The Fire of Youth

The fire of youth
that still believes
it can do more than cause a ripple
in the giant pond that is the world
should be kindled, cherished, guarded, fed.

Adults chuckle knowingly
from both sides of their mouths
raise their eyebrows,
thinking, "pipe dreams",
while trying not to burst small bubbles,
or perhaps act more purposefully
(always well-intentioned)
to rain on young parades.

"Time to grow up and put away childish things...
Things are the way things are because they've always been so
and who are you to think that you alone could make a difference
better to accept the facts than to risk ridicule or pain".

Recall the dreams we once held dear
before the slings and arrows,
before the jibes and laughter
turned us cynical and "wise"

Ever looking backward, we long to recapture
the hope-filled heart, the starry eyes,
embarking on new journeys
embracing change, welcoming pain,
knowing the dream was worth the price.

When did courage, nerve, vivacity
shrink to become good manners,
hope fade into the background,
and we revert to being
seen but never heard?

Recall chasing after rainbows,
turning down blind alleys,
running full speed in the dark
unafraid of our mistakes.
Was it carelessness or faith more pure?

How many, having put away
the dreams that once were cherished,
transfer all their hopes
onto the shoulders of the young--
so that pressure dressed as "guidance"
puts a damper on their flame?

The fearlessness of youth
to challenge authority
and dare nonconformity
should be praised and imitated.
For once the fire's extinguished,
it's so hard to reignite;
and without dreams, as yet unbruised,
all else lies in ruin around us.

If Not For Change

If not for change
the summer sun might burn holes in the sky
If not for change
the autumn leaves would ne'er delight the eye

If not for change
the infant child would never run nor speak
If not for change
the tyrant might always exploit the meek

What makes us curse the way things are
yet face with fear and dread
the twists and turns and detours
in the road ahead?

With arms braced hard and eyes shut tight
we anticipate the crash
then look around expecting
to see only smoke and ash

Slowly, slow, we grow into
the new way things are arranged
Never could a dream come true
were it not for change.

A Virtual Hug

If you were my neighbor,
I'd bake you some muffins,
some rhubarb pie, and home-made bread
If you were my brother, I'd call you up,
we'd talk for hours,
or I'd listen instead

If you were my daughter,
we'd go to the movies,
or maybe we'd go to the Panda Buffet
If you were my father,
I would come visit, get out the cards,
until morning we'd play

If you were my girlfriend,
I'd ask you over, we'd laugh and talk
over mugs of hot tea
But you are a "mouse-pal"...
linked only by email,
so far away, yet so dear to me


The first one I think of
when something exciting
has happened and begs to be shared
The one that has been there
through all of my troubles,
the one that I know will not care

if I'm still in my jammies,
on my first cup of coffee,
my hair isn't combed or my house isn't clean
The one that I think of
and pray for and cheer for....
A dear friend that I've never seen


So when you have troubles
and life disappoints you,
how can I be there for you?
Send you an email
that comes out all wrong,
keep checking my inbox for "new"

Emoticons can't take the place
of a smile,
Tweets are as curt as a shrug
So I'll use my blog
to say all I want,
and send you a Virtual Hug.

Thinking of you, my dear friend.

Crochet Sister

The next few posts will be an attempt to salvage items from my website, which with the closing of Geocities, will disappear next month.

Today's post is a poem written several years ago about the feeling of "sisterhood" (brothers welcome) among crocheters--around the world and throughout time.

"Crochet Sister"

She holds her hook just like me,

yarn passing through her hands.

She is very close to me

though perhaps in a distant land.

Yarn over, insert hook,

is she using blue or red?

Is her pattern in a book,

or a memory in her head?

Does she spin her own wool

from sheep she grazes on the hills?

Does she create for pleasure,

or crochet to pay the bills?

I don't know, we've never met,

perhaps we will some day;

and I'm sure I'll recognize her..

my "sister in crochet".

Another Year...

Another year has come and gone
and still here I am sitting
everything else seems to change,
but not my books and knitting

Perennial friends they are to me--
constant companions...waiting
for all that must be done to be done
but no more hesitating

This year I shall live for joy--
let the dust bunnies have their way
because at the end of this new year
I don't think I will say

"I wish I'd done more dishes
I wish I'd made more beds
I wish I'd left my knitting
and cleaned the house instead"

I don't think I will regret
the hours in books I spent
I don't think for love of laundry
I'll sing a last lament

But I know I'll wish each silent hour
spent in work and worry
had been filled with yarn and music
and hadn't gone in such a hurry

Joy is Like a Rainbow

Joy is like a rainbow.......
just as fleeting, no less glorious
a moment never captured
only felt and perhaps remembered
but never with the same intensity

Joy is like a rainbow
a bright spot in a downpour
requiring only my attention
and presence in that moment

Joy is like a rainbow
although I know the conditions that must be in place
I still have to look for it
and each time I am surprised

Joy is like a rainbow
turning me magically, instantaneously,
from a cynical, world-weary traveler
into an awestruck child
who can still get misty-eyed

Joy is like a rainbow
it can't be bought or sold
it is not reserved for those with money for the ticket
nor denied to the least among us

How many rainbows have formed and faded
just outside my window
while inside, all I noticed was the rain---
unseen, casting a magical glow of color, giving me a glimpse of heaven
while I rushed, cursing, with the bucket to put under the leak in my roof?

The world with all its troubles may seem like an endless rainy day--
where selfless love and human kindness are as rare as rainbows--
but simple pleasures and good friends still make it all worthwhile.

I cannot solve the troubles of this great big lonely world,
but I can make my own small corner a place where those fleeting,
joy-filled moments will not pass unnoticed.

You are invited, warmly welcomed, to share some of the things that revive the child in me-the curiosity, the wonder, the fits of giggles....you remember-when Mom called out from her bedroom, You girls, quiet down now, and get to sleep-- and that only caused yet another round of badly suppressed laughter. No matter the headlines-with all their gloom and doom-no matter what the experts and pundits and naysayers and critics think or foretell, there are still moments--each and every day--of pure, absolute, and unexpected joy.