Breaking Ground 95 - Poetry
Hope
Hope, in any language
Is a permission to become.
It is imagining that there is someone out there
Who is listening to your words
As your voice, unformed,
Emerges from the damp darkness.
Hope is a greeting
Or merely an acknowledgement,
A wink of the eye.
Hope is a warm embrace,
A kiss.
Hope is a striving
For something beyond the immediate.
Hope sees in the darkness,
Listens in the stillness,
Knows and understands what is not yet here.
John Paul Tetzeli. John Paul of Memphis expresses his own hope in the poetry he writes. He shares his thoughts in this poem Hope which was published in the HAPI book of writings “Faith, Hope, and Recovery in Letters 2018.”
The Story of a Cloud
I was born on the Kansas plains
A little tyke learning how to fly
Like a bird with new wings
Suspended in time
I sucked on a precious water supply
With warm air below me
Into the cool above
Those were the days I loved
I was content for a long time
Then I became a storm
Unstable and angry
I flew madly into the stratosphere
And fired flames of angry fire out of my mouth
To the plains down below
I grew mighty and tall
But the anger continued to grow
Youthful rebellion perhaps
Or just learning that I can die
I tried to prove otherwise as I towered into the sky
My energy poured down as rain and hail
And my angry words of rebellion
Came as tornadoes and gusts of wind
Then my strength began to sag
And I weakened and partially collapsed
And other clouds formed
As my children
From a tempest who was now my wife
And they grew strong and tall
As we grew old and weak
As midnight approached
I grew frail
As my withered head grew white
And the fire died away
And I recounted the glory of being young and strong
On the Kansas plains
As my eyes gazed far and wide
Across the glorious sky
And my anger grew to calm and reflection
As I faded into the pale blue of the calm morning
Poem by Brian McHan. To accompany this poem, Brian wrote, “I have schizophrenia which kept me from earning a Meteorology degree, but I love the weather for the most part anyway.” Brian C. McHan has schizophrenia. He is a 2002 Partners Graduate. This poem represents his feelings on aging.
The Fading Away of Summer - by Brian McHan (author bio above)
The 4th of July is long past
Kids are back in school
The days are getting shorter
It’s not getting as hot
The Sun is at a lower angle
It’s the fading away of Summer
My youth has faded too
My stomach juts out
My beard has grey in it
My hair has thinned
My muscles are weaker
Time moves along
Isn’t it funny though
That in a fading year
That the brightest colors
Shine across the land
Before they fall to the ground
And death takes hold?
My restlessness is less
My wisdom is greater
I don’t worry as much
I am settled in my heart
Perhaps I shine more
Before dusk approaches
And I am covered by the snow
Ascending
When the heart is bigger than a
hospital
window
you can roll places-the way I heard it:
a kid once rubbed surfboard wax on a
car hood until the vehicle grew tailfins,
that was in 1957 according to my grandpa
now what robotic surgeon, or med nurse
wouldn’t want to ride a high hot shotgun
jumping puddles, sun, Route 66 rainbows,
until the ever abundant fun on 4 rubberized
floater-feet zips off fast as a machined bee
David S. Pointer is a 2017 Partners in Policymaking graduate. He has recent publications in the Indiana Horror 2018 anthology. David lives in Murfreesboro with his daughters and kitty cats.
Seasoning - by Kathy Tupper
Revel, glorious chameleon.
Spend your last dance without thrift –
furious to fade,
grateful to drift into familiar dreams –
counting the probable odds of a return
of possibilities.
Recharge to awaken again
in the cataclysmic birth of breath and wonder.
Chartreuse and pink giggles of imagination
thrive in the curious.
Fling your seeds of raucous colors
free to flourish where they may.
Muddle luscious green shapes and shades
in shocking storms
to make a sultry slurry.
Simmer to a rich red-golden brown –
a stew fit for a feast -
a glorious recelebration of the return
of possibilities.
Kathy has nearly 50 years fine and professional art experience as art and creative director for advertising agencies, public projects and as an art instructor.
Sometimes - by April Meredith
Sometimes I feel like I am barely clinging on to a glimpse of hope
Like the last brown leaf
On a dying tree
In Fall
Sometimes I feel like the endless space
Speckled with starry spots of brilliance
But tortured
By infinite choices
Sometimes I feel powerful and purposeful
As crucial as the air we breathe
But just the same, taken for granted and unseen
As if not there at all
Sometimes I am as motivated and determined as a hungry lioness
Prowling for prey
While other times I am completely immobilized
By my internal voices
Sometimes I am the bomb
Because of my awesome attitude
Great works
And wit
Sometimes I am a bomb, primed to explode
Because everything
Or nothing
Matters
Sometimes I feel I can take on the world
With sound mind
Bursts of energy
And high spirits
Sometimes I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders
Sometimes I am numb
The pain, much less dangerous
Than the latter
Sometimes I feel happy and blessed
But I know
These highs and lows
My smiles and frowns
The ups and downs
Will never end
My friend
Unless…
To My Disability - by April Meredith
To My DisabilityI am joyful because
I am meI am joyful because
I have three
I am joyful because
I can see
I am joyful because
I observe beauty
I am joyful because
I love deeplyI am joyful because
I am freeI am joyful because
I think thoroughly
I am joyful because
I try
I am joyful because
I cry
I am joyful because
I live passionatelyI am joyful because
I fight with furyI am joyful because
My spirit is strong, though my body is weary
I am joyful because
I take, but give more gratefully
I am joyful because
I feel heavy
I am joyful because
Of my abilitiesI am joyful because
There is nothing else to be
I
Am
Joyfully
Me
April Meredith is a 2014-15 Partners in Policymaking graduate who currently works for Empower Tennessee. She loves God, her family, diversity and creativity.