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Daily Haiku: Awoke By My Fears

Awoke by my fears
Not an unusual thing
Though I’ve grown weary 


I’ve long hated my mind’s tendency to torment me late at night. Bringing up ancient mistakes, dragging forth unlikely scenarios, so many ways my mind finds to attack my tranquility. 

Germs are in controlĀ 

Germs are in control
Obediently I sleep
Rest eluding me 


Ah, fighting germs again. A slow lingering cough my main symptom, a long with my lack of energy. 

My Journals, My Heart

It pains me
Envisioning my journals
Beloved words capturing my soul
Mouldering in my absence
As I fade to dust 

Beth Caldwell’s impact on metastatic breast cancer

http://www.fredhutch.org/en/news/center-news/2017/11/beth-caldwell-impact-metastatic-breast-cancer.html

Not a work of poetry, but poetic in it’s raw power. It also features evocative language. 

ā€œThe only thing that brings me any sense of meaning these days is to think of these fallen trees as nurse logs. Their memories, their lives, their children, their passions, their faces, their senses of humor, their wisdom, their spirits, their beautiful beautiful beautiful spirits are nurturing us, feeding us, giving us strength to go on, to demand change, to bring research to our friends, to fight against death death death so much death. Their falling leaves a hole in the forest canopy, but their souls are bringing new life to our movement and nutrients to keep us growing.

ā€œAnd someday this forest will cover the world.ā€

As someone who lost my mother to breast-cancer far too young (pretty much the same age as Beth), this piece hits me hard. Tears, memories, so very much brought up. And, you may find it strange to share this Christmastime, but I always remember that first Christmas after my mom died. Really, though, I see this as a powerful way to honor her. 

Blessing to each of you this Christmas. Love well, love strong, love

A snow calmed Christmas morn

I’m awake early
On this dark Christmas morning
The night calmed by snow


I hope each of you has a blessed and refreshing Christmas.

This Painful Evening

​Over fifty-years 

Living on this

Spinning rock

Yet moments come

When, still,

That powerless

Little boy

Rises 

Alone