Silent Sunday

EMPTY DARKNESS

I leave the land

of empty darkness

reach for the lamp

that reveals

the day ahead

where I do the things

that make me

me

where even on the cloudiest day

it is the daylight

that gives life meaning

until night

when I reach for the lamp
to enter again

the land of empty darkness

where dreams are no longer allowed.

John A. Bayerl, April 25, 2012

Sometimes, not always, I feel like this poem.  It describes what grief can feel like at times.  I feel fortunate that I am able to write about it and "share it with the world."  More and more,I find myself entering fully into life with the conviction that the more I help and love others the stronger I will become.  I suppose it's the old truism that the more we give the more we get, but it feels much more real than those trite words.  It's good to be in this transition stage and exciting to see what may be next.

Dear, you always brought life to my life; there was never any empty darkness.

EASY PICKINGS

I watch a squirrel

build a nest

in the four-pronged oak

outside my window.

Last night’s storm

left branches and limbs

scattered everywhere—

easy pickings

for a squirrel

that rode out the storm

in an oaken crotch

and thought about baby

squirrels yet to come

knew to get busy

building a nest

before the next storm arrived.

I am sad for a moment

knowing how she enjoyed

simple things like that

a squirrel building a nest—

then the sadness is eased

as I reach for her hand

safe in our nest

we enjoy being here

watching a squirrel

prepare for the future.

John A. Bayerl, April 19, 2012

How could something as simple as a squirrel building a nest in a tree outside my window evoke such deep and gratifying memories of the one I loved so dearly?  The reminders will always be there; today it was discovering batteries for Gwen's insulin pump in a drawer in the freezer.  Like the squirrel's nest, they were a barrier against disaster in the future.  Now, what are they? A gentle reminder of a life that was lived fully and appreciatively.  A reminders too that, like the squirrel, I must continue to prepare for the future.  

This was another of those times, Dear, when it was good to feel your presence as I was reminded of the pleasure you took in the simplest things in nature--including me.

APRIL SNOW

I had heard the words

spoken before

said them myself

with, I thought, conviction

deep emotion.

heard them repeated, whispered

through a kiss

believed the words

to be true

as my heart filled

with something new

pure and white

warm, but like snow

silently falling, giving

witness, making new

two young hearts

filled with only desire.

April came

perhaps there was too much

warmth, the snow melted

into the summer

when roses, not love, grew lush,

and in the fall

all was brown and shriveled

my heart was once again

empty

through the winter that came

filled with deep, dirty snow.

Gradually,

ever so cautiously

the words formed again

in two hearts

while two eyes looked

deeply

into the window

of another soul

and the words

I love you

were spoken aloud

once more

but different

giddy with delight

when all the April snow

had melted.

John A. Bayerl, March 3, 2012

Today, April 12, 2012, is a special day in two ways.  Today marks 17 months since I lost my perfect partner.  In a way that seems like impossibly long ago, while in another way it seems like just a breath away.  It's still the hardest thing I do each morning, awakening to the reality that Gwen is no longer with me in bed.

On a much, much happier note, it was 50 years ago today that, while on spring break, I visited Gwen at her home in Gaastra.  We went out parking, which is what we did in those days, shared a kiss, looked into each others' eyes and said, simultaneously, "I love you."   Then Gwen, in the way that only she could, said:  "Maybe we should think about getting married."  The maybe wasn't about our love for each other; we knew that we were meant for each other.    The maybe was about knowing we would have to make some major decisions concerning both Gwen's and my future career and education plans.  The maybe was about recognizing that there were obstacles in our way, but it was never about our ability, as partners, to meet and surmount those challenges.  Now, 50 years later, as I ponder my future without Gwen, I am grateful  that Gwen and I were graced with the gift of a lasting love.

A friend recently introduced me to the idea of "It."   Many times since Gwen's death others have commented to me about how lucky Gwen and I were that we were able to find "It" together.  Yes, there is the "luck" of having that flirty young girl plop herself on my lap in the back seat of my friend's car.  Beyond that, our "It," as is the case with all lasting marriages, was the result of things like dedication, hard work, respect, good sex,  family adventures, and, over all, seeing each challenge that arose as an opportunity to, if I may paraphrase St. Francis of Assisi, "say we love each other always, and, when necessary, use words." 

In contrast, 51 years ago I was on the verge of ending a love affair with a girl named Betty Jo.  We were sure that we loved each other dearly, yet, just couldn't make it work.  In a strange way I find great comfort in knowing that, although it may at the time appear to be the end of the world when something beautiful ends, in fact it can signal the beginning of something even more beautiful.  That's what the poem is about.  It's also about believing that life doesn't end; it changes.  

I haven't written in a while, Dear. I thought long and hard about what I've said here and my commitment to always have what I write honor you.   You are never forgotten, always held deep in my heart.

All dressed up.

POETRY AND ME

This is what I told my friend

about poetry and me

it’s kind of shorthand

for who I am today

a synopsis

of all I’ve ever been

and

a glimpse

of who I am yet to be.

John A. Bayerl, April 2, 2012

Recently I had an exchange with a friend about how down in the dumps she has been feeling.  When I suggested that perhaps it might be helpful for her to write a poem, she asked why, and this is the response I gave her.  Two days later I received a gorgeous poem from her. And, she is feeling much better.  There is a power in poetry that allows me to "cleanse" my heart and soul.  At least that's how it works for me, and it also seemed to work in this instance.

That being said, I've been in kind of a trough lately, not much coming from my heart, much less my soul.  It's part of being in this transition period I find myself experiencing.  Or, maybe it's just the spring of the year.  In spite of all our modern miracles and explanations, there is till something to be said for spring fever.  Wonder if I have any sulphur and molasses?

I have been a bit adventurous and ventured out on a couple of "dates" with someone I met here in Ann  Arbor.  Also a widow, she has become a friend and made some good suggestions about how I might wish to go about reconfiguring my life.  God, that sounds geeky--reconfigure my life, sounds like an art project.  Maybe it is.

Anne will be home  this weekend, Dear, and we are planning a brunch with friends and relatives Sunday morning.  We'll leave a place at the table for you, and offer an orange juice toast.

Silent Sunday