt: An Exchange of Enough

10 Wednesday Oct 2018

Posted by in Faith, inspiration, Poetry

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I am guilty. Nothing I am or ever will do, can remove that guilt nor be enough for God’s acceptance. The one thing that makes me as good as new, guiltless, is the grace of God, and that is enough. I have only just begun to realize the depth of that grace. My everything isn’t enough; His enough is everything.

“But God…made us alive…and raised us up…that He might show the exceeding riches of His grace…in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.” Ephesians 2:4-10 (NKJV)

The BEST deal of all ages, hands down, is in that section of Ephesians 2.. To stress what God did, I left out the prepositional phrases where Paul explains when, where, how and why. It makes more impact on my brain if I cut through the chase first to get the noun and verbs – the main thing being said. God – made, raised, and saved. YOU, ME, us; when? Even when we were dead in our sins, (verse 5) Hallelujah!

I must thank Karen Bolls for a really good lesson last Wednesday night and the inspiration for this blog article. She titled it ‘NEW’ with the main points being “recently created, fresh, clean, untouched”, being unworthy and made new by God through the blood of Christ. My trigger was tripped as thoughts of grace in the place of my guilt flooded my mind.

Just as verse 5 answered the question when, the other questions are answered as well. Where? In Christ. How? By God’s grace. Why? Because of His great love. That beautiful grace that answers how, is my focus here. As the scripture points out, it is not by faith (“that not of yourselves”) and it is not by works (lest we think we have any claim to power) that we are saved.

From the tempter’s first encounter with woman, he has continually striven to ruin mankind’s relationship with our Holy Father. We, being human, continually participate  in those efforts and would never be clean enough to come before God, if not for the cleansing blood of Christ. We’re like the child with brand new sneakers on, always destined for  the nearest patch of dirt, who would never wear clean shoes if not for Maytag, Tide, and a forgiving mom! But, we have to get the shoes off the child first!

I love a good deal! Fifty percent off? Yes ma’am! Trade me that cool sweater for a jacket I never use? Sure! There’s always an exchange for what we want. While nothing can be given to Him that makes us deserving of God’s grace, within that grace is provided the means of exchange:  His forgiveness for our repentance. We lay down our guilt through faith that He can do it, and He makes us clean in our obedience of immersion into the blood of Jesus.  His grace is that He allows our faith to do simple works, and He calls it a done deal. He didn’t have to do it; but his great love for us caused Him to have mercy, and extend the grace. By that grace, He provided a means of forgiveness and acceptance – and all I have to give Him is my heart so He can dump out the dirt! My guilt, my sin, all to Him to wash away forever! Away from me, as the Psalmist said, “as far as the east is from the west” (Psalm 103:12).

My guilt, for His Grace? Yes, thank you! In that store of compassion and mercy, I have found a delightful deal; I cast off my old dirty coat for a brand spanking new one!

In the region of Unbelievable, I found my soul retrievable. The sign upon the mystic door, read “come in, and grieve of guilt no more”. The proprietor offered his service free, for he could see the lack in me. Into a room of lost and found, he said that I may look around. There lay my soul with dirt and rust, a price tag said ‘obey and trust’. You mean there is no greater cost? You’ve saved it for me, while I was lost?  “Yes, the greatest price I paid one day, for I had hopes you’d come my way.”

Trisha

 

 

 

 

NESTING IN THE PRIVETS

07 Monday Aug 2017

Posted by in Nature, Poetry

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Do you know how a thing can keep standing for something else in your mind; though it’s perfectly fine in and of itself; but for some reason it beckons you to peek around its corner and see something else hiding. So it is with a shrub in our yard. (Yes, in the South, your house sits in the yard, and the houses up north and the White House have lawns.) So, I knew it was a Privet, but after googling photos, I found that ours is a Chinese Privet; pretty and fragrant, it has become one of our favorites. In my search for the name of what I’d planted years ago, I also found  the following descriptors concerning these shrubs.

Low maintenance hedge & privacy screen

        Adaptable to various types of soil

Drought tolerant!

Low maintenance, screen, adaptable and tolerant – yep, that’s my little bush; and not a bad set of personality traits to desire!

Nesting In The Privets – this title just walked into my head one day as I was mowing, and has been running around in there all spring and summer when I am near our bush. The notion that this is a great place to nest was reinforced as I considered those defining words.

This is the only plant around which I haven’t been able to mow closely, to trim near the truck, and I have really tried, only to have scraped and scratched myself and the mower. Other trees and shrubs however, bear the wounds of my attempts to trim while mowing. In our previous home place with large trees, I committed mower murder by running too close and encountering the tree roots. Here, where we have young trees, there are regrettably, my signature rings around the trunks near the ground made by the edge of my mower deck. The privet, however, is much too wise for me. Strong defenders, especially where I have attempted pruning, stand strong and sharp, unyielding to my intrusion. My legs and arms bear the proof. This is not to the Privet’s dishonor; it has gained my admiration in more ways than one.

Lovely spring fragrance, beautiful variegated foliage, small leaves spaced so that there is a feathery look – who wouldn’t want to live there? Whereas I can’t get a 40 something inch mower deck into the midst of the grass beneath, the birds can build a house and live in it! Good for them! These are not cat climbing limbs. With a thick growth habit of closely spaced narrow limbs, it discourages intruders. I haven’t noticed our cat even mildly interested in invading this space. If Mother Nature talks among her offspring, then I imagine she has encouraged Mrs. Mockingbird with whispers of “screen, privacy, and adaptable’. Sitting atop this Privet, the mockingbirds call out threats against our furry four-legged family members, from halfway across the yard. It seems they have found an ideal fort from which to launch their new families.

Are we as careful and concerned about the environment in which we bring our brand new little nestlings? As they become fledglings, are we watching them from the best vantage point, protecting them from predators with the ferocity of a mother bird and wielding strong stems against the intruders of our homes?

Does not Mother Nature herself, even if we didn’t have the Word of God to guide us, tell us to protect our young? The natural tendency of a mother and father is to provide for their children, including shelter. The physical shelter I see provided by the Privet is such a great example of the spiritual and emotional shelter we as parents and relatives need to be seeking for our precious children.

In line with the descriptors for this Privet, parents need to be tolerant and adaptable. Tolerant with the natural calamities of growing up, not in the sense of spoiling, or tolerating the misbehaving; that would only lead them downhill in the character department. Kids are going to have melt-downs over real stressors at times; they need us to be tolerant and tough for them as they strive to thrive through it all. If you thought life was about changes before, then you really discovered “life-changing” after you became parents! Adapt, adapt, adapt! All children are different, and so will the toleration levels be different, as well as the need to adapt to stages of child development. If we look at them with the eyes of Jesus, and pray REAL hard as we search HIs word for guidance, we’re going to find our little birds successfully ready for flight before we know it!

As parents, we hopefully have had our day in the limelight, and now would be a good time to seek low maintenance status. My husband and I have agreed on this one thing in child rearing – they did not ask to be born. We asked for them. We took on this responsibility and have gladly set aside some wants to fulfill their needs. It’s never been about sacrifice – rather, it’s been a privilege to seek less of self and enjoy the sweet charges with whom God entrusted us; making provisions as He enables us to do.

I’ll tell you something else about this Privet. When the strong southwest wind sweeps across our property, all the other trees bow in its presence. But this Privet bush stands its ground. I’ve hardly ever seen it bending with the wind. Ill winds will blow in our children’s lives; count on it. So be a Privet to hold your nest; screen the view until the young are mature enough to see all the ugly and still make wise decisions. Adapt and tolerate when those harsh winds blow and there’s an arid blight in their circle of the world, so that they will know your strong branches will catch them if they fall. And most importantly, point them to Jesus, so that they will know their creator, and will have a home to fly away to someday. Don’t forget low maintenance; if their support system is whiney and delicate, they learn to be needy and fearful. Low maintenance people are able to enjoy the real values in other.

I want to close this with a poem given to me by my great-aunt, Treva Jones Darnell, many years ago.

BE THE BEST

If you can’t be the pine on the top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the valley – but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can’t be a tree.
If you can’t be a bush be a bit of the grass,
And some highway happier make.
If you can’t be a “muskie” then just be a bass,
But the liveliest bass in the lake.
We can’t all be captains, some have to be a crew,
There’s something for all of us here;
There’s work to be done, and we’ve all got to do
Our part in the way that’s sincere.
If you can’t be a highway, then just be a trail;
If you can’t be the sun, be a star;
It isn’t by size that you win or you fail,
Be the best of whatever you are.

                                                                                                               …..Unknown

 

 

LATE SUMMER’S DAY

08 Saturday Oct 2016

Posted by in Nature, Poetry

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I’ve looked through my posts and do not see if I ever posted this poem. I feel like I did, but I can’t find it. I wrote it one September, possibly late August, and today reminded me of it. Probably five or so years ago, sitting on my front porch watching  my friend/like a sister/former patient ‘in waiting”s little boy play, I was in awe of this time of year.

The birds’ cheerful singing with the wind chimes a ringing

Give voice to the breeze as it blows.

Warm air that feels cool, sky as blue as a pool,

Make the day as good as I’ve known.

Little boy Ryan with popsicle lips and butterflies sipping at zinnia tips:

Two special sights to behold.

The greens are much darker and serve as a marker,

With the gathering streaks of gold,

Of the promise that Autumn hovers; and a peacefulness covers

The summer’s long dry breath of air.

Cicadas chip through the still afternoon

And echo my thanks to be there.

P.Ward

CLOSE OF AN AFTERNOON RAIN

30 Sunday Aug 2015

Posted by in Nature, Poetry

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Ending things has never been my cup of tea. All of my life, I hated for parties, sleep-overs, and movies to end. I cried at the end of each stage of my children’s lives, although I knew full well those were perfectly healthy normal milestones. I cried on the last day of my just retired from position at the hospital. I should have been skipping and giggling all the way out. But, no, with tear brimmed eyes I turned in my  badge to the operator after clocking out, fumbled my belongings out to the car, and felt lonely. Going home to a house full of love and excitement at my being able to turn the page and retire, I was weary from a very long exhausting day, and yes, sad; for an ending, I guess. And here we are at the end of another season. Summer on August 30, is pretty much ending. When most people are hailing the end of seasons, I am clinging to all the ‘but I wanted to do this, or that and time is flying’ clichés.

One thing I have been encouraged to do in retirement is to spend more time writing. Partly because those dears know me and like my writing, and partly because it (my writing) has much improvement to take on, and practice makes perfect, right? I have been overwhelmed with the idea of so much to do, the closing of summer, so many people to see and get to do things with, and taking on part-time positions. Yes, busy people just stay busy, and it’s always going to be that way. So, I have been avoiding the urge to write. Until today. We needed a rain as there had been a small dry spell, and obviously I needed a rain to lubricate my writing hinges. It began to rain as I was in the midst of grading care plans for the students in the obstetrical clinical I have agreed to teach.  Soon I found myself moving out onto the front porch swing for a break. Most of the lightning and thunder was over as was the downpour, but the sounds of the tapering off triggered that writer’s need to put it into words.

Phrases to describe the sounds began tripping through my mind and the following poem was the result.

Trickling water sounds through the metal downspout,

Thunder rumbling farther away,

Hissing car tires make that splashy sound,

Drippity drops of nearly stopped rain.

Bold little croak of a nearby toad

and some flying creatures test the air;

The sky is getting lighter, puddles shine wider

Dampness crawls onto the porch to share.

Gently a breeze stirs the water laden trees

And the windchime makes a timid ting-ding.

A constant faint drizzle and a crow calls o’er the way,

A new dong with the ting-a-ding rings.

Blooms bob their heads as tiny drips fall

as if to be nodding adieu.

The freshness remains – an unnamed fragrance –

And the late summer rain has moved through.

 May you have a love wrapped ending to your summer, friends, as we look forward to that breathtaking joy we call Autumn. God is so good. Trisha