Remembering 9/11/2001

They Were Our Neighbors
 -

by Dawn Colclasure

They were our neighbors,


Someone to whom we'd just say "hi."


Never did we ever think


The next day they would die.


We never took one last long look


Or gave an extra smile.


The attacks on September 11


Taught us to go that extra mile.



We'll never be able to hug them again


But now we can hug others.


And say an extra "I love you"


To our children, friends and mothers.

We miss our neighbors every day


And wish they were not gone.


But we'll cherish those that are still here


While we will move on.

The local Red Cross in Buffalo put out 2,917

flags in memory of those who died.

Today is the 11th anniversary of 9/11 -

we will never forget.




photos by peacesojourner

September 2012

September

How lovely the world is

In September

Warm air

Leaves just turning gold

Summer still lingering

Autumn coming nearer

It is a time of bittersweet endings

And bittersweet beginnings

It seems that every September

The world takes a deep breath

Shakes off the August heat

Prepares for a long winter

Knowing no one will feel this way again

Until next

September.

Nina Dringo

September

The golden-rod is yellow;

The corn is turning brown;

The trees in apple orchards

With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes

Are curling in the sun;

In dusty pods the milkweed

Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,

In every meadow nook;

And asters by the brook-side

Make asters in the brook,

From dewy lanes at morning

The grapes' sweet odors rise;

At noon the roads all flutter

With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens

September days are here,

With summer's best of weather,

And autumn's best of cheer.

But none of all this beauty

Which floods the earth and air

Is unto me the secret

Which makes September fair.

'Tis a thing which I remember;

To name it thrills me yet:

One day of one September

I never can forget.

Helen Hunt Jackson

Apples and Pears - Art and Poetry

Apple Art

Bet you thought my teeth were soft!

Pear instrument plays real sweet

Butterfly Apple

*****

Apples

by K. C. Cox

I traded you for an apple one day

It was half eaten before I knew

That nothing in the world could ever replace

The love I have for you

We served each other mud pies

Climbed up in the mulberry tree

Played all day long in the camper

Daddy set up for you and me

We played store on the back porch

The neighbor kids joined in

Ran barefoot through Dad's garden

Playing tag, I let you win

And, as we grew older

We talked nearly all night long

About boys, and school, and other things

And on the transistor was our favorite song

Now we are grown and you are my best friend

Each person in life has a place

That every time I see an apple

I get a big smile on my face

May is Jewish American Heritage Month

The Statue of Liberty - a welcoming mother,

a symbol of hope to the outcasts and downtrodden of the world.

Emma Lazarus was an American writer.

Born: 22 July 1849 in New York City.

May is Jewish American Heritage Month

From the time of its discovery, the United States of America has been a haven for Europe's oppressed and persecuted.

In 1492, the same year that Christopher Columbus set sail for the New World; the Spanish Inquisition reached its highest point. Spain expelled its Jews, and, five years later, Portugal followed suit. The remaining Iberian Jews found refuge in the cities and towns of Europe, North Africa, and the Near East, and Dutch-ruled Brazil.

In 1654, Portugal recaptured Brazil and expelled its Jewish settlers. Most returned to Holland or moved to Protestant-ruled colonies in the Caribbean.

A group of twenty-three Jewish refugees, including women and children, arrived in New Amsterdam (now called New York City) hoping to settle and build a new home for themselves. In the years that followed, the growing Jewish community pressed the authorities to extend to them rights offered to other settlers, including the right to trade and travel, to stand guard, to own property, to establish a cemetery, to erect a house of worship, and to participate fully in the political process. For Jews, the promise of America was deeply rooted in its commitment to religious liberty.

Did you know that the well known words engraved on a bronze plaque and mounted inside the Statue of Liberty were written by a Jewish woman whose family were immigrants?

"The New Colossus"

by Emma Lazarus

"Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles.

From her beacon-hand

Glows worldwide welcome;

her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she

With silent lips.

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" 


Emma Lazarus was an American writer. Born: 22 July 1849 in New York City.

She died: 19 November 1887 (Hodgkin's disease)

She was best known as the author of the poem she wrote in 1883. "The New Colossus," is inscribed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. (1903)

Emma grew up in a prosperous Jewish family in New York and began writing poems as a teenager. In 1886 her father published her first collection, ‘Poems and Translations.’ She attracted the attention and support of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and soon found herself a member in the elite literary circles of New York City.

In the 1880s she was moved by the news of the Russian and Eastern European persecution of Jews and she become more active as an advocate for Jewish immigrants. She published many well-received poems and essays, including "The New Colossus," now one of the most often quoted poems in U.S. history, especially the lines "Give me your tired, your poor - Your huddled masses yearning to be free”

The Statue of Liberty was not conceived and sculpted as a symbol of immigration, but it quickly became so as immigrant ships passed under the statue. However, it was Emma’s poem that permanently stamped on Miss Liberty the role of unofficial greeter of incoming immigrants.

The poem reinvented the statue's purpose, turning Liberty into a welcoming mother, a symbol of hope to the outcasts and downtrodden of the world.

The Holocaust was primarily a European story in which the Jews of that continent were targeted for total destruction. During WWII many Jews in the United States were also part of this history, whether as vocal citizens publicly protesting for a more humane refugee policy or as patriotic members of the U.S. armed forces. After the war, tens of thousands of Holocaust survivors emigrated to the United States and built new lives in their adopted homeland.

They brought with them their gifts, talents, skills, trades, expertise and knowledge which were used as they assimilated into the various states in the United States of America.

May was established as Jewish American Heritage Month in 2006.

Poet - John Lennon - 'Imagine"

IMAGINE

by John Lennon

Imagine there's no heaven


It's easy if you try


No hell below us


Above us only sky


Imagine all the people


Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries




It isn't hard to do


Nothing to kill or die for


And no religion too


Imagine all the people


Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer


But I'm not the only one


I hope someday you'll join us


And the world will be as one.

Imagine no possessions


I wonder if you can


No need for greed or hunger


A brotherhood of man


Imagine all the people


Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer


But I'm not the only one


I hope someday you'll join us




And the world will live as one.

*****

Born John Winston Lennon born 9 October 1940 in Liverpool, England. He was an English rock musician, singer, and songwriter, artist and peace activist, who gained worldwide fame as one of the founding members of The Beatles. John Lennon along with Paul McCartney formed one of the most influential and successful songwriting partnerships and wrote some of the most popular music in rock and roll history. He played guitar, piano, bass and the harmonica. John was controversial through his work as a peace activist and artist.

After The Beatles, Lennon enjoyed a successful solo career with such acclaimed albums as John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band and Imagine and iconic songs such as "Give Peace a Chance" and "Imagine". After a self-imposed "retirement" from 1976 to 1980, John reemerged with a comeback album, Double Fantasy, which would win the 1981 Grammy Award for Album of the Year.

Less than one month after the release of the album, John Lennon was murdered in New York City on 8 December 1980. He was 40 years old.

He was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1987, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1994

*****

Whenever I read the words to 'Imagine' or hear it on the radio I find

myself singing at the top of my lungs - how about you? :-)

Poet - Ralph Waldo Emerson - 'The Rhodora'

The Rhodora

On Being Asked, Whence Is the Flower?

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,

I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,

Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,

To please the desert and the sluggish brook.

The purple petals, fallen in the pool,

Made the black water with their beauty gay;

Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,

And court the flower that cheapens his array.

Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why

This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,

Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,

Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!

I never thought to ask, I never knew;

But, in my simple ignorance, suppose

The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

*****

Rhodora: flowering scrub common to Canada and New England, Rhododendron canadense.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

American poet, essayist, and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson was born in 1803 in Boston, Massachusetts. After studying at Harvard and teaching for a brief time, Emerson entered the ministry. He was appointed to the Old Second Church in his native city, but soon became an unwilling preacher. Unable in conscience to administer the sacrament of the Lord's Supper after the death of his nineteen-year-old wife of tuberculosis, Emerson resigned his pastorate in 1831.

The following year, he sailed for Europe, visiting Thomas Carlyle and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Emerson's friendship with Carlyle was both lasting and significant; the insights of the British thinker helped Emerson formulate his own philosophy.

On his return to New England, Emerson became known for challenging traditional thought. In 1835, he married his second wife, Lydia Jackson, and settled in Concord, Massachusetts.

Known in the local literary circle as "The Sage of Concord," Emerson became the chief spokesman for Transcendentalism, the American philosophic and literary movement. Centered in New England during the 19th century, Transcendentalism was a reaction against scientific rationalism.

Emerson's first book, Nature (1836), is perhaps the best expression of his Transcendentalism, the belief that everything in our world—even a drop of dew—is a microcosm of the universe. Emerson wrote a poetic prose, ordering his essays by recurring themes and images. His poetry, on the other hand, is often called harsh and didactic.

His best-known addresses are The American Scholar (1837) and The Divinity School Address, which he delivered before the graduates of the Harvard Divinity School, shocking Boston's conservative clergymen with his descriptions of the divinity of man and the humanity of Jesus.

Emerson's philosophy is characterized by its reliance on intuition as the only way to comprehend reality. Emerson was a steady optimist.

Ralph Waldo Emerson died of pneumonia on today's date, April 27, 1882.

Poet - Erma Bombeck - 'If I had My Life to Live Over'

Poet - Erma Bombeck - 'If I had My Life to Live Over'

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER...

by Erma Bombeck

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less when reading - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance

in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said,

"Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you’s"… more "I'm sorrys"... but mostly, given

another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it...

live it...and never give it back.

• In memory of Erma Bombeck

*****

Erma Louise Bombeck (February 21, 1927 – April 22, 1996), born Erma Fiste, was an American humorist who achieved great popularity for her newspaper column that described suburban home life humorously from the mid-1960s until the late '90s. Bombeck also published 15 books, most of which became best sellers.

Erma Bombeck wrote over 4,000 newspaper columns chronicling the ordinary life of a midwestern suburban housewife with broad, and sometimes eloquent, humor.

Erma Bombeck was born in Dayton, Ohio. She grew up in a working-class family. Her father, Cassius Fiste, was the city crane operator; her mother's name was also Erma.

In 1942, Bombeck began to work at the Dayton Herald as a copygirl, sharing her full-time assignment with a girlfriend. She completed high school in 1944. While in college she began to write for the university publication, The Exponent and she graduated in 1949, with a degree in English.

In 1949, Bombeck also converted to Catholicism, from the United Brethren church, and married Bill Bombeck, She remained active in the Church the rest of her life.

Doctors told the Bombecks that having a child was improbable, so they adopted a girl, Betsy, in 1953. Erma decided to become a full-time housewife, and relinquished her career as a journalist. Despite the former difficult diagnoses, Erma Bombeck gave birth to a son, Andrew in 1955 and she stayed home for the next ten years.

She continued writing and by 1969, 500 U.S. newspapers featured her "At Wit's End" columns, and she was also writing for Good Housekeeping Magazine, Reader's Digest, Family Circle, Redbook, McCall's, and Teen magazine. Bombeck and her family moved to Phoenix, Arizona, to a lavish hacienda on a hilltop in Paradise Valley.

By 1985, Erma Bombeck's three weekly columns were being published by 900 newspapers in the U.S. and Canada and were read by over 30 million readers, She was also making twice-weekly 'Good Morning America' appearances. Bombeck belonged to the American Academy of Humor Columnists.

Erma Bombeck was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease. In 1996, she was brought to a San Francisco hospital for a kidney transplant, which was performed on April 3. However, she suffered complications following the procedure, and died on April 22.

Her remains are interred in the Woodland Cemetery, Dayton, Ohio, under a large rock from the Phoenix desert.

*****

I read Erma’s columns during the years of raising my children. She always gave a very amusing slant to typical everyday family situations and I could relate to so many of her stories. She had such a great sense of humor that she was able to capture with words.

peacesojourner

Poet - Thomas Campbell - The River of Life

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)

The River of Life

The more we live, more brief appear

Our life's succeeding stages;

A day to childhood seems a year,

And years like passing ages.

The gladsome current of our youth,

Ere passion yet disorders,

Steals lingering like a river smooth

Along its grassy borders.

But as the careworn cheek grows wan,

And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,

Ye stars, that measure life to man,

Why seem your courses quicker?

When joys have lost their bloom and breath,

And life itself is vapid,

Why, as we reach the Falls of Death

Feel we its tide more rapid?

It may be strange—yet who would change

Time's course to slower speeding,

When one by one our friends have gone,

And left our bosoms bleeding?

Heaven gives our years of fading strength

Indemnifying fleetness;

And those of youth, a seeming length,

Proportion'd to their sweetness.

*****

THOMAS CAMPBELL was born in Glasgow, Scotland, July 27, 1777, and he died at Bologne, July 15, 1844, at the age of sixty-seven. He was buried in Westminster Abbey.

At an early age he gave proofs of his aptitude for literary composition, especially in the department of poetry; and so strong was his addiction to these pursuits, that he could not bring himself seriously to adopt the choice of a profession

In 1799, his poem, "The Pleasures of Hope," was published. For more than three-fourths of a century, the poem has increased its popularity.

Campbell went abroad, and passed some time on the continent, without any definite aim. His finances were soon exhausted, and he was reduced to extreme poverty. Returning to Britain, his reputation soon gained him literary employment, but his tardiness in fulfilling engagements placed him in bad repute among the strong publishers, who hesitated often in offering him work.

But he was constantly popular with the public, and an occasional poem from his pen found its way into print. In 1803 the poet moved to London, and devoted himself to literature as a profession. He married, and in 1805, through the influence of a friend, received a government pension.

In 1809 he published "Gertrude of Wyoming, a Pennsylvania Tale." This was the second of his great poems, and it was exceedingly admired. Campbell settled down at Sydenham, in England. His home was a happy one. The society in which he moved was of the most refined and intellectual character, and he enjoyed the personal friendship of many of his distinguished contemporaries.

In 1820 he accepted the editorship of the "New Monthly Magazine," and acted in that capacity until he resigned it to take charge of the "Metropolitan." Many of his minor poems appeared in the "Magazine;" and one of these, "The Last Man," may be ranked among his greatest conceptions.

In 1824 he published "Theodric and Other Poems;" and though busy in establishing the London University, he was, in 1827, elected lord rector of the university of his native city.

It is on his lyrics that the future reputation of Campbell must principally rest. They have taken their place, never to be disturbed, in the popular heart; and, until the language in which they are composed perishes, they are certain to endure.

Poet - Langston Hughes - 'Mother to Son'

Mother to Son by Langston Hughes

Well, son, I'll tell you:

Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

It's had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor.

Bare.

But all the time

I'se been a-climbin' on,

And reachin' landin's,

And turnin' corners,

And sometimes goin' in the dark

Where there ain't been no light.

So, boy, don't you turn back.

Don't you set down on the steps.

'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.

Don't you fall now.

For I'se still goin', honey, I'se still climbin',

And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

*****

Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over--

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

*****

Langston Hughes

James Langston Hughes was born February 1, 1902, in Joplin, Missouri. His parents divorced when he was a small child, and his father moved to Mexico. He was raised by his grandmother until he was thirteen, when he moved to Lincoln, Illinois, to live with his mother and her husband, before the family eventually settled in Cleveland, Ohio.

It was in Lincoln, Illinois, that Hughes began writing poetry. Following graduation, he spent a year in Mexico and a year at Columbia University. During these years, he held odd jobs as an assistant cook, launderer, and a busboy, and travelled to Africa and Europe working as a seaman.

In November 1924, he moved to Washington, D.C. Hughes' first book of poetry, The Weary Blues, was published by Alfred A. Knopf in 1926. He finished his college education at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania three years later. In 1930 his first novel, Not Without Laughter, won the Harmon gold medal for literature.

Hughes, who claimed Paul Lawrence Dunbar, Carl Sandburg, and Walt Whitman as his primary influences, is particularly known for his insightful, colorful portrayals of black life in America from the twenties through the sixties. Hughes refused to differentiate between his personal experience and the common experience of black America. He wanted to tell the stories of his people in ways that reflected their actual culture, including both their suffering and their love of music, laughter, and language itself.

Langston Hughes died of complications from prostate cancer in May 22, 1967, in New York.

In his memory, his residence at 20 East 127th Street in Harlem, New York City, has been given landmark status by the New York City Preservation Commission, and East 127th Street has been renamed "Langston Hughes Place."

*****

These are two of my favorite poems which I used to read to my son when he was young.

peacesojourner

Triskaidekaphobia - is the fear of the number 13

POEM - It's Friday the 13th Tomorrow

It's Friday the 13th tomorrow.

A black cat just leapt in my path.

I'm not superstitious, but this might

explain why I'm failing in math.

By chance I walked under a ladder

a teacher had placed by the wall.

In class my umbrella popped open,

and that's why I tripped in the hall.

The salt spilled this morning at breakfast.

While walking I stepped on a crack.

I took off my shoes on the table.

It looks like my future is black.

This evening I busted a mirror

which means that the next seven years

are due to be filled with misfortune,

catastrophes, mishaps and tears.

With all the bad luck I'm confronting,

it seems that I'm probably cursed.

It may be the 13th tomorrow.

But Thursday the 12th is the worst.

--Kenn Nesbitt (student)

When I was a child, the adults in my family would quote all of the common superstitions. I decided that I would not pass the superstitions along to my children as I did not believe them. This week I was driving and a black cat ran across the street in front of me, my immediate reaction was "Oh no, bad luck." Why, if I don't believe it can that thought still be in my subconscious ?

Common superstitions can be described as beliefs that have no rational basis. Some superstitions may be just for fun while others may affect you deeply enough to affect your choices in life. None of them are based in fact, but many have roots deep in tradition and history. Most of us probably don't even know why we give a little shudder when we see a Friday the 13th looming on the calendar.

Many of our common superstitions come with a colorful history or story that may date back centuries. If you would like to know why you shouldn't walk under a ladder or whether a black cat is really a creature to avoid, read on for the best list of common superstitions that are still a part of our culture and where they came from.

1. Friday the 13th – Bad Luck
A fear of the number 13 is one of the most common superstitions around, and is so that many apartments and hotels omit the 13th floor and some airlines fly without a 13th row. The most popular thought on the origin of this superstition is that Judas was the 13th guest at the Last Supper and that Christ was crucified on a Friday.

2. Itchy Palm – Good Luck
There seems to be a lot of variations on this superstition, but the idea of having an itchy palm generally refers to someone who is greedy or has an insatiable desire for money.

3. Walking under a Ladder – Bad Luck
It's common sense to avoid walking under an open ladder for fear of something falling on you, but there are superstitious reasons for doing so as well. Consider the shape of an open ladder; a triangle that signifies life to some. When you walk though the triangle, you are tempting the fates.

4. Breaking a Mirror – Bad Luck
Most will tell you that the agreed upon time span for bad luck is 7 years. 7 years is also how long it takes to fully rejuvenate the entire physical body.
Since a mirror was thought to be a reflection of the soul, breaking a mirror was harmful to the soul. To counter the ill effects, you can take the mirror outside and bury it in the moonlight.

5. Finding a Horseshoe – Good Luck
Some people believe that this is the luckiest of all symbols, especially if it is found with the open end pointing toward you.

6. Opening an Umbrella Inside – Bad Luck
Umbrellas that shade us from the deified sun are considered magical. When the umbrella is opened inside and out of the way of sun's rays it offends the sun god. It may even signify impending death or ill fortune for both the person who opened it and the people who live within the home.

7. Knock Twice on Wood – Reverses Bad Luck
The origin of this common superstition dates back to a time when some cultures believed that gods lived in trees. When one would ask for a favor from these gods, he would lightly touch the bark of the tree. To say thank you after the favor had been granted, he would knock lightly one more time.

8. Tossing Spilled Salt over your left Shoulder – Good Luck
Salt has always been considered a valuable substance capable of purifying and warding off evil spirits. By tossing spilled salt over your left shoulder, you are driving away the evil spirits lurking with the intent to cause misfortune.

9. Black Cats – Bad Luck
This is a tough one for cat lovers to swallow, but in the Middle Ages it was thought that witches kept black cats as companions. Some people even believed that these kitties could turn into witches or demons after 7 years.

10. Saying "God Bless You" – Good Luck
Blessing someone after he sneezes is actually a common superstition. In the 6th century, people were congratulated for sneezing because it was thought they were expelling evil spirits. Early Romans believed that a good sneeze could release your soul into the world, and a "bless you" would keep it safe.

How Superstitious Are You?
Do you take great care with mirror glass? Would you never even dream of walking under a ladder? Well, aside from seeming eccentric in your avoidance of some pretty harmless things, you're also probably very superstitious. Though some people take certain age old beliefs as seriously as they do the law, there are varying degrees of superstition.

A few other familiar examples:

-The number 13 is "unlucky" and the numbers 7 and 9 are "lucky."
-It will bring you bad luck if you step on the cracks in a sidewalk.
-Finding a four-leaved clover will be a boon to your fortune.
-Triskaidekaphobia [tris-kahy-dek-uh-foh-bee-uh] is the fear of the number 13.
-Paraskevidekatriaphobics — people afflicted with a morbid, irrational fear of Friday the 13th

*****

My children have never heard me repeat a superstition to them as I wanted to break the cycle of believing in them. As I write this I wonder if I was successful - I'm guessing that they heard them from other sources anyway. That's how superstitions work!

Poet - James Wright - 'A Blessing'

A Blessing - by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me

And nuzzled my left hand.

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.

James Wright

*****

James Arlington Wright was born in Martins Ferry, Ohio, on December 13, 1927. His father worked for fifty years at a glass factory, and his mother left school at fourteen to work in a laundry; neither attended school beyond the eighth grade. When he graduated in 1946, a year late, he joined the army and was stationed in Japan during the American occupation.

He then attended Kenyon College on the G.I. Bill, and studied under John Crowe Ransom.

He graduated cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa in 1952, then married another Martins Ferry native, Liberty Kardules.

The two traveled to Austria where he continued his studies. He returned to the U.S. and earned master's and doctoral degrees at the University of Washington, studying with Theodore Roethke and Stanley Kunitz. He went on to teach at The University of Minnesota, Macalester College, and New York City's Hunter College.

The poverty and human suffering Wright witnessed as a child profoundly influenced his writing and he used his poetry as a mode to discuss his political and social concerns.

James Wright was elected a fellow of The Academy of American Poets in 1971, and the following year his Collected Poems received the Pulitzer Prize in poetry. He died in New York City in 1980.

Information for this article compiled from Academy of American Poets

Sunday Reflection -Today is Easter - Let us Rejoice

Reflection for Easter

Reading from the Gospel of Mark 16:1-4

And when the sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices, so that they might go and anoint Jesus. And very early on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. And they were saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?" And looking up, they saw that the stone was rolled back - it was very large.

Take Up Your Life

Oh thou Easter God,

on the far side

of all the worst

we can do,

of all the worst

that can come to us:

waving from a high place

you seem to call,

"Come, then,

you also,

why not you also?

What keeps you

from the life of you?

Grief? Sadness?

Fear? Hopelessness?

Here I am

on the other side,

where Life is.

where your life is!

Take but a step forward

and you are on the way.

Rise up,

from your fear to your feet.

This is the day. This is the time.

You are the one; there is no other.

I will move the stone

and there will be light.

Only step toward me and I,

I will take a step toward you.

We will meet

in the light."

Oh thou ingenious God,

resurrection is thy breathing out -

breath, wind, spirit, life and light.

Resurrection

is thy clearest,

dearest

affirmation of creation

and us within it.

There is not death enough

to keep us down,

and is there a stone

that is not sand in the making?

"Live!"

is your plainest

and most ancient word ...

the one you spoke

before the very Beginning...

"Take up your life

and live!"

by Joseph H. Gilmore

(from Eternity's Dance With Time)

May our spirits be renewed

and our hearts be filled

with new hope for peace

within us, among us

and on the earth!

Happy Easter!

Photo by peacesojourner