Tag Archives: poetry

A Garden Full of Flowers

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I have met many different people while visiting long-term care facilities, nursing homes and hospitals, as part of my volunteer duties.

One man I met, Mr. Flowers, was an amputee, and while he had no legs from above the knees, he sat high in his wheel chair and had a commanding presence. He was of sound mind, whereas some of his fellow residents had lost this faculty, and Mr. Flowers often found it difficult to find someone to talk to. He had been a high school teacher in his working years, and it was easy to engage him in conversation.

When he learned that I wrote poetry, he asked me to write a poem specifically for him. Being the kind of man he was, and his unusual name, it didn’t take me very long to come up with the following poem:

A Garden Full of Flowers

      (for Mr. Flowers)

 A garden full of flowers

when tended with great care

or tended not at all

if wildflower seed is planted there

will reap its keeper plenitude

in fragrant showy splendor

and bring the memory of spring

come blustery December.

Blooms spring forth upon the mind,

deep wine rose and purple phlox,

daffodils of yellow,

multicolored hollyhocks

replace the snow and blizzards

in the darkened winter hours

and keep alive in mind’s great eye

that garden full of flowers.

©Patricia Ann Boyes

March 7, 2005

You would think I had given him back his legs when he read that poem! He beamed the brightest smile that nursing home had seen in a very long while, and I got a hug that almost toppled him out of the wheel chair.

What a blessing to see the happiness a string of words, placed in the right order on a simple piece of paper could bring to a person.

Mr. Flowers, who didn’t seem to have any religious affiliations whatsoever, shouted, “God bless you!” as I entered the elevator to leave that day’s visiting behind.

“He already has, Mr. Flowers,” I said, “He already has!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Metanoia for the Modern World

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A few years ago I attended a lecture given by an evangelical Catholic priest.  It was very informative, and I came away with a new word. Metanoia. It was added to my word collection in one of many journals, and filed away for future reference. I’m hauling it out today in the form of a blurb and poem I wrote in 2009:

Are we praying for ways to redeem the world or planning ways to destruct it? Remember Saul on the road to Damascus. God stopped him in his tracks on that hot, dusty road and struck him first with blindness and then with metanoia, a change of heart. Saul the persecutor became Paul the saint. God can do that in today’s world too.

World leaders need to do some soul-searching as did Saul. Are they interested in peace or is power their real agenda? If it is a power struggle, God, as he did with Saul, will have the final say. The world is getting a wake-up call. Perhaps the energy spent on threats would pay better dividends if used for promoting peace. Who is perceived to be the most powerful? Let them put that power to use constructively rather than destructively.

God can change the hearts of ordinary people also. Let us each leave our own little world, the world of personal, pithy, private life, and step into the big picture. Let us all step onto the road to our own Damascus and experience metanoia.  And now the poem:

METANOIA FOR THE MODERN WORLD

On that long road to Damascus,

the Lord stopped Saul in his tracks:

“Why, Saul, do you persecute me?”

the voice from heaven asked.

“Who are you, Lord?”

the stricken man cried

as he rubbed his sightless eyes.

“I am Jesus whom you persecute!”

the voice from heaven replied.

For three days Saul was blinded,

he neither ate nor drank a drop

until he was convicted

to change the way he thought.

When he saw himself as Jesus did

his eyesight was regained

and Saul the persecutor

became known as Paul the saint.

We need that kind of metanoia

in our modern world today,

let people think before they act

in such destructive ways.

Away with guns and knives and threats

and bombs and words of war!

Hear God’s voice from heaven say,

“These things I do abhor!”

And if we listen carefully,

if we try to be humane,

then surely metanoia

will touch our world again.

Our road to Damascus is just as real today

as it was in Paul’s time…

may we meet Jesus on the way.

©2009

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wake Up! There is a Better Way

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Who of us is immune to the effects of vandalism, terrorism, random acts of violence, and the life-snuffing behavior of some people who seem to have a complete disrespect for their fellow person?

We see it around the world; Russia, Iraq, Israel, Palestine, America, Canada…each country has its own lack of human values to deal with: guns, knives, machetes, bricks, sticks, stones, whatever…to prove what?

I even noticed it in our own recent Provincial elections, to a lesser degree but noticeable, indeed. I call it a new kind of party animal (if you will pardon the pun) where,  instead of sticking to their own agendas, and offering voters some substantial food for thought, two of the three candidates went on a bashing spree against the third one; verbal yes, but still bashing. It reminded me of Genesis 50:20 when Joseph said to his brothers, who sold him into slavery, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good…”

It is all an assault on my senses, and I go on a writing spree. The G-20 Toronto Summit riots in 2010, and the Vancouver Stanley Cup riots in 2011, prompted the following:

WAKE UP! THERE IS A BETTER WAY!

To all who are asleep in vandalism and violent acts,

unconscious to the fact

that destroying the lives of other people and their property

is not a joke, hear this!

What gives you the right to take a rock

and with your might

smash the life another person lives?

Hear what I say:

“Wake up! There is a better way.”

Look at you!

What do you see?

That thoughtless, senseless person

is not who you’re meant to be!

Wear the shoes of the destroyed

rather than the destroyer.

See how it feels

to be ground

under the heels

of people

who are not aware

of their good side.

Again I say,

“Wake up! There is a better way!”

Find it! Change your wicked ways!

Humanity awaits the new you.

©2011

Can you imagine a world where we work together instead of against each other? Do you remember John Lennon’s Imagine? Imagine if we try.

The Bible on Anger

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Here’s a poem I wrote in 1979 after throwing a hissy-fit, and shouting in anger at someone that I can’t even remember now. I do remember saying things I wished I hadn’t. The words hurled themselves at my targeted victim, like darts at a dart board, and I was immediately filled with regret. Since then I have worked very hard at harnassing my anger, but every once in a while, something triggers it, and off I go on a short-lived tangent. Here then is Anger:

When anger

rears its ugly head,

the spoken word

is best unsaid.

The heat of anger

spawns words of ice,

sears heart and soul

and quickly dies

to a smoldering ash

of regret.

©1979

Somehow it makes me feel better to know that even Jesus got angry on several occasions. Mark 3:5 tells us, “He looked around at them in anger, deeply distressed at their stubborn hearts.”

In Matthew 21:12 he overturned tables and chairs in his anger at the people using the temple as a marketplace.

In Exodus 32, God tells Moses how angry he is that the people carved out a golden calf to worship, and calls them a stiff-necked people. And then Moses gets really angry with the people and smashes the tablets God had written upon up on the mountain. There was a lot of anger going on in the Old Testament and that’s not even touching on Noah and the flood in Genesis.

And yet James, in the New Testament, cautions that everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.  (James 1:19) Oh, how I need to heed that advice sometimes!

Paul tells the Ephesians, “Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry,… (Ephesians 4:26)

This makes good sense because to go to bed angry would not promote a good night sleep.

Ah, is it any wonder that the Bible is one of my favorite books? It is filled with such history, wisdom, poetry and yes, even a hint of anger to ease my conscience when I succumb to that dreaded emotion on occasion.

 

 

A Heavenly Message

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It was June 29, 2007, when Jerry, my second partner in life for twenty-seven years, traded life on this planet for life in Heaven. Maxine, his part-time caregiver, called me on July 2nd to tell me that she had a dream about me the night before. She said that I told her to read the Bible, and vaguely recalled Psalm 2 and Hebrews 5. Intrigued, I opened my Bible to Psalm 2, but it didn’t speak to me. I then turned to Hebrews 5, and read in verse five, “You are my Son; today I have become your Father.” That sounded familiar, so I went back and read Psalm 2 again. Sure enough, in verse seven, I read, “You are my Son; today I have become your Father.” The next thing I knew, I was writing the following poem.

TODAY I AM YOUR FATHER

Your life on earth has ended,

Your new life has begun,

Today I am your Father,

Today you are my son.

Your gentle heart stopped beating,

You breathed your final breath,

And because I am your Father,

You’ve won victory over death.

Well done, my faithful servant,

You struggled, not in vain,

For now you’re safely home with me,

Your new life free from pain.

I whispered, “Gerald, come to me.”

You answered, “Lord, I come.”

Today I am your Father

Welcome Home, my son.

©2007

I love it when my dreams speak to me, but when someone else’s dreams speak to me, I’m left incredulous.

 

 

 

 

The Winning Circle

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Today I’m borrowing a story from my book of poems. I wrote it in 1994, and it’s about a parent or adult helping a child become aware of nature, dreams, kindness, and the world in general. I believe it fits nicely into the theme of My Precious Life, if not into the book itself.

The Winning Circle

Come little child, take my hand,
and together we will walk
through a forest green,
by a flowing stream
where the winds and the waters talk.

The sounds they speak
brush against your cheek,
mere words need not be said;
hear the bird’s high trill
from a far off hill,
breathe the scent of a wildflower bed.

Come little child, and take my hand
as the twilight turns to purple;
we’ll dance on a breeze
through the moonlit trees
in search of the winning circle.

We traveled all night
as the moon’s clear light
shone bright on the path before us;
to the chirp of night crickets
and a bullfrog’s loud “ribbits”
we sped through the carpeted forest.

We sometimes grew weary,
but the sound of a cheery
night owl’s encouraging cry
kept us skipping and dancing
and breathlessly prancing
until dawn decorated the sky.

We came to a meadow
and delightfully settled
in a bed of soft grass and flowers;
as dreams drifted o’er us
to refresh and restore us
we slumbered in dawn’s early hours.

We soared t’wards the moon
in a hot air balloon
dodging dazzling stars in night skies;
as we gazed down at earth,
the place of our birth
a vision appeared to our eyes.

We saw wars being fought,
many people distraught
by the horrors happening to them;
we saw famine and disease
and despite the world’s pleas
the good life seemed doomed
for all humans.

Then words soft and clear
in our hearts we did hear,
“Give hope, offer your hand.
Do a kind deed,
help those in need.”
We awoke to the sounds of the land.

As we traveled along, child, you and I,
we came to a town called “Wanting”.
The people there
were hungry and bare,
and the look in their eyes was haunting.

We met a young lad
whose demeanor was sad
for all he wore was a sack;
without further ado
I gave him my shoes
you gave him the shirt off your back.

We tended the sick,
shared our food and our water
until all we could do was done;
then we bade them good-day
and went on our way
in the glow of the setting sun.

Come, little child, take my hand
as we come to our journey’s end;
we have traveled well
and have much to tell,
we must share it with a friend.

We must tell of the need
to do a kind deed,
and to lend a helping hand;
for the world needs us all,
young, old, great and small,
to make it a happier land.

Come, little child, and take my hand
as the twilight turns to purple;
we’ll dance on a breeze
through the moonlit trees
into the winning circle.

©1994