RW3: "5/25/14 Haiku"

Whenever I start a new journal, I like to write a brief something to dedicate the pages in an intentional manner.  This was the intention I wrote just last week in a new journal.  I guess this journal has an inherent haiku-like nature...time will tell.

"5/25/14 Haiku"

Hello my new friend,
Glad to have you here with me,
Together we go...

--Gertrude Rose
Personal Journal
5/25/2014

RW2: "Marathon"

This past March, I ran my first full marathon.  This was a major accomplishment made possible by many people helping me along the way.  One person literally running by my side the last seven miles of the race.  Marathons, and training for marathons, provide one a lot of time to reflect.  This is the poem that came from my pen a few days after the race.

"Marathon"

Methodical training
Appetite grows
Running provides outlet and structure
As  race day approaches
Tense nerves and knee are met with excitement and support
Happily, intentionally, unfailingly, I run
Out of body experience at the finish
Never alone.

--Gertrude Rose
Personal Journal
3/19/2014

RW1: "A year later"

I wrote this poem just two months ago.  In March of 2013, a person very close to me faced a fearful medical diagnosis.  A year later, in March of 2014, joy reigned over this group for new reasons, as the diagnosis was under control and new reasons for joy entered the forefront.  I wrote this poem in gratitude for this newfound joy.

"A Year Later"

March 2013
Fearful of diagnosis
A cake brings us peace

Confused emotions,
We all continue to walk,
timid yet strong

March 2014,
Honest Joy reigns over us,
A cake to celebrate.

--Gertrude Rose
Personal Journal
3/19/2014

PR4: "What do you do?"

About five months after my return to living in the states a friend who also lived abroad with me and I shared a funny observation.  We noticed that in the states, whenever anyone asked "What do you do?", the expected response was once about one's job or school enrollment status.  What one actually did day to day, the literal meaning of the question, was considered a strange misinterpretation of the question.  As a fun exercise, we decided to write down how we would respond to the literal question.  My response came out in a series of haikus. 


"What do you do?"

I wake up each day,
in a zombie human state,
grateful, tired, here

I go through motions,
trying to love and to serve,
Each person I see,

I do fail daily,
But I also try daily,
That's good for right now.

--Gertrude Rose
Personal Journal
5/12/2013

PR3: "Coffee Time Self Check-in"

I wrote this poem during my first few months in the states after my 28 months of living in Central America.  It was a challenging and confusing time of transition in my life.  It is not a piece of hope or strength, but rather an honest expression of where I was at in life at this exact moment. 


"Coffee Time Self Check-in"

The surface looks so pretty,
Start great new job with well-known charity,
Yoga class regular, ballet too,
Training for half marathon this month,
Reconnecting with old friends,
Seems like a picture perfect adjustment;

Inside I am lost in my "home" state,
brokenhearted on all levels,
Exercising to escape,
Yoga-ing to calm and relax my on edge nerves,
Dancing ballet to soothe and feed my soul,
Faith holds me together as I crumble daily;

Selfishness meets compassion meets confusion,
Meet me at this moment in time.


--Gertrude Rose
Personal Journal
3/1/2013

PR2: "Prayer, Life, Love"

This poem was written as I approached my two year anniversary of work at the children's home in Central America.  On a retreat with fellow staff, we were asked to write a sonnet about our spiritual life at the farm ("the farm" is shorthand for where I worked).  I wrote the following.  For me it represented a commitment to service deeper than the daily challenges and woes.  It was a way to express my belief that something greater was driving and supporting our work at the farm.

"Prayer, Life, Love"

My prayer life at the farm of child,
Better put my foundation and life here,
Holy Longing* prayers in action, seem mild,
Little words, little actions, make love near,

Work, tasks, exhaustion, always there looming,
Graces and great love fade into background,
Laudes seems chore like, private prayer fading,
But the words never fail, hope again found,

Quiet nights in the chapel bring heart peace,
Comfort found in present hearts all around,
Accept weaknesses, love, let labors cease,
Renewed soul takes in love's harmonic sound,

Our ever growing prayer life at the farm,
Inspires a love beyond human charm.

--Gertrude Rose
Personal Journal
4/11/2012

*Referring to The Holy Longing by Ronald Rolheiser

PR1: "A Wrap-Up of 2010"

I wrote this poem while living in Central America.  I had just started my work at the children's home three months prior, and was reflecting as I prepared for two more years of service.  2010 was a year of many transitions and new "cracks on my heart" as Mark Nepo would say.  This poem was written in an effort to acknowledge these transitions and cracks, and also harness the strength to move forward in my new role in life.

"A Wrap-Up of 2010"

2010 done
a life changing year
one dear to my heart

bittersweet exits
life altering transitions
heart worked overtime

new crack on my heart
but much wax also removed
light enters once again

2011
a new year and renewed me
This year I will grow

I resolve anew
loyalty to my own heart
its joys and its quirks

--Gertrude Rose
Personal Journal
12/31/2010

ST7: a haiku on grieving by Basho

Basho's ability to get at the essential truths of an issue in so few words is truly amazing.  The following pair of haikus shows two sides of grieving.  While two friends are traveling, one must return home due to illness, very aware his time on earth will soon end.  The first poem represents the ill friend's sentiments, and the second poem the sentiments of the friend who must continue on alone.  For anyone who has grieved in any capacity before, these two poems speak for themselves in their honest, beautiful, and truthful natures.
 

On, on I travel;
Though I fall and die, let it be
In the fields of clover.

Today I shall wipe out
The words written in my hat
With the dew of tears.

Source: Basho, Matsuo. 1996. The Narrow Road to Oku.  New York: Kodansha International.

ST6: "XIV" by Pablo Neruda

Pablo Neruda's poetry is like a rare gem, and our world is lucky to behold it.  In his famous text, The Book of Questions, he presents a series of poems composed entirely of questions.  As an author who is also inspired by nature, I am especially found of the "XIV".

"XIV"

And what did the rubies say
standing before the juice of the pomegranates?

Why doesn't Thursday talk itself
into coming after Friday?

Who shouted with glee
when the color blue was born?

Why does the earth grieve
when the violets appear?


Source: Neruda, Pablo. 2001.  The Book of Questions.  Port Townsend, Washington: Copper Canyon Press.

ST5: "Nada te turbe" por Santa Teresa de Avila

This is a classic poem by Saint Teresa of Avila.  I find it consoling in times of unrest and confusion of all forms.  It is best read with a café con leche in the beautiful city of Avila in Spain, but holds a similar effect in any safe space for poetry and reflection.

"Nada te turbe..."

Nada te turbe,
nada te espante,
todo se pasa,
Dios no se muda.
La paciencia
todo lo alcanza,
quien a Dios tiene
nada le falta:
solo Dios basta.

Source: Virgillo, Valdivieso, and Friedman. 2004. Aproximaciones al estudio de la literatura hispanica. New York: McGraw Hill.

ST4: "The Friend" by Mark Nepo

I had the pleasure of attending a retreat at the Fetzer Institute lead by Mark Nepo in 2010.  His poetry is powerful and honest on a level that forces one to face the inner most cracks on one's heart.  The following is a poem I find consoling in times of darkness.  I fully recommend Nepo's work in both poetry and prose if this poem speaks to you. 

"The Friend"

There is  friend who is older than birth
who danced with you before you had a body,
a friend who stays close to your life, the way
heat stays close to a flame.  Can you feel it?
I know it's hard.  I often turn and it's gone.

But you may have seen it in the glow
that remains for those few seconds after you
turn the lights off.  Or in the ache that beats
in your blood after you turn away
from something you love.

We each have a friend older than birth,
more patient than the ocean, more giving
than the rain, a place of safety
waiting like a nest of song whenever
we are ready.

All we have to do is put down the many
things we believe we have to carry, put down
everything we've worked for, not deny it or
curse it, but simply undo our grip, simply
untie our need to have it last.

If we can't, the friend will wait
until we die, when it will carry our pain
like seed into God, the way the song swallows
smoke when no one's looking.  But while alive,
if we can find what's alive, the friend will
stretch its honeyed thread between our
heart and eye to sweeten what we know.

Yes there is a friend older than birth
who dislikes mirrors, but adores windows.

And when you look upon something with
love and close your eyes, the trace of light
you see is the litmus of the Divine, and all
you love, all you see with love, all you hold
in your heart after love--all are images that
the friend carves on the cave of your soul, for
the times you fall down and are forced
to look within.

Source: Nepo, Mark. 2007. Surviving Has Made Me Crazy. New Jersey: CavanKerry Press.

ST3: "One Rose is Enough" by Robert Bly

I came across this poem while scrolling through a used bookstore one day.  It seemed to express what my own words could not.  Robert Bly is a classic poet with many great poems, I highly recommend reading his further works if this piece connects with you on any level.

"One Rose is Enough"

One rosy face from the world's garden for us is enough,
And the shade of that one cypress in the field
Strolling along gracefully for us is enough.

I want to be far away from people whose words
And deeds don't match. Among the morose and heavy-
Hearted, a heavy glass of wine for us is enough.

Some people say that good deeds will earn them
A gated house in heaven. Being rakes and natural beggars
A room in the tavern for us is enough.

Sit down beside the stream sometimes and watch
Life flow past. That brief hint of this world
That passes by so swiftly for us is enough.

Look at the flow of money and the suffering
Of the world. If this glimpse of profit and loss
Is not enough for you, for us it is enough.

The dearest companion of all is here. What
Else is there to look for? The delight of a few words
With the soul friend for us is enough.

Don't send me away from your door, oh, God,
Even to Paradise. Your alleyway, compared
To all space and time, for us is enough.

It's inappropriate, Hafez, for you to complain
Of your gifts from Fate. Your nature is like water,
Your beautiful flowing poems for us are enough.

--Robert Bly

— The Angel Knocking on the Tavern Door (2008)
     translated by Robert Bly & Leonard Lewisohn
     HarperCollins, New York, 2008, pp. 31-32

ST2: "Ulysses" by Lord Alfred Tennyson

This poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson was written in 1833, and published in 1842.  It is a classic that requires no introduction.  I recommend you read it periodically and see how it speaks to you each time.  I have found that it never fails to teach me a new lesson whenever I take the time to read its rich text.

"Ulysses"

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees:  All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea:  I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life.  Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains:  But every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bounds of human thought.
 
This is my son, mine own Telemachos,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle-
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone.  He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port, the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas.  My mariners,
Souls that have tol'd and wrought, and thought with me-
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads - you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all:  but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes:  the slow moon climbs:  the deep
Moans round with many voices.  Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved heaven and earth; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

--Lord Alfred Tennyson

ST1: Basho's pepper pod

One of the most famous haiku poets of all time is Matsuo Basho.  This Japanese author inspires me in his ability to communicate incredible depth and meaning in just 17 syllables.  The following pair of haikus demonstrates his commitment to the integrity of haiku poetry, not as a trick of arranging syllables, but rather as a life giving artistic form.

Take a pair of wings

From a dragonfly, you would

Make a pepper pod

 

 

Add a pair of wings

To a pepper pod, you would

Make a dragonfly

 

--Basho

 

When Basho was presented with the first haiku, he said that this could not be a haiku as is deconstructs life and beauty.  He then offered the second as a proper haiku, one that creates life and beauty. 

 

 

Source of poem: 

Lederach, John Paul. 2004. The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace. New York: Oxford University Press.

 

Welcome

Welcome to my blog, “In gratitude: poems from a humbled heart.”  My name is Gertrude Rose.  I am lover and writer of poetry, in all its forms.  I have no professional training in critiquing or writing poetry, but I do recognize its beauty and wisdom.  It has helped me process and move forward from some of the most joyous and most challenging moments (and every moment in between) in my life.  I created this blog in hope that if I shared these verses, they may help another through whatever they face in life as well. 

I will present three types of poems in this blog:

(1) Shared Thoughts (ST): Poems from various authors throughout time and languages that have spoken to me.  These range from classic epic poems, to modern haikus.  They include both the Spanish and English language as mediums.  The common theme among them is that my brain and heart shared the thoughts of the author at some point in time.  The beauty is that the poems continue to teach me in different ways as I read them at different phases in life.

(2) Personal Revivals (PR): These are poems I wrote in the past that continue to hold a special place in my heart.  Many were written while I was working in Central America at a children’s home.  Some names have been changed to respect the privacy of those involved, but the message remains clear. 

(3) Recently Written (RW): These are poems I have recently written.  These and all the poems will take many forms, and cover an array of themes. 

I will publish one of each type of poem each Sunday.  I have included 7 ST, 4 PR, and 3 RW as a foundation and a window to both my tastes and personal style in poetry.

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to post them at any time.  You are also welcome to email me at gertruderose88@gmail.com.