Stupid Raven

I know that my Redeemer lives

Be that as it may,

There's still this

Irritating

Black bird

Rapping on my chamber door

Incessantly reminding me

Of my loss

Grief is like an earthquake

At least mine has been

I knew it was likely to come

I thoughti'd prepared

Yet when it arrived I was still 

Shocked & overwhelmed

What's worse

Are the aftershocks

Never knowing when they'll come

Or how frequently

Or how hard each will be

Or how long they'll each last

I know you're better off

And in our Savior's arms

But you're not in my arms anymore

And I'm not in yours

I'm supposed to beon your shoulders 

In the sun

Or slung over your shoulder

Asleep, too tired& too young

Depending on your stamina and strength land patience

But this fucking raven keeps visiting me

In my chamber

"No more, never more!"

Shut up

Stupid bird

Stupid melancholy

Stupid pain

Let me go

Rain, rain, go away

Comeback again some other day

Maybe someday when it's easier to ignore you,

Work through you

See past you

Today, you're all I know

Tweet

I can't help thinking

What a kick

My grandmother

Would get

Out of

The pair of cardinals

In our young mock pair tree

Outside our kitchen window

Now

Is this a poem,

Just an observation,

Or a tweet?

Hardest thing I ever had to write

Merle C. Mallory, age 83 of Phoenix passed away Sunday, March 30, 2014 peacefully, surrounded by his family.

A loving husband, father and grandfather, Merle is survived by his wife of more than 50 years, Sharleen Mallory and his two sons and their families; Bart and Debbie Mallory of Surprise, AZ and their children Daniel and Emma; and Ted and Bethany Mallory of Charter Oak, IA and their children, Grace, Ellen, and Annamarie. And by  two sisters; Marlene Smith of Ann Arbor, MI and Mildred Dean of Whitmore Lake, MI,

Born February 8, 1931 in Petoskey, Michigan to Clifton Frank and Hilda Gay Mallory. He attended high school in Belleville, Michigan, where his family had moved during WWII. Merle enjoyed working for a local farmer after school.

On December 5, 1950 he went to work for American Airlines. He enlisted in the United States Marine Corps in 1951. He was stationed on the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Bennington where he was part of the Air Reconnaissance Squadron VMC-2. He achieved the rank of Sergeant as crew chief for planes patrolling the Caribbean for Soviet activity.

Upon discharge in 1953, he resumed his employment at American Airlines, a job he would continue another 45 years, working at the Detroit Metro and then Phoenix Sky Harbor Airports. While working in Detroit, he met his future wife Sharleen M. Reilly, whom he married at Angelica Lutheran Church in Allen Park Michigan on April 20, 1963.

Merle attended adult instruction classes at Angelica where he was both baptized into the Christian faith and Confirmed as a member of the Lutheran church on the same day,  May 10, 1964.

The couple moved to Phoenix, Arizona in 1968 where they would raise their two sons and become members at Christ Church Lutheran, where he attended Bible studies, often served as an usher and volunteered. Merle retired from American Airlines in 1997 and enjoyed traveling with his wife, bowling, playing cards and dominoes, and doting on his grandchildren. Merle never missed watching an Arizona Diamondbacks game on TV.

Visitation will be from 5:00-8:00 PM Thursday, April 3, 2014 at Hansen Chapel, 8314 N. 7th Street, Phoenix, AZ 85020. Memorial service will be at 6:30 PM Friday, April 4, 2014 at Christ Church Lutheran, 3901 E Indian School Rd., Phoenix, AZ 85018. Interment will be at the National Memorial Cemetery of Arizona. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Christ Church Lutheran Scholarship Fund.

---

Other Posts & Poems about Dad and/or grief

• Dad's Military Service Compiled for Memorial Day some year's back
• Written on a plane on the inside jacket of a paperback on the way home Written on the flight home, after Dad's funeral
• I'm So Sorry Written after a colleague lost a child, in part to process having lost my brother-in-law. How do you express empathy? Just saying "I'm sorry for your loss," or "my condolences" seems so inadequate, right?
• Over the Hill Written months ago, thinking about the end-of-life journey that we'll all end up on
• Who's Hand is it Writing on my Paper Anyway? Written for the Iowa Writers' Project a few summers ago
• Do I Sound Like Him? This might be what they mean when they tell you things like, "they'll always be with you," or "they're a part of you."
• My Grandpa's Farm Written back in college, after the death of my Dad's dad- these sentiments now remind me of my Mom's widowhood, not just my Grandma's
• A Poem My Dad Taught Me A fun little thing that no doubt came from Petosky, Michigan, Dad's home town.
• 'Family & Ancestors' Pinterest Board I originally meant this to be a repository of family history research, but its turned into more of a scrap book of things that remind me of Dad.

Great way to remember both of these; P51 was one if Dad's favorite planes and Psalm 51 was his favorite psalm. #P51 #PS51 #Psalm51

Written on a plane on the inside jacket of a paperback on the way home

no words

no images

nothing
 works well enough
there's not even
 much comfort
 in the familiar
cold comfort
 when there is

heaviness

ache

 sleep is
  no escape
when what little sleep
   actually comes

better to just
 keep moving
  slowly,
  achingly
trudging on

what else is there to do?
what else is there?
what else?
what?

On the coldest night of the year

Your window rattled

the storm window being blown between the frame and the real window

but mine did not

The pages shuffled as I turned them in my book

but yours did not

The wind chime outside our neighbors back door made a little noise

but the owl in our tree, that most nights hoots and hoots

did not

Every once in a while there's a deep hollow thump from some duct in the basement, or maybe it's the fuel barrel becoming more empty. 

But the dogs from over a block and up the street haven't made a sound. 

Once in a while I notice your breathing calmly and evenly. 

And there's that wind chime again.

Over the Hill

You always told me to be careful on the downhill
it was easier to loose your footing and slip, you said

take your time
take it easy
enjoy the view
don't be in such a hurry
its not a race

On the way up it was harder and slower
but I thought I was so strong and so tough

It made me proud
each step of the climb
I was accomplishing something

and I felt confident and safe, with you on ahead

but I was impatient
I couldn't wait to get to the top
I wanted to get to see what you could see

but when we peaked
you kept on walking
no time to stop and bask at the zenith

I lost sight of you for a minute
you below the crest on the downward slope,
me on the upward, still climbing, catching up and catching my breath

Now,
instead of seeing the dirt and rocks
and my own knees and boots,
I can see the panorama just like you promised
but I can also see you on ahead
descending descending
up where I can't be yet
but where I know I have to go

I can't enjoy the big picture
because I want to keep my eyes on you
and not lose you again
and because I see all the chasms and cliffs and crags
around you, behind you, beyond you
and right in front of you
things neither of us could see on the way up.

On the way up, I wanted to stop and rest because it was such a strain
now I want to stop and wait
because this feeling is so weak and worn and vulnerable
exhausted after so much strain on the way up,
but now we need our strength even more
we need our balance and agility more
so that we won't stumble and plummet to the bottom before we can reach it gently
but there's no stopping gravity and momentum
and time

I can see you far ahead
too far ahead
I want you up here by my side
I liked it better when you were here to catch me and to steady me
and to encourage me to keep going
to assure me that I could do this

I'd rather still be walking with you
but I can't just gallop and catch up to you
even though I want to be there to catch you and steady you

I wish you'd just stop and wait while I gradually catch up with you
but I'm scared to travel where you are

Downhill is definitely faster than uphill
but I'm not sure its as fun
the trail seems to keep slipping out from under me.

I know that the pastures and waters you're headed for offer rest and reward
but between this mountainside and there seems so hard
and while the vista seems clear, twilight is falling
and I'm losing sight of you

Just promise you'll be there waiting at home
once I finally catch up

A poem about tact and allegories

Plant implicitly

to grow intrinsic

explicitly sown

is extrinsically grown

Nourish coach and encourage

and there may or may not be a harvest, but if there is, once there is, the roots will be deep and the fruit will be tender.

Coerce, control and command

you may get something quick

but it will be bitter

and you won't get much for long

Which is worth more?

The golden egg, or the goose?

After all, you're not God

You know we're just plough boys.

September 30 in Yellow

I should've spent the day on my front porch
sunny and warm
full Indian Summer

In line for the viewing at the funeral home in town
a couple waiting to pay their respects discuss where the most colorful drives would be
oh no, the hills would be better
that canyon is full of oak, ash turn yellow, oak just turn brown

I know, but if that ash bore comes through here, we're done
and here we planted all ash to avoid that elm disease

The maples aren't red yet and the elms are still green, but we've never seen such a yellow September
even the stupid hackberry seems to have color, instead of just being it's typical khaki

The fields have been stripped bare,
like unmade beds
their quilts of corn and oats and soybeans stored in some attic or perhaps piled on the floor in the laundry room
only a few tattered old afghans remain on the plain, beige mattresses
those are the few acres of deep green alfalfa, fringed with fluffy tufts of some exploded weeds- like the stuffing pulled out of the mattress-
I think that some of it must be pussy-willow

Poem for Memorial Day; How?

How can anyone read the Gettysburg Address on Memorial Day and not cry?
How can anyone read the Gettysburg Address and still support nullification and secession?
How can anyone read the Gettysburg Address and be so angry and hateful toward the Federal govt. which is supposedly "of the people, by the people, and for the people?"
How can anyone read the Gettysburg Address and want to deny rights and benefits to public workers like firemen, police officers, teachers, and bureaucrats who are" the people" in the government by/of/for the people?
How can anyone read the Gettysburg Address and come away thinking that the "cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion" is merely patriotism or nationalism and not the principles of participatory democracy and equality?
How can anyone read the Gettysburg Address and come away thinking that the "cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion" is merely patriotism or nationalism and not the freedom of religion, expression, association, and the right to petition for redress of grievences?
How can anyone read the Gettysburg Address on Memorial Day and not cry?

On top of a hill

On the one hand, the steeple of the old white country church rises above bean and corn fields like a lighthouse on a rock above the beating waves.

Meanwhile, occupants of the churchyard bear silent witness to the families gathered under the eaves on Sundays like chicks gathered under a hens wings.

On a Green Sea

Wind whispers through pines
Humble, unobtrusive, yet full and constant and massive, like the ocean surf.

Rolling prairie hills and heavy air and low clouds further play out the maritime feel.

But the song of the red winged back bird, while mournful has a hope and affection that no gull or albatross ever offer.

The Power of Words

Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior wrote that "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere" in 1963.

Just last week Nigerian President Goodluck Ebele Azikiwe Jonathan said that "A terrorist attack on any of us is an attack on all of us."

I shared both quotes with my Civics class, but one eighth grader wrote on the board under Dr. King's words that  "no one gets this." I asked if they'd like me to discuss it with them and the same student said, "no, we don't care either."

That made me thing of Jimmy Buffett's famous line, "Is it ignorance, or apathy? I don't know and I don't care."

I care, God knows I care, but God only knows how I'm supposed to teach eighth graders how to care.

So I took King's words,

Injustice ANYWHERE is a threat to Justice EVERYWHERE

and I paired them with James Madison's words-

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

[Disunity] ANYWHERE is a threat to [Unity] EVERYWHERE

[Turmoil] ANYWHERE is a threat to [Tranquility] EVERYWHERE

[Insecurity] ANYWHERE is a threat to [Security] EVERYWHERE

Or would that have sounded better with [Offense] ANYWHERE is a threat to [Defense] EVERYWHERE?

[Suffering] ANYWHERE is a threat to [the General Welfare] EVERYWHERE!

Now THERE'S one that probably makes "rugged individualists" absolutely cringe, but AREN'T I my brother's keeper?

And of course,

[Tyranny] ANYWHERE is a threat to [Liberty] EVERYWHERE

So isn't it true?

Don't you CARE?

Don't you realize? Don't you know?

That "Injustice ANYWHERE is a threat to Justice EVERYWHERE!"

Is justice really blind?

Have you ever heard, "No Justice, No Peace!"?

Did you know, what Cornell West says?

He says that “Justice is what love looks like in public.”

Merrium and Webster say that "public" means 

"exposed to general view : 

open, well-known, prominentc : 

perceptible, material..."

and 

"of, relating to, or affecting ALL the people."

Did you know?

Do you care?

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere" 

Amos 5:24

Stupid Leaves, Stupid Breeze!

I can rake rake rake
and mow mow mow

but that darned October wind still blows
so every leaf from every tree
from every neighbor, hither and yawn

ends up back in my yard
and back on my lawn!

Earliest Spring

Grant Wood, Spring Plowing, 1932. MFA, Boston

The rolling prairie of earliest Spring
looks like an old quilt covering the hills and farms and wild spaces
with it's different squares and shape in different shades and colors

The corn stubble is still amber
and most of the bean stubble is still a dull grey

But the hay fields are just starting to turn green
like black and white photographs
that someone has touched-up with some watercolors

Here and there squares of the quilt have been tilled or plowed
revealing deep, dark browns

Jagged swathes are an even darker brown, almost black
where farmers are working on terraces and removing dead trees

Black lines trace the ditches where weeds and grass were burned
and faint green whiskers are peeking through the black
where controlled fires shaved culverts clean
deeper greens edge the creeks and brooks

From a distance the woods look like a fuzzy dark taupe
sometimes hinting at dusty rose or plum or just plain grey and brown
who'd imagine the white they wore just weeks ago, the glorious golds months ago, or the summer greens to come?

I can see what Grant Wood saw in his paintings
all my children can see are all the "BABY COWS!" prancing around their patient, stoic mothers

My lawn is finally regaining color and our trees are budding
and my children laugh at how fluffy and fat the robins have become
I figure their feathers are ruffled
like a turned up collar against a brisk April breeze
but my kids know it's because they're all pregnant
and about to have babies

I open my window wide and let the curtains flutter
and inhale the soft, hopeful breath of the new and listen to the chattering chorus of those expectant mothers

Happy National Poetry Month

"Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality." ~T.S.Eliot

In honor of April, National Poetry Month,

I thought I'd share some of my own- such as it is 

(thus the title, Max Nix is German for "not much,"
we Midwesterners are known for our self-effacing modesty).

Ted's poetry on this blog

Ted's poetry on Goodreads

Ted on Lulu Poetry

Ted on OriginalPoetry.com 

But there is so much better poetry out there, so don't just read mine-

Poets.org

Poets&Writers

Poetry180

PoetryDaily

POEM: Noisy Chatter

What is it with all that clatter in that tree?
Why is that gaggle of grackles chattering so?

Are they mating? Is all that noise some kind of speed-dating?

Is it just a family reunion?
Are they catching up, after only seeing each other in passing along the flyway during migration?
Are they swapping jokes and gossiping?

Is it a tree-wide argument? Shouting and screaming like on the Jerry Springer show?

Maybe it's some form of laughter-yoga, chirping exercises.

Or is it just choir practice? Planning and preparing this afternoon for tomorrow's Dawn Chorus?

Surely, surely, it's not an avian congress- full of political vitriol and fury.

If only I spoke bird, I might know for sure.

A map of the world

All art really is, is a map of reality
it;s not reality itself,
but it shows you the way.
No wonder that from across the room
it looks better than real life
but up close, it can look even worse.
Every artist, then, is just a glorified cartographer.
Shapes and colors, shades and scratches
are just so many roads and rivers
railroad tracks and cities
hills and valleys
destinations for the eye to travel to.
A record of where we've been.
A guide to where we'd like to go,
or to where are afraid to venture. 

Don't kill mockingbirds

"Look at six eggs
In a mockingbird's nest

Listen to six mockingbirds
Flinging follies of O be joyful
Over the marshes and uplands

Look at songs
Hidden in eggs"

-from Carl Sandburg's 'Cornhusker'

Moment of clairity

there is a moment of dusk
that is not dim or dull
instead it is sharp
and clear and rich

the colors are deep
and the world appears
as if in a cameo portrait
with variegated darkness just at the edges

the colors of the hills and roads and sky
have more meaning
than at noon
because they are about to be lost

but, it's only a moment
between the golden hour and the twilight zone
one bright, bold,
optimistic moment

when everything is more real
more real than usual
but, like all moments
it is fleeting

and the curtain falls for another moment
and the house lights go out
the previews are over
the night show is about to begin

be careful not to blink
because when you open your eyes
that bright moment will be over
and you'll wake up in the dark

Hall Duty

Crazy mornings are the best. 

Stress helps you think better; 

lethargy and apathy aren't options

You just get going and keep going

The wind howled all night long

the storm windows rattled

not that I sleep well when my wife is gone anyway.

My alarm didn't go off.

I woke up more than an hour later than usual

I scrambled to get ready

pack lunches for the kids

roust them out of bed to get them going.

I didn't get breakfast

didn't make coffee

reminded everyone to dress warm

and what work to get done when they get home

The car stalled at the corner

I noticed it was low on gas

it stalled again as I pulled up to the pump

I went inside to pay and grab some coffee

I grabbed an egg sandwich and a bottle of gas-line antifreeze

I hurriedly paid for it all

and slammed into the door with the sign that said

please use other door

About a third of the way to school

my cell phone rang

I looked forward to talking to my love

but instead heard my middle daughter in hysterics

Something about snow pants

the wrong snow pants

little sister not listening

put your sister on

listen carefully,

wear the ones in your bag

let your big sister wear the other ones

Ok? Ok. Love you Daddy, love you too

Back to the middle girl

still hysterical

But they don't fit either

and I can't find mine!

I'm already a half hour behind

I'll get to school late

and I have hall duty

I wish I could help you

Can you just calm down

it will be okay

it's just one day

stay inside

And whatever you do,

don't call Grandma

This is not that big a deal

breathe, Honey, just breathe

My cell rings again

this time it is my wife

Excited about your conference?

I hope it goes well

I love to hear her voice

It almost makes it worth missing her

Just call to say good morning?

No, one of the kids called, what's been going on?

Nothing

No big deal

We got it handled

Everything's okay

I run into school

and head out to the hall

ten minutes later

than I'm sure my principal would've liked

Hall Duty can be tedious

standing in one place

for a half an hour

keeping students from loitering before the bell rings

It's a slow morning

not so many kids

probably all late

because of the cold

I visit with a a few

congenial and calm

playing the role of the

steady and positive adult influence

I read my book of poetry

and look out down the hall

past the lunch room, through the windows out front

and see that the snow has started to fly