Poem: of Broken Barns

Of Broken Barns

You enter the clearing and see the small barn,
it's slate roof sagging,
it's walls twisted,
each window gazing in different directions,
a building so twisted,

so worn with age
and battered by the cold New England winds,
so broken by time's cruelty,
that it has no right to stand, and yet

it does, shelter still
from rain and snow,
it's black potbelly stove holds fire
and heat, like love,

always fueled from within,
a warmth belied
by the broken exterior
that is all you see,

unless you look past peeled paint,
beyond the half rotted clapboard,
past all appearances,
and in.

==============

This wonderful little barn, all warped and sagging, is one of my favorite buildings in Dorset, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Love

Love

It smolders.
It flames.
It consumes.
It warms.
It burns.
It begins slowly
or with a lightening flash
unexpected and violent.
It can be fed to a roaring frenzy
white hot and uncontrollable,
or starved slowly of oxygen and fuel
until the last spark pops and dies.
It can be rekindled.
It can be built deliberately.
It can be a force of nature.
It draws us with it's heat,
and the promise of light
in a world that seems
(only seems)
so dark.

============

The picture was taken in Botetourt County, Va. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Showing off

From time to time I like to show off some of the cool stuff I get to do in my "other" (non poet/photographer) life. What I do for a living is run an operation that designs and builds TV facilities. I get to manage a great group of engineers, project managers, installers and admin people who work together to create these facilities. While it's often wild and wooley work that is half creative, half tedious details, I feel very thankful that I have been able to do this interesting (I am NEVER bored) work for 27 years.

The project above is one we just finished, the high definition control room for CNN's Washington studios. I am particularly proud of this one because of the incredible push my folks did, often working overnight and weekends to keep CNN running while they built this one.

As always, you can click on this for a larger view.

Tom

Thoughts: The Day Before Thanksgiving.

I read this on one of my favorite sites, Sacred Space, this morning.....

One test of a family's health: can they eat together? Family meals are at risk. The table can be a place where the preparation of food reflects mother's or father's care, and where parents and children can sit, enjoy, argue, joke, listen, have their voice heard, attack and be attacked, but not walk out. Young couples prize a chance to enjoy a meal with their children. As work or other pressures increase, fast food and television can take over, and you find families who never eat together. In some parts of the world the children grab something from the fridge and ‘graze', a can in one hand, fast food in the other, their eyes fixed on a TV screen. It is no accident that at the centre of the Christian family Jesus placed a meal, the Eucharist. It is round a common table that a family really lives together. Try to find a time, at least once a week, for slow food, not fast.

Sacred Space is an Irish site, run by the Jesuits there, and so our American Thanksgiving holiday is probably not on their mind. But as I dropped notes to friends this week, and checked in on others via Facebook, the subject of the big meal keeps coming up.

There is something about a meal WITH someone. I travel a fair amount, and when I am alone, I tend to eat atrociously, no real time, or attention is paid to the food. Pizza and Chinese food dominates my diet. I eat at my desk a lot, or in my hotel room, working. it's fuel.

But I love to eat with people. When I am with people, even a simple sandwich becomes a feast. I tend to eat much better with people than alone, but it's not about the food. It's about the company and the time spent with each other. It's about the conversation, learning and sharing.

So while I will feast on too much Turkey, dressing, country ham and pumpkin pie, and then settle down with my Mom (Mom is the football fan in my parent's house, not my father.), for whatever game is on in the afternoon; and while I will be thankful for the food. It will really be the company, family and friends, that make the day one to be grateful for.

I tend to take the day before thanksgiving to list my blessings. Why? Precisely because thanksgiving is too full of people and converstation to really set apart and think and pray gratitude. So on the drive to Va tomorrow, I will have plenty of time, and good thing - I have a great deal to be thankful for.

At 54, I have lived through a lot of ups and downs, as have most people my age. And that wave of life and emotion has reminded me that there are so many things to be thankful for ALL the time, even when things are not so good on the surface. But there are always many things. And in times like now, when all in all life is pretty decent, then there are an abundance of things to be thankful for. I am looking forward to my drive South, and the long prayer of Thanksgiving that is ahead of me.

Take care dear readers. I'll be back over the weekend.

Poem: In Morning Light

In Morning Light

Ah, but you do not understand
that I see you in the soft light
of late afternoon,
the light that softens each flaw
and leaves only the real truth,
the beauty that time or age or flaws
cannot diminish.

It is not a blindness,
I could do as so many others have done,
as you yourself have done
time and time again,
and shine the spotlight,
it's angry heat exposing every fissure
in your face and heart,

or make the choice,
as I have made,
the choice of what truth
is most real.
And so,
I see you.

=========

The picture was taken near Rupert, VT, in the morning light a few weeks ago. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: A Mourning Walk

A Mourning Walk

The geese head north,
cutting the air in perfect formation,
punctuating the greyness of a Sunday mourning
when you walk the graveyard praying,
for the peace of knowing
what is beyond,

praying thanks that even in this dark day,
you see color, the green of grass,
the sharp red relief of a barn over the hill,
late season flowers
that remind you of spring
huddling over the horizon,
unseen.

And you walk,
past the graveyard,
through farmland, full of promise,
the air thick with earthy fragrance,
past cows and sheep,
hot air rising from their breath,
over fences, to the warmth
of your house, that place of love
that awaits you.

=========

The picture was taken near Salem, NY, You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Rain

Rain

Rain has a way
of distorting
all we see,
darkening it,
twisting it,
making it sadder,
angrier,
than reality,
so wisdom
lies in waiting
for the rain to lift,
and choosing to see
sunshine,
even when it is not there,
remembering
and holding to the promise
that rain
never lasts.

============

The picture was taken in London, through the windshield of a boat on the Thames. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poetry: Dancing to Gregorian Chants

Dancing to Gregorian Chants

You pray
for the ones you love,
those dearest and distant,
whose laughter warms your soul,
whose touch warms your heart.

You pray
for those who have tried
and failed, tried
and grown
distant, tried
and try still.

You pray
thanks for the tiny gifts
God leaves around your world,
tidbits of beauty and kindness,
easily missed, yet
still a cocoon of love.

You pray
for wisdom, to know things
unknowable, to have faith in the future,
have faith in love,
faith in prayer itself.

You pray
for the peace you experience at sunset,
or in the first waking moments
when you lie beneath the flowered quilt
and listen to the singing of birds
outside your window.

You pray
a song with each small touch
of a hand against yours,
warmth beyond temperature,
a moment
of energy transferred
and created.

You pray
your sadness, of hurt,
of betrayal, of anger,
of wasted love and wasted years,
of scars that do not disfigure,
but pain you nonetheless.

You pray joy,
for a life truly lived,
for all it's flaws and mistakes,
that there is still life to live,
still hope to have,
still surprises and
laughter and candlelight

to light the way as you dance silently
to the eternal rhythm of Gregorian Chants,
songs of deepest devotion,
and prayer.

=============

The picture was taken at a Cathedral in Montreal, Canada. Unfortunately I didn't make note of the name, but you can still click on it for a larger version.

Poem: The Caterpillar on the Post

The Caterpillar on the Post

The caterpillar climbs
over the fencepost
and down the wood railing,
a slow stroll in the autumn sun,

a last walk before it finds shelter
and wraps itself
from the elements, builds
it's tiny house

hoping somehow
to wield off winter
with it's snow and wind,
to survive the blasts of bitter cold

that kills the flowers and leaves
that have been it's life
to this moment.
An so it will wait

in silence for a season.
What, you wonder,
does it think, there in the dark?
What does it hear, or fear, or hope?

Or does it live in a place of acceptance,
waiting, simply waiting, willing
to be, until
the change of seasons?

============

The picture was taken in my driveway, to send to my son in Virginia. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: From the Outside

From the Outside

From the outside,
the house is bright,
fall flowers still light
the neatly cut flower beds
below each window.

Inside it is dark,
a place of shadows,
sparse and fearful,
gothic, empty of color.

And you can never know
until the moment
you open the door
and walk in.

==============

The picture is from outside Munich, Germany, one of Mad King Ludwig's castles in the Bavarian Alps. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: The Blessed Light of Peace

The Blessed Light of Peace

Too often it is the storm we remember,
the wail of an angry wind,
rain ripping at skin
like a million shards of glass,
Lightning. Thunder. Fear.

To often, we forget the blessing of peace
that comes after,
the stillness, the relief,
the return of quiet and a red sky at night,
and in our exhaustion, this quiet blessing,

this time of restoration,
this gift of God,
passes
without our understanding
that this, this is the way of heaven.
This is what we were meant for.

So look upward after the storm.
Let this moment be your memory,
not the storm,
but the blessed light of peace.

================

For years now, I have been a participant in "Blog Blast for Peace", inspired by Mimi Lenox. It is an opportunity for bloggers worldwide to focus on the topic of peace in all it's manifestations. Over 1500 bloggers now write special Blog Blast entries on November 5th. They cover the gamut of thoughts, ideas, hopes and dreams. Mine tend inwards, as opposed to some of the "bigger" issues of worldwide peace.

Why inward? I believe that in the end, all peace, even the big picture worldwide peace kind of peace, starts with a quiet centeredness inside us. That centeredness is often difficult to find, because life is a swirl of "shoulds" and competing expectations, instead of focusing on acceptance and what is and the gifts that surround us all each day.

My experience, and it has not been a easy set of lessons to learn, is that focusing inward and upward (to God) brings far more peace than external circumstances. And so that is where I focus this year's Blog Blast for Peace.

My thanks to Mimi, for her idea, and her quiet persistence each year to make this day something special, something that each year, seems to resonate larger and larger through the blogosphere.

One last thing, the picture below, taken at the Lord Botetourt High School football field two weeks ago, was the inspiration for this poem. You can click on it for a larger view.


Tom

Thoughts: On Awards

I was just granted the Honest Scrap award by Fence Postings. I am not sure what to do with it. This is not a problem I have with her or the award, but it simply brings up an issue that bounces in my head from time to time when one of these hits.

On the one hand, I am generally very honored when I get one. It means something I have written touches someone enough that they think my words are noteworthy. What could be more of an honor than having my own little inspirations touch someone else. That's why people publish things (at least this person), in order to touch people in some way. When someone elaborates on why I in particular got the award, or shares a sensitivity in particular with my writing or with me, then I am particularly touched and honored by it.

But there is a part of me too, that has a hard time saying so. I was raised to work hard and try to do well and then, when someone notices, I get all "gee shucks" and bashful about it. Is it bragging to show the awards? Or is it in appreciation and gratitude? I go back and forth.

There was a time when I had a whole wall in my office full of framed awards. I had/have a bunch of them from all over. In time though, it felt like bragging. Anonymous people I didn't know decided I deserved a plaque or a title. I was honored, but still... Today, I just have my diplomas up on my office wall, because they symbolized something I worked for, for me, and achieved. Awards....

But on the other hand. I work at my writing. I want it to be good. I work at my photographs. I want them to be good. I write to get things out of me that I can't say well in ordinary life. And I publish them because I think there are others who have trouble saying the same things in ordinary life and hope perhaps my words will also touch people in their lives. (For the most part, after all, poets don't get rich and famous.)

So I go back and forth. Back and forth. And as you can see, I don't have any displayed at this point. But I am thinking I may change. Because someone cared enough to award them, connected enough with my words to award them, and showing the award might be a way to honor them and their feelings and thoughts.

So..... you can see I am a little conflicted on this. Any thoughts from my readers? I know some of you show awards, and some don't. I'd like to know your thoughts. And to Fence Postings... Thank you, I am honored and appreciate your kind, kind words.

Tom

PS, the picture is of the Mill Mountain Star in Roanoke, Virginia. My son and I were up there taking in the fall colors a couple of weeks ago. You can click on it for a larger view.

PPS - I'd urge you to go see Fence Postings listing of other inspirational blogs that she gave the award to. There is some good reading there!

Poem: The Survivability of Brokenness

The Survivability of Brokenness

The small barn lies to one side,
functional, yet wobblyjawed
as if one last wind,
one blast of cold November air

could end it's life,
and reduce the hard built walls
to a smattering of brokeness,
wood, nails and glass in a pile,

good only for burning,
flames licking high
like a funeral pyre,
and yet

year after year, the barn stands,
a monument
to the survivability of brokenness,
to the patience of buildings and souls

to wait for a savior
with the love and patience,
and more, the vision
to see beyond the broken glass

and sunken foundation,
and willing to apply their love
to work, to time, to love
this old barn back to something more

than it once was,
not just a building,
but a testimony
to the power of perseverance.

========================

This small barn lies on Route 30 going into Manchester, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Riverside Paean

Riverside Paean

The ropes lie loose at your feet,
no longer tied to anything,
releasing you
for the journey ahead,

no longer shackles,
but a part of history,
pain sharp and crippling, until
finally let go, and now

it flows like the ancient brown river
that drifts past you,
drawing you ever and ever
onward.

============

The picture was taken along the Champlain Locks in Washington County, NY. You can click on it for a larger view.

Tom

Poem: You Pray

You Pray

You pray each morning,
before the sunrise,
your eyes closed in silent supplication,

for this moment,
lost in time and space,
living in someplace Other, reaching

beyond your own place and power,
in belief that there is more
than you can see, feel and know.

You pray
for your children,
for their safety and strength,

for a wisdom you cannot give them,
that comes only with love and grace,
and the courage to believe.

You pray
for those who cross your path each day,
their needs varied,
sometimes fleeting,
sometimes painfully long.

You pray for those that have hurt you,
whose scars you now bear, aware
that no pain has a single direction,
and that healing takes more than time,
more than grace, more than you are.
and so you pray.

You pray for the one you love most,
whose tender heart aches
with fear and sadness.

And you pray for the strength
to serve, to grow wiser, calmer,
for peace and a heart that loves
more than it fears.

You pray.
Morning and night.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
Always.

================

The picture is of the sunrise a day or two ago on the road to Pawlet, VT. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom