Small Hope by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Nudged by hope
the heart rises
from exhaustion.

It’s like the great blue heron
I saw this morning
flying up from a wasteland

on broad gray wings
with strong, slow beats
for a moment charged

with grace
before—did you
see this, heart?—

it chose to land again,
bringing all its beauty
to the desolate place.

Small Hope

A simple poem, this, but like some of the simplest, it speaks with gravitas. This poet, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, posts a poem every day. Every day she finds something worthy of her attention and voice.

In those first three lines, she expresses the way that we can rise from our exhaustion (and who has not known that weariness) when we are Nudged by hope. Just a nudge, a gentle touch to the heart, that speaks to our latent awareness. She compares it to a great blue heron, flying up from a wasteland, that place of ennui or despair we all visit from time to time. I am always mesmerized by the occasional heron I see along the river – it’s broad gray wings, beating a slow tempo as it lifts and moves across the water.

I, too, have seen those wings charged / with grace, their simple elegance lifting something in me. Then, the pause of her question – did you / see this, heart? – did you see how it moved effortlessly before it came to earth again, bringing all its beauty / to the desolate place. This wondrous creature, as real as hope, that rises and falls, gracing our desolate places within.

May you see a heron today or the next or some time this summer and feel that nudge of hope such beauty evokes, small as it may be.

The Last Good Days by Lynn Ungar

What will you do with the last good days?
Before the seas rise and the skies close in,
before the terrible bill
for all our thoughtless wanting
finally comes due?

What will you do
with the last fresh morning,
filled with the watermelon scent
of cut grass and the insistent
bird calling sweet  sweet
across the shining day?

Crops are dying, economies failing,
men crazy with the lust for power and fame
are shooting up movie theaters and
engineering the profits of banks.

It is entirely possible
it only gets worse from here.
How can you leave your heart
open to such a vast, pervasive sadness?
How can you close your eyes
to the riot of joy and beauty
that remains?

The solutions, if there are any
to be had, are complex, detailed,
demanding. The answers
are immediate and small.

Wake up. Give thanks. Sing.

The Last Good Days

Here is a question to contemplate: what to do with the last good days – of your life? of the world? Either way, before the terrible bill / for all our thoughtless wanting / finally comes due. Sounds ominous, rather bleak. But then the poet offers us the watermelon scent / of cut grass and that irresistible birdcall of sweet sweet on the last fresh morning.

Then we are back again in a dystopian world of failing economies and crops, where the greed of rampant consumerism makes people crazy. But possibly, she tells us, it could get even worse. How can you leave your heart / open to such a vast, pervasive sadness? Indeed how do we leave our hearts open to the tragedies of this world? But wait, How can you close your eyes / to the riot of joy and beauty / that remains? She has named the paradox of this life of vast, pervasive sadness along with the riot of joy and beauty. Both exist so we must leave our hearts and eyes open to both.

She does not offer us simple solutions which if there are any / to be had, are complex, detailed, / demanding. But she does reveal that there are answers which are immediate and small. On these last good days, she is blunt, precise: Wake up. Give thanks. Sing. What else could we do, should we do, in the face of great sorrow balanced with the sweet sweet of joy and beauty.

What will be your song?

Field Guide by Tony Hoagland

Once, in the cool blue middle of a lake,
up to my neck in that most precious element of all,

I found a pale-gray, curled-upwards pigeon feather
floating on the tension of the water

at the very instant when a dragonfly,
like a blue-green iridescent bobby pin,

hovered over it, then lit, and rested.
That’s all.

I mention this in the same way
that I fold the corner of a page

in certain library books,
so that the next reader will know

where to look for the good parts.

Field Guide

Any field guide I’ve seen has been filled with various and multiple birds or plants or insects or whatever, so I wasn’t sure what I would find in this poem by that name. What I found and hope you may also, is a delight, a moment in time that the poet wants to share with us.

It’s still too chilly to go swimming this May, though I so love to put myself into the cool blue middle of any body of water, that most precious element of all, my favourite summer treat. Here, he notices a common pigeon feather, pale-gray, curled-upwards, floating on the surface which could be engaging enough. But then, in the next moment, a dragonfly appears, like a blue-green iridescent bobby pin, to rest on the feather awhile. That’s all, Hoagland says, that’s enough, just wanted to point this out to you, this small miracle of ordinariness.

I think the most intriguing part though, comes in the last lines where he explains that he is mentioning this event in the same way that I fold the corner of a page / in certain library books, his way of alerting the next reader where to look for the good parts. The good parts, the simple, solitary dragonfly’s iridescent beauty held on a weightless, floating feather – is that not worth noting?

Perhaps this may inspire you to consider what the good parts are in your days that you want to mark for the next person. In this way we can share the beauty around us.

A Prayer for Every Day Julia Fehrenbacher

Let me breathe only grace today, only
that which slows, steadies,
softens, sparks

only that which permits
and pardons and points
to the blossoms inside the broken,
the poetry inside the pain, the nourishing
newness inside the now
Let me breathe only grace
today, only that which invites
me to speak my very own
language for as long as I have breath,
only that which hums:

You can.
You will.

Let me breathe only grace today, only that which notices the tired
and says, lie back, Love—rest
for as long as you need to. It’s not
about how much you do
but how full you are.

And, my God, how beautiful you are when you are full.

A Prayer for Every Day

Serendipitously I came upon this gem while looking for another site – the wonders of internet rabbit holes! I admire Fehrenbacher’s work and previously posted Hold Out Your Hand back in December, 2018.

Here she offers us a prayer for grace which slows, steadies, / softens, sparks. A grace which permits / and pardons and points / to the blossoms inside the broken. Such deliciously inviting alliteration, a musical incantation. A grace which invites me to speak my very own / language, which says to You can. / You will. A language of confidence, of strength, of your own.

And then the permission, to breathe grace which notices the tired / and says, lie back. How might you breathe with relief to be given that invitation, to rest, to do nothing in a world that demands we be productive. She tells us what we all need to hear, that It’s not / about how much you do / but how full you are. What if you were to stop and consider your own rich fullness?

Is it not enough to be full of your own being, to listen and receive, not just to do and do more. Because as she emphatically reminds us, how beautiful you are when you are full. May you rest in your fullness today.