All poems are discovered poems, and those we love, miracles.
Whether we luckily find and read a poem written by someone else, or stealthily stumble upon one that we ourselves write. The love and the process for me are virtually the same.
Again, both are miracles. And miracles happen in our minds, hearts and souls.
My pet theory is this: An existing poem-we-find or brand new poem-we-write scurries into our consciousness as a loved thing when we’re moved to respond in one or both ways:
For me, this last week was hard. I expected a different result from the election. From what many of my friends, clients, and family are saying, they’re also experiencing difficulty. Of course, I understand that some are having a different experience and response.
I can only be accountable for my own. I recently told an old friend that when we lose our center we lose our effectiveness. He agreed. A lesson learned from the art of Aikido.
Here is something below I’ve recently written.
I did not set out to write a poem about the election, politics, disappointment or anything else in particular. But as is true for me, when I write I can’t help but cohere in certain ways consistent with the life I am living. So when my Blackhawk 602 pencil starts flashing graphite across the page, I never know what’s going to happen. I discover what the words are trying to say, no faster than someone else looking over my shoulder as I write.
Lastly, I have no idea if these words will be helpful for others. They’re simply offered in faith. Most importantly, this piece is provided as a gentle nudge to encourage you to find or write other things that will have you become more centered and effective, if you are feeling less so. And maybe most critically, have you say: “Yes, that is how I feel!”
After The Election
by dale biron
“You turn your head- / that’s what the silence meant: / you’re not alone.
The whole wide world pours down.” –William Stafford
I speak now to my dearest friends who fret and worry.
Yes, I also have a home in that gnawing place of fear.
As if gone were the country in which we thought we lived.
But even now, we have a choice to hold the sacred center.
Everything we have ever done prepares us for this day,
as our perfect, flawed union, looks for its better angels.
Let us shun the easy addiction of always being right.
Let us summon no conspiracies crafted by falsehood,
nor rip apart character with glancing blows of innuendo.
May we avoid common abstractions and their damning labels.
But rather, like a fierce hawk “see” each statement and action,
to let no tearing down of a common decency be normalized,
and no shinning end to justify a means that will soon sicken.
Stand strong and calm as a lioness stands, protecting her cubs.
And in this real, not false or merely imagined world, let us find the
common will and strength to hold this, our true faith, even in fear.