The Swan's Song
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I.
The plain was grassy, wild and bare,
Wide, wild, and open to the air,
Which had built up everywhere
An under-roof of doleful gray.
With an inner voice the river ran,
Adown it floated a dying swan,
And loudly did lament.
It was the middle of the day.
Ever the weary wind went on,
And took the reed-tops as it went.

II.
Some blue peaks in the distance rose,
And white against the cold-white sky,
Shone out their crowning snows.
One willow over the river wept,
And shook the wave as the wind did sigh;
Above in the wind was the swallow,
Chasing itself at its own wild will,
And far thro' the marish green and still
The tangled water-courses slept,
Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

III.
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear;
And floating about the under-sky,
Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole
Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,
Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold;
As when a mighty people rejoice
With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold,
And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd
Thro' the open gates of the city afar,
To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.
And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
And the willow-branches hoar and dank,
And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,
And the silvery marish-flowers that throng
The desolate creeks and pools among,
Were flooded over with eddying song.

"Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings." -Victor Hugo

Politics

Spring Semester is finally here. And, although I only wish to take Art History and French courses, I must get through the necessary courses such as College Algebra and American Government in order to actually receive my degree. I have taken most all of these core requirements years ago. However, due to the fact that it was three decades ago, and the college I attended is “questionable” in their academic standards, I’m forced to take them again.

So, today was the first day of my Political Science class. As usual, I am the token “old lady” or as I refer to myself “Shirley” from the show Community. I read the syllabus and am excited that a big part of our grade is an essay on a political policy of our choosing. I think of the possibilities..all of my bleeding-heart liberal ideals that I cling to. Then, as the professor introduces himself to the class, there is a big hitch in my “giddy-up.” He is very upfront about how conservative his political views are. That’s okay….everyone is entitled to their own views. The thing that bothers me is – I know he is not going to like me. I have no real basis for this statement other than a very strong intuition based on a lifetime of experience of not being liked by this demographic. So, I decide a very low profile is a good idea if I want to get an “A”.

Later, a staff member stops in the class to ask if anyone would be interested in being a “note taker” for a disabled student for the semester. Having decided on my new low profile, I resisted and waited for someone else to volunteer. No one did, and so I raised my hand. I met the young man that I am to scribe for, and it gives me great satisfaction to be able to help……and, I need to be needed.

So, I’m thinking the whole low profile idea was just silliness on my part. We are who we are. If people don’t like us just because of our views, then they are missing out. And, perhaps I should give this professor a chance. Perhaps it is me that is the closed minded one.

When I Think of You

When I think of you
I think of your beauty and effervescent smile.

When I dream of you
I dream of a time that stands still for a while.

When I speak of you
I speak of the laughter that lit up your face

When I pray for you
I pray that you somehow can feel my embrace

I will think of you……speak of you…dream of you…pray for you…

with love always

Blooming in the Dark

I received some tulip bulbs a couple of years ago as a gift, and because there were so many, I didn't get around to planting them all. After my move, I kept them intending to plant them as soon I as I was permanently situated myself. A while back, as I was looking for something packed away in my basement storage, I saw a bloom. It was stemming from an old bulb that had been tossed aside in the corner of the dark room.

I wondered how it was able to bloom without the soil, light, and moisture that it required. Then I thought of the familiar quote "bloom where you are planted."

There may be times that we are in the dark or forgotten, and yet we continue to grow and bloom with the hope that one day someone might crack open our door and see the most glorious flower.

Resilience

"Resilience is accepting your new reality, even if it's less good than the one you had before," ..... "You can fight it, you can do nothing but scream about what you've lost, or you can accept that and try to put together something that's good."

- Elizabeth Edwards

The Poem As A Reservoir for Grief by Tess Gallagher

“It is important that we be strengthened by the wisdom of our grievings. The scientists may tinker, the politicians may instruct us in the various ploys of unconsciousness, the physicians may delay death awhile with yet another cure, but, until each individual maintains a responsible relationship to his or her own losses and changes, there will be no such thing as a hopeful future. For, as in the Taoist description of the wheel in terms of the strong, empty spaces between the spokes, one’s future depends not only on the visible spokes of the present, but also on those invisible elements from the past, those things we are missing, are grieving for, have forgotten and left behind, so that they may be recovered.”