Tag Archives: poetry

December Dawn

Carol A. Hand

December Dawn – 2017

***

A new day dawning

finally free of a burden

that caused so much pain

across decades

because yesterday I chose

to trust

caring competent others

and face my greatest fears.

***

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Simple Explanations?

Carol A. Hand

There’s a magical doorframe

where we measure our height

Mischievous “Little People” visit there

hidden far from our sight

Under the floorboards they wait patiently

until the time is right

to raise or lower the floor

struggling with all of their might

Once our growth lines are recorded

we’re curious to assess our plight

to see if we’ve grown taller or shrunk

laughing at surprises with childish delight

***

Magic Doorframe 1
Magic Doorframe 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This poem was inspired by my granddaughter who is always eager to measure how much she has grown. But sometimes, she is actually shorter. That happens to me, too, so we came up with a logical explanation and tested it on Thanksgiving night. She grew this time and I shrunk, although there was no way we could confirm the cause… 

***

For more information about “Little People ,” you might want to check out the following links:

http://forum.antiquatis.org/viewtopic.php?t=1742

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_people_(mythology)

Reflections about Options

Carol A. Hand

Two childhood dreams
One of darkness, one of light
One that freezes action in midnight terror
The other daylight freedom flight
A tender child then, perhaps by fate,
could choose to observe life as if from above
detached, compassionate,
but is this really living love?

The reality now in the world today
reminds me of dark storm clouds rolling in
although this storm feels as if it’s here to stay
It’s time for us to stand alone, together, bearing light
to face these fearsome times come what may

***

***

 

Morning Messengers

Carol A. Hand

She who is born to seek peace
will live through times of conflict
She who seeks light
will walk through dark nights of the spirit
She who seeks to live love and compassion
will sometimes be surrounded by
hatred and cruelty to test her earnestness
And she who seeks to live joy
will know the depth of aloneness and doubt
and the wrenching sorrow of witnessing suffering
she cannot heal

But one morning after 70 winters
she understands why it is so
as she gazes up at the morning sky
in mid-November before another winter
watching the last leaves fall
twirling, floating, and dancing
in the wind as they return to source

Leafless Willow – November 15, 2017

A little grey squirrel quietly joins her
and sits at her feet gazing up at her face
unafraid for the briefest of instants
Somehow the paradoxical journey
to this moment suddenly makes sense
But the moment passes
signaling the need to return
to a different paradoxical constructed reality

Grading Papers

Carol A. Hand

Grading student papers is not an easy job. It’s the reason I haven’t been on WordPress often these past weeks.  Yet I have learned how important it is to grade mindfully, because the words we use can change lives – for better or worse.

I’m posting a poem my colleague shared with me tonight that speaks to this truth with power and eloquence.

My Name Is Not Those People, a poem by Julie K. Dinsmore, read Danny Grover on YouTube:

A November Morning 2017

Carol A. Hand

 

bright reflecting sunshine

a dusting of snow

bracing cold air

the heavy odor

of diesel fuel

outside

everywhere

remind me

winter life in the city

comes with circi

convenience 

and costs

requiring

care

***

Pensive Pinto – November 9, 2017

***

Note:

Circi, also spelled as sirsee, circe, surcy, and surcee, is a word used mostly in the southern U.S. that means “an unexpected, usually small, gift” (English Language & Usage Stack Exchange).

November Reflections and Connections

Carol A. Hand

Reflections – November 1, 2017

Do you ever have mornings when a question plays in your thoughts and you don’t know the answer? This morning, as I gazed at the trees on this first day of November, I wondered if they process carbon dioxide in the winter. The answers I found are fascinating. Maybe everyone else learned this and remembers. But just in case, I thought others might find the answers interesting, too.

The first question that came to mind – Do trees process carbon dioxide (CO2) in winter?

Birch Tree in November, 2016

The answer –

“Most of the land mass of the earth is in the northern hemisphere, and most of the vegetation is Northern hemisphere. During autumn and winter, the leaves fall and exhale carbon dioxide (through decomposition). Throughout the spring and summer days, leaves grow and inhale carbon dioxide. So, when it’s winter in the northern hemisphere, global CO2 levels rise quite sharply and fall again during the warmer months.” (Michael Bloch, 2006, November 30. “Deciduous trees and carbon dioxide,” available at greenlivingtips.com).

Another site offered a more global, connected perspective.

“In general, it is inevitable (whether or not trees lose their leaves) that photosynthesis should reduce during the winter months, simply because there is less sunlight through the winter months. The question is as to where greater photosynthesis is happening, in the southern hemisphere (with large oceans, and more marine algae), or in the northern hemisphere (much great land masses), so which winter is the more significant (that of the north or that of the south)? Then you have the additional issue that as oceans get colder in winter, they will dissolve more CO2, and as they get warmer in the summer they will release some of this CO2 back into the atmosphere (this is also made more difficult to judge because of the complexities of the ocean currents).” (The Naked Scientists, 2007, July 10. “Carbon Dioxide in Winter,” available at thenakedscientists.com).

February 3, 2017

Winter, or rather, below freezing temperatures, affect photosynthesis for coniferous trees as well. (Ayumi Tanaka (2007), “Photosynthetic activity in winter needles of the evergreen tree Taxus cuspidata at low temperatures (2007), Tree Physiology 27, 641–648 © 2007 Heron Publishing—Victoria, Canada).

There is so much to learn about the complex interconnections on earth and how much we all depend on each and every being that shares the same tiny home. The most critical processes are often invisible. It makes me wonder about an educational system that fails in many cases to recognize our interdependence and responsibility for inclusive stewardship. In school, I learned how to dissect things, name all their parts with Latin words, and a little about how other living beings interact with their immediate environments. But we often don’t learn about the interconnections within a larger context, and the importance of helping to maintain the delicate balance necessary for all life to harmonize as each unique being performs its functions as part of a grand symphony throughout the millennia.

I’m grateful for the winter that brings rest for trees and the scent of new fallen snow, even if the air is laden with more CO2.

Reflections – November 6, 2017

The first Monday after
artificial “time” seasonal adjustment
allows me to wake “early”
greeted by the morning sun
streaming through the window
illuminating things that carry memories
with light and a golden glow

Morning Glow – November 6, 2017

I breathe in the light
so rare these days
highlighting poignant memories
of other times and places

The sewing table, now folded,
a legacy from my mother
like the skill I learned as a child
There was a time when I sewed often
with an old secondhand “portable” Necchi machine
if one can honestly call a 50 pound machine portable
but it traveled the country with me
from Los Angeles to Illinois,
to Massachusetts then Connecticut
to Wisconsin, Montana, and back
It’s how I clothed myself at times
and my daughter when she was a child
After decades, I had to retire the Necchi
when it could no longer be repaired

There are days when I can relate
to the feeling that one may no longer
be able to serve a useful purpose
The prayer flags hanging on the open door
symbolize family connections and repaired vision
but I honestly don’t know how
to repair a heart that keeps breaking
from senseless wars and destruction
or from cruelty and tragedy everyday

But today, I awoke to sunshine
with the awareness that I can still breathe
and do small things – trying to be mindful
and compassionate regardless of context
while I am here

Juxtaposed

Carol A. Hand

Watching the last leaves in the cottonwood trees

fluttering as they cling to branches in the breeze

then swirling and floating as they reluctantly release

landing on the earth with crispy whispers, at peace

blanketing both city’s pavement and sacred ground

Sunday morning traffic’s whir the only other sound

Nature’s gifts visible despite an otherwise bleak landscape

***

Sunday Morning View – October 29, 2017

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October Transitions

Carol A. Hand

October is a time of transitions

Sorrow and joy interwoven in memories

of celebrating a dear daughter’s birth

and grieving a beloved mother’s death

A time when the green ash tree turns gold

and glows vibrantly in the afternoon sun

***

Green Ash Tree Turned Golden – October 23, 2017

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A time when late-blooming flowers

Add grace and color to leaf-sprinkled gardens

***

Late-blooming African Daisies – October 23, 2017
Late-blooming African Daisies – October 23, 2017
Late-blooming African Daisies – October 23, 2017
Tiny-blue Flowers (?) in Mixed Wildflower Garden – October 23, 2017

***

October’s transitions memorialized in photos

to remind me of blooms and golden glow

just before the first northcountry snow

now blanketing the earth in winter white

***

Morning Snow – October 27, 2013
Morning Snow – October 27, 2013
Morning Snow – October 27, 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

No doubt the morning snow will melt soon

before “real” winter settles in to stay for a while

***