Haiku/Poetry | Telling the Truth

July 11, 2018

friendly inhumanity

not large but small things
echo in hollow chambers
the sound of life denied
drips from human souls
into ground saturated
with the life-blood of refugees
halted at the border
of the promised land
of plenty caught in webs
of grief and disbelief
the latest casualties
of friendly inhumanity

Yes, I’m still at it. Why? Because our national inability to govern wisely is breaking down in front of our eyes. Most of us have to get up and go to work. I don’t.

This is my work: to keep in front of my eyes the tragedy of national leaders who seem to have lost the will to govern wisely and solely on behalf of the most needy among us. From the ground up, not from the heights of make-believe trickle down theory.

When I was working at the seminary, I experienced up close the chaos one ill-placed leader could wreak within a community. The scramble was on, not just among staff who desperately needed their jobs, but within the hearts of every member of the organization.

What do we do now? Do we shut up and pretend we’re doing business as usual? To what extent do we voice our concerns? And how?

Things that were straightforward, or at least manageable, became fraught with nuances and consequences to be avoided. Telling the truth was dangerous, even when supported by clear data and research.

And yet we stayed on. Not because we were cowards, but because we believed in the greater good of our students and of each other as trusted colleagues. We did what we could, and watched the rest being taken over by the hands of others. Not a fun way to work.

It wasn’t always that way, for which I’m grateful. Nonetheless, the last years of my tenure were fraught with conflict, uncertainty, promises that turned into something else, scoldings from time to time, and the breakdown of good will among people of good will. In the end, I chose to leave what had become punishing for my body and spirit.

Why this strange link between refugees and my work at the seminary? Because in each case a leader (dean or president) chooses to govern by creating chaos. The chaos at the seminary was somewhat controlled by those who governed differently. In the end, however, even that couldn’t save us from being exploited and taken over as an institution.

Mr. Trump governs by creating chaos within the White House and within our nation. This won’t save us from ourselves or others. Sadly, there isn’t much business ‘as usual’ anymore. Instead, we’re invited to witness and experience chaos every day.

My hope and my prayer is that I’ll be a grounded, hope-filled, prayerful neighbor, doing what I can to offer hospitality to strangers. Especially those unable to speak freely for themselves.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 11 July 2018

4 Comments

July 10, 2018

framed by a doorway

framed by a doorway
reflecting evening light
the old woman smiles

caught between two worlds
long days shorten by seconds
stealing into night

distant mourning doves
serenade the close of day
twinkling stars applaud

What a strange time of life this is turning out to be. I’m torn in different directions. Not by choice, but simply because I’m here and not there, this age not that age. Though I know this is the last chapter, my get up and go instincts still want to go as though I were 40 years younger.

The most difficult word in the 3 stanzas above was ‘smile.’ My first take said the old woman ‘stands.’ Then I tried ‘smiles.’ And then I tried ‘sighs.’ Partly because I do a lot of that these days. Not sighs of sadness so much as resignation. Not quite like giving up, but an acknowledgment of limitations I would like to dismiss, erase, be done with.

This morning, however, I went back to ‘smiles.’ Why? Because I love the photo above and I love smiles. Most of all, because the best part of being an ‘old woman’ is the freedom to please no one but myself.

The myself of the poem loves standing there watching the sunset, thinking about gifts I’ve received in this life, smiling and enjoying the last bits of each day, doing things that bring me joy, and getting through the other stuff without a long list of additional duties waiting for me at work.

Hoping you’re giving and getting plenty of smiles today!
Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 July 2018
Photo found at cityofsacramento.org, Sacramento, California

10 Comments

July 9, 2018

riding the north wind

riding the north wind
a train whistle blows my way
chasing after clouds

I heard the train whistle Friday evening when D and I were out for a late evening walk. A welcome sound, since it meant we were in for priceless cool Canadian air (no tariffs involved) over the weekend. We’re just on the tail-end now, headed back toward hot and humid.

This morning I’m sorting things on my desk, littered with yesterday’s brilliant ideas and lists of things I mustn’t forget to do. I’m also anticipating this coming Friday’s open mic night at our church. I signed on to read several more of my poems. A happy prospect.

Most of all though, I’m watching myself and our world with an eye toward heaven and an eye on the ground. This morning I read Psalm 10, a cry from the heart for justice to prevail, with the wicked caught in the very traps they made and set.

I couldn’t help thinking about George MacDonald’s At the Back of the North Wind. God sends the North Wind here and there to stir things up. Not with calm, cool or pleasant outcomes for everyone, yet always for the good of this world God still loves more than we’ll ever understand.

Below are the last two verses of Psalm 10, from Today’s English Version

You will listen, O Lord, to the
prayers of the lowly;
You will give them courage.
You will hear the cries of the
oppressed and the orphans;
You will judge in their favor,
so that mortal human beings
may cause terror
no more.

This isn’t about a magic wand. It’s about us doing with our heart, hands, ears, eyes and feet the kinds of things for which we were created. And in whatever ways we’re able. A faithful, refreshing north wind of interest and engagement is just as feasible as a self-centered north wind of greed and hatred.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 July 2018
Image of the North Wind carrying Diamond found at tor.com

July 6, 2018

Small things fall to the ground

Small things
Fall to the ground
Combs and toy cars
Toothpaste and tuna
Rosaries and animal crackers
The sound of life denied
Drops into ground
Reverberating
With dashed hopes of migrants
Halted at the border
Of the promised land
Caught in webs of fear
And red tape
Studiously practiced
Perfected and delivered
By bureaucratic officials
Carrying in their pockets
Items deemed unnecessary
For human life from
The south side
Of the border

It might be easier if this were an isolated event or period of in our history. However….

In one way or another, the USA has practiced the fine art of dehumanizing perceived threats from the day the fathers and mothers of this nation set foot on its soil. The trail of destruction runs wide and deep like a river of blood through the Grand Canyon of our collective history.

Like an evil tide, forces of greed, pride and fear have overtaken and eroded the beaches of our shared life, fashioning mansions of sand and wreaking environmental havoc along our eastern and western coasts, and in our interior.

So now we’ve turned our attention to the southern border. As though sealing this up will remedy what we helped break into isolated bits and pieces now destined to remain fixed in concrete for the foreseeable future.

Thankfully, unnumbered children, women and men of good will, including courageous politicians, have stepped up to help ease the wounds. Not just those we perpetrate on migrants, but on each other. These human angels have been here from the beginning. They deserve our thanks and our support, especially now.

Here’s a link to Charity Navigator with lists of trust-worthy groups that help immigrants and refugees. Take a look. They’ve done their homework.

Praying you have a life-renewing weekend and Sabbath rest.
Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 6 July 2018
Photo found at censored.today

4 Comments

July 3, 2018

out for an early morning walk

heavy air
weighs down lungs and feet
saps energy

black crows
squawk and squabble
over choice insects

hidden bird
pours cascading song
from nearby tree

purple thistle-down
floats through breathless humid air
rests on dew-laced grass

buzzing insects
hover over squashed remains
of sidewalk road kill

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 July 2018
Photo found at fiveprime.com

4 Comments

June 26, 2018

gibbous moon rises

gibbous moon rises
veiled in pink sunset clouds
set against blue sky

It matters yet doesn’t ultimately matter what was in the news, what I wore when I went for an evening walk, the country and circumstances of my birth, the reason I voted the way I did, or whether anyone cares about any of this.

As the sun sets, the moon rises. It invites me to join it in a large place defined not by what I bring but by who I am. Part of God’s creation, one of God’s beloved daughters and sons. Capable of reflecting and receiving light in what sometimes seems impenetrable darkness.

Standing at my window I pray and trust that the large Presence I cannot see with my eyes will become an even larger Presence in my heart and in my voice. And that I will recognize the same Presence in my brothers and my sisters. No matter the country or circumstances of our birth, the reasons we voted the way we did, or who cares or doesn’t care about any of this.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 June 2018
Photo of lunar eclipse taken by Alan Dyer, found at Amazing Sky Photography
Inspiration for haiku found outside my window, looking at the evening sky

6 Comments

June 25, 2018

seeping through pores

Seeping through pores
The virus takes root
Invisible at first
A sense of not being
At home or abroad
In this sea of strangers
Wandering in and out
Filled with good will
They come and go
Dry and desolate
A thought takes root
Without reason
The only welcome visitor
Whose words unheard
Make perfect sense
In this dying hope for miracles
That never arrive on time

In recognition of our most recent national upsurge in suicides attempted and/or completed, and in honor of family members and friends who ended their lives on this earth, or made the attempt and failed.

Always a thousand unanswered questions. Always a sense of ‘what could I or we have done differently?’ Always a desire to go to sleep and hope for something better when I wake up.

Multiple resources are available online. Hotlines and chat rooms are open night and day. Sitting there, waiting to be used. Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren’t.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 June 2018

2 Comments

June 22, 2018

retiring to the attic

Heaviness of
Disciplined living
Wears me down

An ounce of this
Two drops of that
And maybe –
If you’re a good girl –
A slice of life

Need a break?
There isn’t one
Except this –
To retire to the attic
Sit in peace and quiet
And sleep your life
Away

I have to laugh when I read these words. I scribbled them down in desperation earlier this week. I was in the kitchen, exhausted, slicing and cutting up various veggies for yet another notoriously cruciferous Vitamix smoothie.

Our renovated attic has become my favorite place to go when I’m feeling down, or need a bit of peace and quiet. It’s uncluttered, undemanding, serene and accessible. My reading/sleeping chair and rigged-up leg and foot cushion stand ever-ready. Along with a compelling book and a radio for music, not for talk.

When I read the first two parts of the poem, I was horrified. These are my childhood feelings! Yet by the time I got to the end of the third part, I had retired to the attic. At least in mind and heart!

I’ve always dreamed of having a room of my own, not just an office where I do my ‘homework.’ I never dreamed it would be so large, inviting and quiet, with multiple views front, back and to the sky above. Yes, Smudge likes to share it with me. Probably for similar reasons, plus going to sleep on my lap.

Isaiah’s passage about crooked places becoming straight comes to mind. For decades our attic has been like those crooked wilderness places where you have to watch where you step. Over time it became a repository of junk and not-quite-junk, along with paper files, family treasures and row upon row of books. Small and large disasters waiting to happen.

The same Isaiah passage talks about streams flowing in the desert, and the wilderness blossoming like a rose. Somehow, the attic feels like a rose beginning to open. With more than enough room to multiply and fill space with good things, not bad.

Happy Friday!
Elouise♥

6 Comments

June 14, 2018

morning alarm and my father’s shame

chasing me from bed
sun rays dance across my face
catbirds clear their throats

Today is Thursday. Market day. And there I was this morning, sound asleep. What a wonderful feeling. My sleep patterns have inched in the right direction for the last several months, and last night was the best yet.

The Market will wait. It’s almost time for lunch, and I’m just poking along without shame, enjoying the sun (not yet too hot) and the morning light. And thinking about my father and me. And shame. Partly because of recent posts about how women and girls are often shamed, and partly because Sunday is Father’s Day here in the USA.

I woke up thinking about my father’s shame. It was there long before I arrived. Shame about his father mercilessly shaming him. Shame about his face and crooked teeth that weren’t as handsome as he thought he might have been. Shame about not having at least one son. Shame about his social awkwardness and so much more.

From the moment I was born, my father’s shame was in the air. I believe it began with his father passing his own shame on to my father. I remember suggesting this to him when I was older. He thought my idea was nonsense. Yet I can’t ignore the reality that children are the recipients of unfinished business between their parents and grandparents. My father’s unfinished business was Shame.

From my childhood on, I believe my father projected a heavy dose of his shame on me. Sadly, I could never be the submissive little girl he believed I should be. In addition, my mother was never able (to her shame?) to present to him the son he desperately wanted. Score: 4 daughters, 0 sons. He joked about it sometimes. Yet living with him was no joke.

If there’s one thing I would wish for Dad on Father’s Day, it’s that he would look into a mirror, smile at himself without seeing all his defects, and see instead a man loved and sought by his Creator.