Writing Wings For You

Marie Lukasik Wallace ~ # I LIVE Poetry – I'm passionate about life and writing and all things creative and poetic!

Tag Archives: blessings


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If You and I were Having Coffee continued

coffee cup

If you and I were having coffee, I would tell you the story of why I became obsessed with sunflowers this summer.  I grew these ENORMOUS plants with strong stalks and deep roots from tiny seeds. The best part was when I left for my Trip Across America, they were not very big.  When I got home, they had gone over the roof of my solarium,  Honestly, I gasped out loud, and oh, what a reverence i held for their beauty.

Next, I would tell you, that every day since that day I have watched these beauties, I began seeing them as metaphors for life and began studying all their unique facets, not book knowledge, but detail knowledge.  Sunflowers caused me to pause and to look closer and to ponder.

Here’s one way you can live as a sunflower.  Sunflowers live LARGE and MAGNIFICENCE with no apology.  They are uniquely themselves in all their glory.  In a way, they are spiritual, always seeking their source, their energy, their vitality, the sun.  Even as they die, they die with grace and ever seeking the sun.

If you and I were having coffee, I would tell you that I feel so incredibly blessed for our friendship.  I know that you are the kind of friend that I could lose touch with for 30 years, and talk with you, and it would feel as if we had spoken yesterday.  I could tell you anything.  If I faltered and misspoke or made a mistake, you would know I was human and hold me in Divine love like the word “Namaste.”     And I KNOW you know I’d treat you the same.

If you and I were having coffee.  I would be fully present and devour every moment for I find you extremely amusing and truly cherish our friendship.  We could tell each other dreams of peace and a better world, and because our space became enlightened and sacred, the world began to shift.

If you and I were having coffee, it would be a most glorious day.

May you have a most blessed weekend my friends.   Here is a Throwback Thursday of a poem with Michael at Poetry Channel – If You and I were Having Coffee

Namaste,

Marie

marie signature 2-for resizing final


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I Live Poetry – Sunflower Metaphors

Sunflowers bloom like crazy!   Little did I know that when I planted sunflowers that I would get GIANT flowers whose enormity takes up my entire garden.  I was hoping for a few sunflowers…but I got them in dozens.  They grew over the top of my solarium.  They shadowed all my vegetables and even killed some plants begging for the sunlight they so graciously took.

But I’m not mad at them…they are GLORIOUS!  Their bulbous faces to the sun.  Their majestic power and strength.  Their ability to bring joy on the most cloudy day.  I love sunflowers for they represent my favorite word in the world: JOY.  Whose face can’t be brightened by the presence of a sunflower?

Now on to the metaphors.  My sunflowers have been through some really tough times.  There have been three hefty storms pushing at them and trying to knock them down.  Currently, some of their faces are to the ground because the last storm hit them so hard, and I need someone to assist in getting them back up.  Even in this adversity, they continue to “shine on.”

I’ve been taking pictures of their various states throughout the summer.  As I pondered on these, I realized they represent metaphors of life.

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The storms knocked this one down and the roots are hanging on by a thread, but this one pursued, draping across the porch and shooting up! (Not an easy feat, but we can all learn something from this)

The middle one is frazzled and lost all his hair, but is still surrounded by his friends holding him up.

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The”different” one in the bunch…not like the others, but”blooming” where its planted.
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Face to the ground…knocked down…but still growing…these lovelies will soon get assistance.

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Shine on.
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Be beautiful.
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Be MASSIVE!!!

Namaste my friends…and be as bold as a sunflower…under any conditions…no matter what, just bloom.

Marie


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Chautauqua

“Chautauqua”-: Today, it is “experiencing a renaissance. People are discovering that lifelong learning is one of the keys to living a happy, fulfilling life.”   I am so grateful this word, and this experience entered my life!

So this summer, I had been struggling a little with identity as I quit my long term career path as a teacher.

I had wanted to be a teacher since I was a little girl.  I had the courage to go back to school as a young mom in my late twenties and began teaching as my second career.  Ah…I loved it!  But the demands as a teacher were more than I could do and still pursue my other dreams of writer and writing coaching, so I didn’t renew my contract.

Enter, new phase in my life.  I’ve ALWAYS worked, and now I got to trust what came next.  Granted, I was lost.  I felt I had lost my tribe and that I didn’t belong anywhere and that I was alone on my journey.  Enter, my friend, who is a counselor.  He was EXCITED about my new journey and said I was RIPE for discovery and he couldn’t believe all that was out there for me.  You should have seen his face, grinning ear to ear, as if he knew a secret that I didn’t know.  Then, add in to the conversation, I’m about to take a trip across America with my husband for two and half weeks, and I thought he would vault out of the chair, and the grin that I didn’t think could get bigger, took up his whole face.

That’s when he let me in on the secret of “Chautauqua.   The way he introduced it to me was that I go into my travels without any expectations.  Be open.  Be honest.  Enjoy.   Also, not to hold on to any specific outcomes.  I took all this to mean ABSORB.  My great mantra of #ILivePoetry was my first thought….treat each day as a poetic experience.  What do I see?  really see?  What if I stop and notice more?  What if I take pictures from the under sides of things?     What do I hear?  Songs of the cicada? Ocean waves?   What do I taste?  Are there new tastes? New food?  Old favorites in a new way?  Experience it all.

Being open to an experience and drinking….no GULPING it in is way different than just doing it.  I LIVED it.  I truly “lived poetry.”  My take on poetry is that it’s the best words, in the best order, in the tiniest of packages but the most explosive of moments.  I truly got to live my live.  Then suddenly, the worries diminish, life’s blessings show up in the most unusual ways.  I noticed things in ways and places I hadn’t before.

In the next couple of weeks, I will randomly post my experiences.  I thought I might go by towns and stops along the way…not sure how it will look, just sharing.  It will be poetry unfolding.   And as I showcase my experiences, you’ll see my definition of a Chautauqua.  Namaste my friends.


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Can You Take me Back Daddy?

This is how I know there’s gold in every soul.  I think back on m relationship with my dad.  What I remembered as a child…both the open man and the closed man…and then I remember the man I knew as an adult.  Most of the time closed…but there were glimpses of gold in the soul.

I wrote this recently as a pondering.  What I like is that it pointed out to me where the walls were starting to form…the prison my dad built around him.  How I was so blessed the last couple of years that the walls started to get holes in them…and then I saw shiny gold peeking out.

If I could go back to any

Moment in time

What would it be?

I think this summer

When it was

Just you and me

 

We talked so freely

Just you and me

And I imagined how

It must have been

When I was a baby

And you cradled me

And you cooed with me

And life was simpler

Before you knew

You world was crumbling

And that people weren’t happy

Before your tenderness

Was crushed by the weight

Of real life

Before you knew that the love

Of your life wasn’t as happy as you.

Could you take me there daddy?

 

I want to know what

It was like before

The monstrous voice of the drink

Allowed you to say things

That were not really you

When the hurt unleashed

And lashed out on anyone

In its path

 

Somehow I always knew

That it wasn’t you

On those cold dark days

How?

Because there were

Those quiet moments

When you taught us

Poker and dominoes

And we sat around

Like a family

And laughed and played

As if there were no cares

In the world

 

Can you take me back there daddy?

May you find gold in the soul of all those you love.  Where would you like the time machine to take you?


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Throwback Thursday – An Old Memory of Home

mud art

When my kids were growing up, there were so many magical times.  Mostly what I loved, is that there was an air of acceptance for all of us.  We were a blended family.  By statistics, we probably shouldn’t have done as well as we had…but honestly, there was so much love in our home.  Love got us through the sticky times.. By many standards, we weren’t perfect…but for each other, we were.

Enjoy my poem of our old childhood home…Three girls and neighbors who loved us.

10893 Montana

Home of oozy goozy mud art

proudly displayed on each child’s belly

and perfect bouffant.

 

Home of last minute backyard campouts

of roasted hotdogs and marshmallows

because our neighbor Ray had made

an “emergency” run to the store.

 

Home of Friday night pizza

dance videos and mini fractured fairytale skits

for a dozen giggly girls.

 

Home of make-shift forts

of bunkbeds and sheets

And “when do you think you’ll be taking that down?

I need to water my lawn.”

 

Home of visqueen and duct tape slip and slides

and neighbors who helped realtors take the signs down

to ensure our stay.

 

Talks over fences

Neighbors mowing our lawns because we were crazy busy

Junior’s eyes dancing with delight as Sophie, our dog,

Accepted his table treasures.

 

Flooding waters making wading pools

Splashing and running carefree through them.

 

No kitchen table…but couch trampolines.

 

Home of 2 families weaving themselves

into one fabric

and clothing themselves

in their warmth and gaiety.

 

10893 Montana

Where mommy is melted on the front porch.


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It’s the Small Things

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When I wrote, “Where are you Daddy?”  I was really lost.  It seems like a rollercoaster of emotions this grieving thing.  I don’t like it much…but I understand the need for it.  I also know that there is beauty and glory in all of it.

It’s the little things that remind me of him…my daddy.  My sister and I balled when we went to his house and saw peppermints  on the counter.  He always had them with him in his pocket.  You see my dad quit smoking 30 years ago, and his peppermints replaced that habit…so you can imagine, he always had a pocketful.  Then, my sister taught him how he could let the grand kids sneak up on his lap and steal one out of his pocket.  We built those memories together.  At the same time, he also replaced beer with Sam’s cola.  So, if we were at the store, he would ask us to get him beer & cigarettes…cola and peppermints.  What fond memories.

I still hear him through music, even if it’s music we didn’t listen to together.  Sometimes it’s the emotion or feeling that will zip right to my heart and remind me of him.   Last summer on a road trip, and when he was in the nursing home, we listened to a lot of Carole King, Tapestry.  He sure loved that album…I listened to it over and over while he would sleep.  What a brilliant, soulful woman who gets to the heart of everything.   While I listened, I KNEW which songs would be at his funeral…funny thing is that others have used “Way Over Yonder” for funerals before…and I never knew it.  I just knew that at that at the time my daddy was in the most pain of his physical body, I prayed for his sweet release and told him he could visit “yonder” anytime he wanted…and that his mama and papa would greet him.  And I also knew that the song “I Feel the Earth Move Under my Feet” would be played at the end…because my daddy would want people dancing, not crying.  Even the last week of his time on earth, when he could barely move, he would rock in his chair or tap a finger to that song.  It will always be our song.

I believe with all my heart that he graces me with his loving presence every day.  I just get to be still and listen and look.  It will be in the little things, the song of a bird, a dog that looks like his, or maybe even a Sam’s Cola.

 


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My Daddy’s Sweet Release

eagle

photo courtesy of Travis Jessop

 

My daddy finally received his sweet release from this world.

And now his journey continues…but without it’s restrictive form.

I was reminded this week by a dear fellow blogger, Michael,

of an old poem I read when I was younger.  My dad might

have even shown it to me.  It’s the perfect poem for my

poet friends.  Thank you for all your support in this difficult

time.  It’s bittersweet.  But am grateful for his peace.

Good friends knowing that both my daddy and I love

words, especially poetry, have offered some beautiful

gold nuggets…I will, if I can, pass them along this week,

or at least weekly.  Thanks for loving his sweet spirit.

A Thousand Winds

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die. – Mary Elisabeth Frye


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For you My Daddy – What I Learn from you as You Leave this Mortal Life

My heart is so small
it’s almost invisible.
How can You place 
such big sorrows in it?
 
“Look,” He answered,
“your eyes are even smaller,
yet they behold the world.”  ~ Rumi ~

As you know, I’ve been writing about my daddy and how I had been developing a relationship with this vaulted man, and I began writing his story.  All the while, making daily phone calls, having to get through not only the emotional vault, but the dreaded disease of Alzheimer’s and its effects of fear of people trying to harm him and steal from him.  I took whatever morsels I could get because I knew a little of my dad was better than what many people get, and it was a legacy of stories for my kids and grandkids.

In October, I sent my dad an excerpt from the book so I could see if I was hitting the mark, capturing his story the way he wanted it to be told.  When I received the phone call, I could hardly wait to get feedback to see if I had hit the mark and know where to take the story next.  But I also braced myself for if he hated it.

“Hello dad, how are you?”  I said holding my breath.  His first words were strong and harsh, “Shame on you.”   My heart sunk.  Wow.  I had not expected that.  ‘What had I said?  What was so wrong? ”     He replied, “You made me cry.”  I heaved a huge sigh of audible relief.  I really wanted to get his story right.  He also told me that I had written it as if I were there.  This is my first time writing ANYONE’S story, so it was scary…even scarier because it was my dad.  He told me he was very proud of me..and that he was looking forward to reading more of my story.  The next day, my dad had a stroke.  He couldn’t talk well at all.  The left side of his face was sagging, so his speech was slurred.    My heart crushed again…because my dad’s story book was closing…and I would no longer have access to it.    Within a few days, my dad could not talk at all.  We think he had several more mini strokes..because it was odd we couldn’t hear some except some basic whispers of basic conversatioins.

So now, three months later, my dad still can’t talk.  It’s so very sad…and very difficult to watch.  He knows what is being said all around him, but he can’t communicate his basic needs, nor can he communicate his feelings.  He can no longer write…and even the simpliest communication boards don’t serve him well.

The silver lining is that each day he loses something, and I am more grateful for what I was able to hold onto the day before…which reminds me to just be as present as possible today.

As I go through this process, a million thoughts are writing across my brain.  I feel them…I try to grasp them…but I am clumsy.  However, I KNOW the power of words..and I KNOW they will heal…and I trust that my dad and I still have a few adventures left in us…I am optimistic.  I am grateful.  I am blessed.

Thank you dear God for the blessings, even in these tragic, heart breaking moments.  Let us both find peace and beauty and yes, still some laughter.  That’s what my daddy does best.

Take care my friends,

love your peeps.

Marie


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The Messenger

tulip

The Messenger

Look out across

the massive field of

red bulbous tulips,

the same two foot tall structures

row after row.

And you,

lone tulip,

head held

one blossom

higher than

the others.

You,

face tilted

heavenward,

soaking in

God’s secret messages,

and piping them

to the earth.

You,

His messenger,

Remember this

When the sun

beats upon

your tiny shoulders

and you grow

weary of

it’s weight,

may you

find

the strength

to last

a little longer,

for the world needs your healing power.


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Daddy – Please Re-Remember

daddy talking with hands

Maybe tomorrow

My daddy

You can somehow

Re-remember

How to form words

And you can tell

Me your stories again.

#fieryverse