Thank you, Maria, as always for your feedback. The photo is a view looking north on the east passage of Narragansett Bay from Jamestown on Conanicut Island before paddling with other kayakers along the shoreline several years ago. With love to you as well.
I wrote this poem in response to a Substack post by Viktor, who is a Ukrainian soldier, who I follow. He wrote about an experience he had recently that reminded him of prewar thoughts of relaxing under a tree with the light reflecting off a lake and filtering through the leaves of a tree. It moved me enough to where I started thinking of my life pre-spinal cord injury. Here is the poem I wrote.
A working poem for Viktor and the brave Ukrainian people. In regards to a letter he posted on Substack. The reflective light of the sun filtering through a tree.
My wish are safe places for you and your country to live peaceably.
No death drones sent by Putin that destroy lives and Ukrainian serenity.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
In times of war, the World is evil to see.
Or other times when speaking and words do not come.
The games hidden words play to make you feel dumb.
It happens sometimes when thoughts & words escape me.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
To get lost in no thought no searching for a forgotten memory.
Just admiring the light shining through leaves for us to see.
How happy we would be to escape in the reflective light of your tree.
I could stop searching for hidden words never seeming to come.
These hard to find words somewhere deep in my cerebellum.
They play games of hide and seek only to frustrate little old me.
Oh how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
Words come easier to me when there is no commotion.
They don't hide in plain sight or get lost in times' ocean.
Deep in my cerebellum is a sea of past memories.
The mind's ocean is deep its waters made turbulent by disease.
The old age disease catches everyone, with no regard for you or me.
My frustration begins when my words are hiding in my mind's sea.
Or those other times when confusion comes to frustrate little old me.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
Our two worlds are different it is plain for all to see.
Your world is of sleepless nights wrought with danger from drones.
Mine is full of dead words their skeletons lay in memory's bones.
I long for the safety of the reflective light shining in your tree.
A safe world of the beauty of light reflecting all God's glory.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
Us sitting together imagining a world full of the Lord's beauty.
No drones of death sent by Putin for you and no hidden words for me.
Oh how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
That hope for tomorrow is no small thing. thanks Frederick.
Thank you, Linette, for restacking my poem.
For me, and I’m not a writer, words fail too, sometimes.
Thank you, Patricia, for your support and restack. 🙏
Thank you, Jane for your restack. Much appreciated. 🙏
The writer's anguish: Could it not be their engine, their energy, the sun that feeds them?
Rolando, I don't think all writers share the same engine. But internal as well as external stimuli can influence what and how they write.
Or we just go and write anyway :-)
Your poem, Frederick, is so right on. A writer's frustration clothed in poetic costume. Ending in "Perhaps tomorrow", the ever present hope....
And I appreciate that photo. It could almost be from where I live. With love, Maria
Thank you, Maria, as always for your feedback. The photo is a view looking north on the east passage of Narragansett Bay from Jamestown on Conanicut Island before paddling with other kayakers along the shoreline several years ago. With love to you as well.
I believe you were spying on me this morning. Wonderful poem. You captured the struggle we encounter often enough.
Great title and message.
Thank you, Joan. 🙏
I wrote this poem in response to a Substack post by Viktor, who is a Ukrainian soldier, who I follow. He wrote about an experience he had recently that reminded him of prewar thoughts of relaxing under a tree with the light reflecting off a lake and filtering through the leaves of a tree. It moved me enough to where I started thinking of my life pre-spinal cord injury. Here is the poem I wrote.
A working poem for Viktor and the brave Ukrainian people. In regards to a letter he posted on Substack. The reflective light of the sun filtering through a tree.
My wish are safe places for you and your country to live peaceably.
No death drones sent by Putin that destroy lives and Ukrainian serenity.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
In times of war, the World is evil to see.
Or other times when speaking and words do not come.
The games hidden words play to make you feel dumb.
It happens sometimes when thoughts & words escape me.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
To get lost in no thought no searching for a forgotten memory.
Just admiring the light shining through leaves for us to see.
How happy we would be to escape in the reflective light of your tree.
I could stop searching for hidden words never seeming to come.
These hard to find words somewhere deep in my cerebellum.
They play games of hide and seek only to frustrate little old me.
Oh how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
Words come easier to me when there is no commotion.
They don't hide in plain sight or get lost in times' ocean.
Deep in my cerebellum is a sea of past memories.
The mind's ocean is deep its waters made turbulent by disease.
The old age disease catches everyone, with no regard for you or me.
My frustration begins when my words are hiding in my mind's sea.
Or those other times when confusion comes to frustrate little old me.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
Our two worlds are different it is plain for all to see.
Your world is of sleepless nights wrought with danger from drones.
Mine is full of dead words their skeletons lay in memory's bones.
I long for the safety of the reflective light shining in your tree.
A safe world of the beauty of light reflecting all God's glory.
Oh, how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
Us sitting together imagining a world full of the Lord's beauty.
No drones of death sent by Putin for you and no hidden words for me.
Oh how I wish we could be lost in the reflective light of your tree.
You always seem to hit the nail on the head, Fred!!
Thank you, Leslie. Sometimes the words appear as desired. 🙏