A prayer I say is:
Peace is flowing like a river;
Flowing out of you and me;
flowing out into the desert;
Setting all the captives free.
A prayer I say is:
Peace is flowing like a river;
Flowing out of you and me;
flowing out into the desert;
Setting all the captives free.
As I grab a nearby pencil on my bedside table to draft this article on family tradition I realize that it's my dad's obsolete mechanical pencil. Beet red, with a black rotator and chromed tips, it has no more pocket clip. All it says now on the Bakelite barrel, is FOR REAL THIN LEAD.
October passing into November points for me to the tradition of naming these waning months of our years in Latin, with a hidden meaning of Seven Eight Nine Ten, obscured behind an etymology of an Old Country liturgical calendar. Why do we not even pause to notice that the "tenth" month, December is now the twelfth?
Our time in any given generation is not retractable like my pencil. The internal mechanism advances or permits the user to push back the lead after a backwards twist.
The leaves turn yellow or red.
My hair remains gray.
Birds dispute over food at our feeders.
Chipmunks scamper about at times to avoid a black cat.
A pleasure and bliss to look at Lake Erie
The waves while large are not fury
To sit there on a bench appreciating the view
It is always a joy and ever new
As Tennyson wrote as he looked at the sunset and evening star
He thought of his passing and wanted no moaning as he crossed the bar
A note for the Bay High School Class of 2022 ...
Just down the road from us resides the Bay Boat Club, which is home to waves, and sea glass. Sea glass are tiny shards of chemically and physically weathered glass from the tumbling waves that are found along our Bay Village coastline. These pieces of glass are all so different. Different shapes, shades, sizes. Different. And beautiful because they are so different. We live in Bay. All of us, like sea glass, are different in so many ways. But, the memories inside us create lasting impressions in our minds forever.
Here is my story of how we became sea glass throughout our time at Bay Schools.
Snow's fresh morningfall
sparkling in the bright sunlight
Soaring eagle, white head and tail
Hummingbird looking for nectar
Fish just jumped
Blue sky, scudding white clouds
What could be better.
Old oak. New oak. A squirrel planted the new oak. It is spring and now the young oak is putting out its little buds. New little oak looks upward and looks forward in its life to being the mighty oak that its mighty tall parent was. In human life so often it is the same in time.
As I look at our roaring fire, I see the flames;
I see the fires of our youth; the fires of spring;
and as I look below the grates, I see what will be;
The embers of our lives.
At such times, we must reflect on a life well lived with so many wonderful people.
Life during a pandemic sure has changed us some.
Instead of going out to party I'm home sitting on my bum.
I've notice a man around my house and his identity is unclear.
But he seems real nice and says, “I’m your husband, dear.”
Dining out at restaurants? No, that just will not do.
So I guess it's time to open another can of veggie stew.
The kids have done all kind of crafts and played games with screaming cheer.
So now I've taken to day drinking. Please pass another beer.
I'll be glad when this is over and we can end this strife.
Now we have a vaccine and I want back to regular life.
Love wasn’t a cheap greeting card with hollow promises and apologies written on it. Love was spending holidays with one another. It was cooking and eating meals together. It was helping one another when they didn’t ask for it.
Love was holding someone as they cried. Love was accepting every flaw someone had. Love was taking in someone who needed a family. Love wasn’t walking out on your eight year old and then spending the next decade stringing her along.
I am looking forward to another New Year
By golly, it is already here!
What will I do to make the New Year better?
I believe I need to write myself a letter
A letter to myself always makes me think
If I don’t do this I may fall head over heels into the brink!
Submitted by Judy Trefz of Bay Village, who recently discovered a poem written by her grandmother.
Loudly the bell for liberty rung.
Loudly the crowds cheered as it swung.
Valiant men had signed the Declaration
bringing freedom to the new found nation.
Through the years we celebrate
this glorious day
with parades,speeches, picnics and recreation
holding full sway.
Lest we forget, let us pause to reflect
on the cost of this freedom we thus far have kept.
On Valley Forge and the suffering there
of the brave men who fought and died
through those dark days of despair.
Lest we forget, not for a few
was this freedom to be.
Our forefathers decreed that all mankind should be free.
Brave Lincoln dared to make this mandate come true.
A great Civil War was fought 'twixt the southern grays and the northern blues.
Once again victory for freedom was won anew.
Let us guard well this priceless heritage we cherish.
Let no foe invade to destroy or to conquer,
lest this great nation of freedom should perish.
– Written in 1975 by Grace C. Speer, 1883-1979
Unable to move,
I live with fear,
If you come too near
I may disappear.
Or I might shatter
Into a thousand tiny pieces,
Broken, like glass.
So for now
Remember, social distancing saves lives!
The river birch in fall, some leaves have fallen gently at the feet of their mother or, in gusty winds, find new homes. Other golden leaves wait to say goodbye later in the season. Light now shines through the birch, the blue sky stands out and the full moon lights more of the tree. The trunk is shedding some of its bark in to allow expansion of the girth of each main limb. Shouldn’t we all try to shed something to allow new growth in our spirits?
Dusk descends. From the mowed lawns all around me, thousands of lightning bugs, fireflies ascend as from the soils where they may have rested all day. Instant bright lights on, it seems for only one second. Who called for them to light up the world? No patterns as they skitter about. In time, as darkness descends, those lights of hope, lights of joyful abandon, ascend to the trees keep us company until sleep calls us to rest, our eyes and brains not revved up by artificial lights of a TV. While I know there are scientific facts to describe what I see, I prefer the fancy of my mind.
Walking on the court, other feelings go away.
All that matters is basketball.
I can soar as high as I want to.
There are no limits and the court
Is my dream world.
Dribbling down the court,
I feel as if I'm in heaven.
I shoot the ball, then watch it
Spiral toward the hoop
And fall through the net.
The only noise I hear is the swish
As I see the net
Hanging on the rim.
Whenever I step onto the court,
The rest is history.
Little snow flakes
From the sky.
Like ballerinas they
Twirl and dance,
Jump and fly.
With perfect execution
They pirouette and
Pas de deux, a show
Outside my window,
What a view.
Then the tears flow
As I look back on
My dancing years.
So long ago,
An arthritic grandma
With greying hair.
The night sky was lit
By a million stars, twinkling.
The moon was full,
Glowing with amazing brightness
Which shone incessantly.
Who cares if the moon is
Not really made of cheese
or the man in the moon is an illusion?
Choices make us
Who we are
Looking glass past
Reflections seem far
Resistance pulls tight
When starting anew
Decisions bring growth
Years turn to few
Sunsets of hope
Offer strength from Above...
A compass of wisdom
That navigates love
Oceans of plastic
Floating bobbing blobs and bits
Hypnotic winds off summer waves,
Cool the tar paved roads.
Unforgiving sun enslaves our day,
Until the moon escapes.
Beautiful leaves from autumn trees,
Brings one thing left in mind.
When picking out a color scheme,
God was more than kind.
Darkness hath a way with snow,
Spritzing it with light.
Crunching down our feet touch ground,
Amidst the silent night.
Raindrops fall a hopeful song,
Shedding new from old.
Sacred light illuminates,
God sprinkles rays of gold.
I have no voice.
I speak in quiet whispers,
I have been traumatized.
My cry is unheard.
Spring enters, with daffodils heralding
Easter lilies, proud and strong.
Summer comes with warmth and peaches,
Lazy days of swimming and straw hats,
And country streams that flow along.
Many years ago, I rescued a little white dog and he turned out to be the best friend I ever had. He lived for 17 years; his only bad habit was toilet paper. When I would come home from work, I would find that the toilet paper had moved all around my apartment, pulled by this half-pint little dog, and I would have to clean it up!
I have a little dog who loves paper by the roll!
And when he starts to play, they go down the toilet bowl.
His bark really is far worse than his bite,
but if you give him trouble, he's ready for a fight!
The next BAYarts Storytellers Series hosts Cleveland poet Susan Grimm. The session, which will take place on Saturday, June 3, at 10:30 a.m., will incorporate a reading of her own poetry along with time for questions. This is free event will take place in the Fuller House on the BAYarts campus, 28795 Lake Road.
Susan Grimm is the author of "Almost Home," "Lake Erie Blue" and "Roughed Up by the Sun’s Mothering Tongue." Her work has appeared in Blackbird, The Journal, The Cortland Review, Seneca Review and Tar River Poetry.
We walk the world, alone
Afraid, wanting someone
Or something to fill
But the emptiness persists.
We grab, we cling in
An attempt to
As I push against the brick and mortar,
Nothing moves. Its thickness
Was created to withstand any
Man’s attempt to enter.
My fists are battered and bruised
From the constant beating.
I claw, maul, nothing moves.
The fortress before me
Will never weaken.
Two poems in anticipation of her first concert, the Paul McCartney show this August at The Q.
Sir James Paul McCartney’s Musical Life of Fame
There is a famous Beatle and, no, I don’t mean the bug,
His name is Paul McCartney, and I’d love to give him a hug.
His voice is soft and loud all at once, and it matches his electric guitar,
His music is so fabulous, which makes him a famous rockstar!
The Beatles are my favorite band,
And I still think they were the most talented in the land.
Gliding though the air,
Tree to tree so gracefully,
The sugar glider.
Oh how beautiful.
The blue jay soars though the sky.
Then returns home again.
Lemonade, oh, lemonade!
Oh, how I love lemonade!
If when it rained, it rained lemonade
I'd go out with a jar for jam;
And when it stormed,
I'd bring out the old sauce pan.
If a pond was filled with lemonade,
I'd bring a pail four feet tall;
And if the salty ocean were lemonade,
I wouldn't bring anything at all!
When I was a child
I drank cool lemonade on a very hot day
Saw children laughing hard at play
Loved cats and dogs – birds and bees
Jack-o-lanterns and burning leaves
Smelled the scent of new spring flowers
And fresh air after April showers
Liked snow on my lashes, wind in my hair
Fluffy clouds high up in the air
Now the sounds are muted
The eyes clouded over
The sense of smell diminished by age
And acid reflux rules the day
Yet childhood memories will never fade away
The lily is a very pretty, white flower. Its petals emit a gentle fragrance. The strong, white petals are like a mother’s arms holding a sleeping child. A mother’s love is strong and forever. When you get elderly, the lily may be the last flower you smell. The sweet odor will follow you into eternity.
The Irish are glad because a flower is bright yellow on top of a green stem. The yellow flower is like the sun shining and the strong green stem is like the powerful resolve of the Irish spirit. It may bend, but never break, no matter what happens.
A beautiful broach with a teardrop attached at the bottom,
But it's not a teardrop.
It’s a love drop coming right from my heart,
Sweet, gentle, and loving.
As smooth as your sweet touch,
Showing your warmth of spirit, my dear.
Stars, shining messengers of
Light, harbingers of safety
This cold, cold, night.
Allowing the Magi
So long ago a
Leading their way
To a humble stable
And a child so divine.
(a true story)
Toby was our black miniature poodle,
Tabby was our cat.
From day one animosity was ripe,
Though it never spilled over into a fight.
Tabby was our only pet for quite awhile;
Toby was given to us, fully grown, by a friend.
Both our pets really made us smile,
But neither one an inch would bend.
It's summer! Long, lazy days
Gathering with family, friends and
Neighbors after the long winter and
Chilly winds of spring.
Grilling burgers, the flavor of
Barbeque lingers, hot and spicy
With salads and fixings
And oh that watermelon.
Swimming, pool parties, cruising
The lake in the new boat.
Savoring spectacular sunsets,
Chasing fireflies, watching the stars
Shining in the night sky.
Fireworks, Bay Days, crowds,
Children, laughter, togetherness.
Dancing in the park
After dark, young and old
Together. Making memories.
Spring lives inside my snow globe
With its delicate blossoms, a
Tiny stream painted blue and
Little animals sitting quietly in
The artificial grass.
I go to my shelf
Wanting the feeling
Of spring as the storm
Outside rages, and hail pellets
Pummel my windows.
It was just barely over a year ago,
When my true love came to me,
And said, "This relationship stinks, you know,
So I demand that you set me free."
The revelation sent me to depths quite low,
My tearful reply: "I see."
Not willing to give up so quickly was I,
Stubbornness – a big part of me.
Though adamant on her part in saying, "Good-bye,"
I would somehow get her to see.
Then convince her to give us just one more try,
And she would then be mine, hopefully.