“Christmas is For Children”

carol baby (2)
my daughter, Carol

Some children leave the nest too soon and fly.

And so an arrow through the heart of fools.

Kahlil has warned this mother’s heart the rule:

“These people are not owned by you,” he sighs.

Oh, let me hug you close just one more time

before you close the door and take your leave.

Beat now, once more, your heart against my sleeve

before you go to distant world’s unkind.

It’s Christmas when the world renews again.

We celebrate that child who did forgive

and gave each mother’s child a chance to live.

In each and every arrow there’s a plan.

Remind me when it’s cold and they are gone;

our distance so much greater with this song.

(reading Kahlil Gibran’s beautiful poem, below,  prompted my sonnet, above:)

On Children
 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

“Some Steps”

stepsPhoto: Ginny Hale Meredith

“Some Steps”

Some steps I’ve taken, there was sharp ascent

into the unknown where the foolish tread.

That journey, once committed, brought lament.

Cold sorrow with some tears that pathway led.

Some steps have pushed me inward, glorious,

to better heights than I had known before.

Yet, even so, my soul, tempestuous,

has not avoided pitfalls I abhor.

I take it slow, now, ‘fore the final bend

I know some steps might make a dismal tale.

I know the  walk creates a happy end.

With careful steps, I’m likely not to fail.

I’ve not looked back where I have been, askance

but, rather wonder at its dark romance.

 

 

 

The Gift

lovebirds4-best-2(photo by J.Casey)

My snowy visitors have brought to me
a bright and beautiful December day
I offer them my Chinaberry tree.
I perch and stare before they’re on their way.

They pause and groom each other for awhile;
soft talk they share with cooing , cheek to cheek.
They stare at me and, sure I see a smile
upon the face of one who wants to speak:

“Coo-coo, it is the human heart we seek.
His sacrificial love was made by choice.
That splendid gift God gave us makes us meek.
As we are poets, we will be your voice.

On wings of care,  Nativity,  they sing.
His birth’s a gift  forever echoing.”

These doves were perched outside my 3rd floor balcony in Florida; Dec 11, 2012 (my mom’s birthday). They stayed; grooming themselves for a good fifteen minutes before they flew away and did not seem to mind my photographing them from only a few feet away.  In the many years I have lived here, before and after that date, those birds have never been seen again.  I have always considered them a gift and message from my mom,  gone since January, 2000.