ENDLESS PERFECT WAVE

It’s as though we ride the crest

of a perfect wave

knowing well

the dangers of other waves

that crash on shores

of death, destruction, disillusion and despair.

Our hearts speak a deeper truth

we float as one

on an infinite sea

where endless waves

carry us along

joyously

hopefully.

John A. Bayerl, June 24, 2012

How can I write about this new phase in my journey without dishonoring Gwen?  Yet, how can I not write?--holding true to my promise to attempt to show the world what a long, lasting, loving relationship evolves into, even after the death of one of the partners.  Having once been blessed with that kind of love, I now find myself again in the gentle grip of one who completes my life in ways I no longer thought possible. 

Days are filled with laughter, and teasing and flirting and fun. Laughing until there are tears in our eyes--at silly thing.  The other tears; the memory-filled healing ones, still come, but not as often.  What were once long, lonely nights are now filled with dreams of better things to come, more stories to be told. All this because a mutual friend said, "there's someone you should meet."

Love comes as a surprise, Dear, we knew and lived that truth.

NEW WORLD

Once again I see the world

with happy eyes

thoughts, once dormant,

arise now

of possibilities and potentials—

the gift astonishes—

feelings of joy

are once again rampant.

 All this because

she appeared

In my life

thought my thoughts

felt my feelings

took the chance

said let's explore

together

what may lie before us

have some fun.

Grief

still a constant companion

relinquishes sole possession

of my heart. . .

as it must.

John A. Bayerl, June 19, 2012

It's been a while since I've written anything.  This poem is a joyful celebration of the permanence of life and love.  She has a name.

Thank you, Dear, for giving me the faith that love is real and never ending.  

Just a little humor.

Outside a small Macedonian village, close to the border between Greece and strife-torn Yugoslavia, a lone Catholic nun keeps a quiet watch over a silent convent. She is the last caretaker of a site of significant historic developments. The convent once served as a base for the army of Attila the Hun. In more ancient times, a Greek temple to Eros, the god of love, occupied the hilltop site.


The Huns are believed to have first collected and then destroyed a large gathering of Greek legal writs at the site. It is believed that Attila wanted to study the Greek legal system and had the writs and other documents brought to the temple.


When the Greek church took over the site in the 15th Century and the convent was built, church leaders ordered the pagan statue of Eros destroyed, so another ancient Greek treasure was lost. Today, there is only the lone sister, watching over the old Hun base.


And that's how it ends:


No Huns, no writs, no Eros, and nun left on base.



It's been a while since I've posted anything to my blog.  My life is in flux; as things become more clear I will need to write about it.


The gift we shared, Dear, that love still lives.

GOOD MEMORIES

Friday evenings, especially soft warm ones like right now, carry memories that only two people shared--Gwen and I.  During the long year before we married it was when we were back together after a week apart.  The gift  I now have is the memory of her running from her front door and throwing her arms around my neck.  Many people have memories like that; only I have the memory of holding her close, filled with emotion, words were neither possible nor necessary.

Tonight is made more special because 49 years ago our months of waiting were over and our happiness was complete as we met at the altar of  St. Mary's Church in Gaastra, Michigan and exchanged our wedding vows. This is a picture I took last summer.  It is the aisle that Gwen walked down and the altar where we met as two and left as one.  The church is now part of the Iron County Museum:

Happy Anniversary, Dear.

THE FUTURE BECKONS

Feeling once again

 like the unsure boy of his youth

he knew so well

he struggles to be

the suave, sophisticated

man for the ages

others tell him he is

as he wanders about

in a world he left

long ago, never thinking

he would return to that place

of fierce, sudden passion

unexpected, unrelenting heartache.

The love of his life

the one he misses always

said the words

that took him from  all that

it mattered not

in her way of being

that she couldn’t explain what she felt

only knew it was real and lasting

and they rode off together—

why didn’t he ever buy her that horse?—

into the sunsets of endless days.

As she hoped it might be.

The sun has set

a new day arises

he once again fumbles for words

is intrigued by the smell of perfume

strains to hear a voice

that makes his heart sing

longs to touch and be touched

feels stirrings anew in his heart

sees new possibilities.

      Now the beginning.

The ending

the past

is still present

will always be                                                     

the present stays

shrouded in mystery

the future pulls at him

inviting him onward

he knows she is there

arms open wide

cheering him on.

John A. Bayerl, June 3, 2012

To tell the truth, I have no idea whether this poem is ready to be released...it just felt like the right thing to do. Friday is Gwen's and my 49th wedding anniversary, I'm sure that has  a lot to do with the more than normal reflective mood I've been in lately.  

This may be my last posting for a few days.  Today I received news that my best buddy in high school--in today's parlance  we would have been my BFF--died of cancer.  When I was in Menominee in January for my cousin Ray's funeral, the priest who married Gwen and me, I had the chance visit with Rick and his wife at their home.  Also, about six weeks ago, when he was first diagnosed, I was able to have a long phone conversation with him.  

Dear, we always enjoyed our visits with Rick and Carol when we were in Menominee.  Wonder what you and he are saying about me?  's all good.

DAYBREAK, by Gabriela Mistral, Chilean Poet

My heart swells that the
          universe
like a fiery cascade may
          enter.
The new day comes.  Its coming
          leaves me breathless.
I sing like a cavern
          brimming
I sing a new day.

For grace lost and recovered
I stand humble.  Not giving.
           Receiving.
Until the gorgon night,
           vanquished, flees.

This poem reflects who I feel like today, it is  a poem of such hope.

Once again, Dear, you let me know that you are with me.   I was down at my desk waiting for something I was printing to be finished.  Your high-school graduation picture is on a shelf next to the printer, and when I picked it up to look again at how pretty you are a sheet of paper with this poem on it was beneath.