Shadows

…shifting, drifting airs with faces
and imaginary graces
but never firming to the touch…
Are you a shadow?
Am I?
Would you have me real?
Or I, you?

Shadows cast no pain, no joy.
Their suffering is not real,
their fading glamor,
passing clamor,
not much to be wondered at.
They neither harm nor charm,
passing through one another
with no consequence of caring
or of sharing.
Each shade real only to itself
plays out its game
with shadow pieces;
itself is played,
mislaid,
and never knows.

There is in Reality much joy
to be won or to be lost.
I would not play Reality
with just anyone.


1981

Tolkien Tribute: The Bells of Dale

’Twas spring again in the Northern Lands
and larks sang bright and clear,
yet sorrow lay on the folk of Dale
and little they knew of cheer.

The daughter of Girion, Lord of Dale,
lay sad under winter’s gloom–
Like enough, all said, ere long,
she’d lie winter-cold in her tomb.

In deep despond young Giriel  lay
and nothing could stir her will
for winter storms had frozen her heart:
the winds howled in her hearing, still.

The spring song of larks rose over the world
but for Giriel winter still stormed;
Dark was her heart in the springtime sun
and her cold limbs could not be warmed.


The Lord of Dale Girion, in his distress,
sent far and wide through the lands
for anyone who might break the spell,
and bring warmth to his daughter’s hands.

Many came and their offerings made
to coax the lass back to joy–
Bright flowering trees and instruments sweet
and many an intricate toy…

Fanciful foods in fantastical shapes,
and acrobats dancing on air!
Exotic creatures from countries afar
did nothing to ease her despair.

Dweekin the Dwarf, one of Durin’s Kin,
was a shy and diligent lad
who spent his days in a long night of his own
and being blind, many thought him sad.

But Dweekin smiled to hear hammers ring
and the sound of it in his ears
soothed all care and sorrow from him
and lightened his heaviest fears.

So Dweekin delved in the Mountain’s heart
for a rich red, blood-scented ore
and founded and forged and worked what he dug
then carried his gift to her door.


A bell it was, and so wondrous wrought
at its first tone, it raised a sigh
from all who heard, yes, even the lass–
The next note brought a tear to her eye…

The third time rung, the bell sang so sweet
that hearts throughout Dale lifted high…
The fourth note sang out so pure and true,
Giriel rose with a gladsome cry!

The fifth note pealed through village and vale
and shattered the winter’s ice-bands
from Giriel’s heart, and she laughed for joy,
and the spring’s warmth flowed into her hands…

The sound of her laughter joined with the notes
that from Dweekin’s bell rang forth!
Then Girion summoned all healers and wise
to come with their craft to the North.

And at the fest of next Midsummer’s Eve
Dweekin stood under clear blue skies
and for the first time in all of his days
gazed at it with clear-seeing eyes.

Girion lord of Dale in that time
And the King Under Erebor
made vows of union between Men and Dwarves
to join them forever more.

Bells still ring out sweetly upon the air
between Dale and the Mountain, a-sealing
that bond of loyalty, trust and faith,
in every knell they are pealing.

Neither war nor foe nor cause nor plaint
may divide these friends, nor confound
as long as the Dwarf-wrought Bells of Dale
ring out their joyful sound!

This tale fits in with the lore of Dale, which include mention of their wonderful bells, and the Dwarves of Erebor, their naighbors. But the story this tells, and Giriel and Dweekin, are my own, created for a poetry contest on the theme of the friendship between the Men of Dale and the Dwarves Under the Mountain.

The Learning Puzzle

Imagine if kids loved learning… Imagine if we had loved learning. Consider how the educational system we grew up under has relied on long-obsolete notions and assumptions of the nature of children, how they learn, that they, by nature, resist learning.

What they resist is the system, not the learning. But association kills the love of knowing new things, and costs students the great feelings of accomplishment and empowerment, the exhiliration of that AH-HA! moment when a new thing suddenly clicks.

The world we come into, it’s like a big jigsaw puzzle with no outer edge or certain shape. Education helps us put the pieces together. And there is no picture on the box, there isn’t even a box. The more pieces we can acquire, the more of the big picture we can assemble; the fewer pieces, we have so much less ability to comprehend even the smaller bits, to understand how they all fit into the one.

Students need teachers to show them how to work the puzzle, how to distinguish the pieces that really fit from the ones that only almost fit, but really don’t. Teachers can show them how to organize the pieces to focus on one area or another, and put aside pieces that don’t actually fit or match the colors, textures and shapes they are working on.  Students need clues, they need glimpses of the whole, or parts of the whole as they work, and teachers can give them this, too.

But a good teacher won’t tell the student what to see, or put the pieces together for them. Maybe one, a last or connecting piece, once in a while, to let the student experience that Ah-Ha! moment that melts doubt and frustration away and makes the learning process worth the work. 

Good educators, whether they are professional teachers, or parents, or others who have the care of children, always, always let the child be a child. They let the person be the person that they are, challenging not their essence, but their comfort zones.  

This is true also for how each of us learns on our own, how we educate and grow and empower our own inner child. 

Icarus in the Sky

Icarus, Icarus, foolish lad!
It’s the worst idea you’ve ever had
and there were others I thought were bad!

To soar to the stars, you demented bird,
takes more than wax wings, or hadn’t you heard?
My lad, you have flown to the height of absurd!

And yet, and yet, the impulse was grand,
though you never considered you’d have to land…
Yet, to be with the gods, lad…? I do understand!


Those of us with our feet on the ground usually have something harsh to say about those who refuse to conform to the law of gravity; and even so, we envy those who fly, even when they fall…

Guillotine

I was there–
in spoiled silks, sateens and lace
on a stage composed
of noise and dread…
Splintered boards
beneath my ice-white feet,
hot and cold, awash
with human blood
and waste…

I remember…
…fear
and sweat
and sickness…
a kind of stunned bewilderment,
hardened as a glaze
across the gaze
of eyes embittered,
seeing everywhere the cast
of madness and despair…
Of lust and hunger
borne so deep
it passes from the belly
to the soul
and there desires,
with a passion uncontrived by love,
the balancing
by death and pain
of all accounts and reckonings–
the gorging
of a psychic gut
with vengeance
hot as fire,
thick as blood.

The hellish gate of Heaven
hangs against the sky;
It, shrieking, sings
against the madness of the mob 
swings down, cutting,
rises and waits…
and swings again
and waits
again…
and swings, 
and poises
once again–
I,
rising
step
by
bloody
step…

And whose account do I fulfill?
Is there in this unholy moment
some small degree of fairness,
or by it the balance
of one human heart
restored?
I cannot know or say
to what just end
is this the grievous means…

I stumble barefoot,
sodden silks and laces
dragging
all disgraced,
upon the final step–
and stand I there
upon the portico of freedom,
unpossessed myself
by lost possessions,
all the things that once were mine
to keep or lend or give away–
my books
my bread
my laces
dearest faces
all I loved
my life…

My turn
at last,
to climb the bloody stile,
to lay myself at length
beneath the awful gate…

My ears are closed
with roaring
I cannot tell you
what they hear–
The prayers of my childhood?
The solemn cant of priests?
The wistful words
of a mother’s hope and fear?

–In the tonings of the angels
there is not a word of song
I could describe,
and yet
a world of glory overcries
the mob’s release, 
the frantic 
manic celebration
of their fierce, unholy feast.

My body does not know
if it is up
or down,
nor feels the cold,
the heat…
The fear of Death
itself is over-run
with wonder of a kind…

Farewells not said
are not important now,
I have forgotten faces,
fears and tears
and loneliness;
all the grudges
that I ever held
are nothing–
all at once passed through,
as gossamer
across the path
in a distant morning garden
time and times ago…

Shrieking!
Screaming…!
All above me, 
all around…!
The singing of
the swinging gate…
The harmony
of hollow hungers,
hoping, hopeless,
unrequited angers
unassuaged…

and silently,
I pass the gate…
in silence pass…
I pass… I pass…
through Light and Glory,
fleetingly…

…and come again
to here,
to now–
across the Time abyss…
to comforts closely held
and loves I do believe
I could not loose
or I would lose my life…
and cherished notions
of myself,
the world,
humanity, 
of all God’s Universe…
Of all the things I claim to know
or at the least, believe
with all my heart
are so….

A small bright echo,
loving, laughing… 
A glorious intoning…
I hear it now, so faint, so far…
I do recall it distantly, all of it,
for I was there…
I was there…

“It’s just how I am…”

My first thought about posting this particular piece was that it isn’t in keeping with the time of year. But today I am thinking of all the people who are alone this time of year, who have fallen off Christmas card lists, of those no one realizes have no happy family to gather with in the holiday season. And I am thinking, maybe it is a very good time to post this.

Times have changed with technology and the pace with which we lead our lives: People wander off from online conversations without a farewell to let you know the conversation is over. People have meals with other people and never make eye contact because they are immersed in their separate worlds–It used to be newspapers or books, now it’s electronics. Real attention, real contact is fleeting, and old traditional courtesies of a slower-paced age are unknown, forgotten or just disregarded. Everything is multi-tasked, including friendship.

People excuse themselves (“It’s just how I am”) for neglecting relationships, as if long times without contact don’t damage a relationship.

I can’t help believing that if someone wants to stay in touch, they will. I used to put out reminders, to chase down the people I wanted to have in my life. Then I got it: If someone wants me in their life, they will make some effort to have me there. And if they don’t, it’s because they don’t care that much about whether I’m part of their life, or not. Maybe they even really don’t want to know me. How would I know which it is? Silence explains nothing, is always open to interpretation.

I think we all know when we have neglected someone we should not have. I think we get guilty, yet maintain the habit of postponing, forgetting, getting distracted, and to assuage the guilt, forgive ourselves with, “It’s just the way I am,” and “My friends will understand.” And, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Sorry, it is not ever just about you: a relationship is not just about one person’s needs and foibles, or just one person being called upon to tolerate, accept and forgive.

I saw a quote recently, unattributed, but to the point: “When someone says you hurt them, you don’t get to decide you didn’t.”

“It’s just the way I am” is a lame way to fend off the knowledge that somehow, something you did or didn’t do, hurt someone. It’s another way of saying, “Whatever…” Whether it comes from embarrassment or guilt or true indifference, it’s lame.

Tolkien Tribute: confustication


A wizard and a hobbit met in a little pub in Bree
And drank together for a while, though neither one, you see,
Was in a very cheerful mood, as life had lately not been good
For either nor the other, in fact!

Between their complaints and their fair pints a-flowing,
Trust and good fellowship fast were a-growing:
The hobbit sighed, if thee was me–likewise if me was thee–
How differently the world would act!

The wizard, by now quite far gone in his drinking,
muttered  some words about serious thinking,
Then slapped on his hat, fell asleep just like that,
And the hobbit– he followed soon after.

The bartender listened all night to the mutters
in sleep, of the mage, while he put up the shutters
And finished the grub, and closed up the pub,
And chased out the cat from the rafters.

Then he left them there, muttering and  snoring
He figured they’d sleep there content till the morning–
He went home to his bed, where he slept well, ’tis said
With no idea at all what was a-brewing!

The wizard awoke in the early dawn light
And was instantly certain something was not right
For the hobbit, it seemed, stole his hat as he dreamed
A deed that hobbit quite soon would be ruing!

He reached for his hat with his old gnarled hand–
but the hand was a hobbit’s–he could not understand–
Then the wizard hollered out  a great  wizardly shout
And it came out like a hobbit’s, all squeaky!

The other woke up then with a sudden start,
And stared over the table, with his jaws far apart–
For there he saw–“Me!”  where he’d thought he’d see he!
He said, “This can’t be, right,  it’s just freaky!”

In fact, it was true, and the one was the other
–neither would’ve been known by his very own mother!
They both were perturbed, indeed, very disturbed,
staring wide-eyed at themselves thus transposed.

The one of them smiled a slightly odd grin,
The other one paused, and then he, too, joined in…
Whatever they’d done, they would turn it to fun
And gave in to what mischief proposed!

The wizard, now wearing the hobbit’s guise
Went home to “his” hole– what a big surprise
He gave then to “his” wife, who’d not once in her  life
Seen him start up the stove with a shout!

Meanwhile, the wizard… the “hobbit,” I meant,
He sought out his landlord who was raising the rent
And he waved “his” great staff, with a threatening laugh
And called him a greedy old trout!

The landlord, alarmed he’d be changed to a fish,
Begged of the “wizard” to demand what he wished,
And he swore he would do it, there’d be nothing to it!
And  lowered the rent by two pounds and a shilling.

The “hobbit”–the wizard– he went round the hole
Fixing and mending and making it whole
While the little wife beamed, for her husband it seemed
Had never before been so willing!

Thus passed the first day of the magical change
The “hobbit” cured all of the town dogs of mange
The “wizard,” he spoke to a number of folk
Who’d never trouble the hobbit again!

It went very well, and they had a fine time
Bamboozling the Shire–It was almost a crime
But as the sun set, the two again met
For a giggle and pint before bed…

The “Wizard” –but really the Hobbit, in fact,
Gave a toast with a cheer for their nice little act,
And he cried, “What a life! Now, I’m off to my wife…”
And that’s when their faces turned red…

Now, who’s to sleep where, and with whom beside?
Who gets the stable, and who gets the bride?
“It’s over now, Mack!  Now, you just put us back!”
Said the wizard, “I just don’t know how!”

“Well, figure it out, then!  And figure it fast!
It’s been fun but this switchy thing must not last!
Have some more beer, to make your mind clear–
Come up with a change-back spell now!“

The Wizard-like Hobbit, he worried and paced;
The Hobbity Wizard grew sick of  beer’s taste,
He was at it all night, but try as he might
Not a spell that he tried did the trick.

Meanwhile, the Hobbit’s wife in this fable
Had gone to the trouble of setting the table
With china and candles, all the forks matching handles
Then she sat and she watched the clock tick…

His most favorite foods grew much over-done
while she sat there and gnawed on a dried out bun.
As the fine meal turned bad, she got worried, then sad
And finally she started to simmer…

She pulled off her apron and combed out her hair
Then she went to the pub, for she knew they’d be there
She looked  through the glass, this furious lass,
What she heard only made her the grimmer

She went storming in, iron pan at the ready,
Stomped up to the table, where they weren’t too steady.
She glared in the eyes of the wizard-disguise
And then slammed down the pan on the table.

“Fix it,” she said, and she banged it once more
loudly enough that it rattled the door…
There was a loud POP that made everything stop–
and frightened the stock in the stable.

But suddenly, wonderfully, each had his own face
The Wizard and Hobbit had popped back into place
For there’s no spell in the world matching kitchen-ware hurled
By a Hobbit wife boiling with rage!

So now, at last, this tale comes to its close,
Wizard and Hobbit each behind his own nose,
Some good deeds were done which is better than none,
And thus content, we exit the stage.

Holy Days

Wishing you the best of the holiday season!

Channukah has begun, and there is no tradition more about lights and miracles!

Solstice is here and the whole planet moves with it, something that transcends cultures, though every culture seems to have a way to celebrate it.

The birth of Jesus is all about light coming into a dark world. It is historically known that the birth of Jesus was folded into the Roman Saturnalia back in the days when the persecutions of Christians was a real thing, but it was also apt, that in all the long nights, Jesus, like the solstice, brought a promise of light to come. So very apt in these times, too!

And there is Kwanzaa which is worth looking it up and appreciating what it is and why it is, because Kwanzaa celebrates the most civilized aspects of humanity, in the context of what’s been called the African Diaspora–the flowing out of Africa of its peoples. It also offers a light in the darkness.

Light in the darkness: hope and faith, and the negation of despair.


Every culture finds spiritual and human meaning in this time of Solstice. I welcome your contributions to this topic!

Tolkien Tribute: SMAUG

Flame surging in my belly, I cry out,
and leap into the clouds, exulting:
Wings, vast, they span the star-bright heavens!

I sail through the night,  tempest roaring
a storm of mighty rage, a-soaring–
Flame surging in my belly, I cry out!

In all of the world, there is no other
magnificent as I!  I bellow power
and leap into the clouds, exulting!

Against the highest icy atmosphere
I wheel, and feel the windstorm biting:
Wings, vast, they span the star-bright heavens!

I am sure there is a name for this form, though I no longer remember what it is called. If you do, please remind me! It was originally written for a contest in 2005 on a Tolkien site, that seems to have gone into the West.