WHEN POETRY FLOWS & TRAVELLING HOME

Over the last couple of weeks I have had the wonderful, exhilarating experience of having poetry spring forth at most unexpected times. It ranged everywhere from political satire, war, poverty, big box stores, social stigmas and a memorial to our dead. To flow between humor, satire, poverty and giveaways to the rich was like being on an emotional roller coaster.

Then it happened. The well did not run dry, but a verse began to form in a direction I did not want to go. I felt it would be too exhausting to begin a negative political poem. I turned the faucet off. Since then my poetic energy has ebbed.

Of course, there have been other things to focus on. My oldest granddaughter will be getting married in August at a resort near Santa Fe, New Mexico. It will be our longest car trip in several years. We are excited about it and looking forward to meeting her fiancé. There will be a barbecue the night before, a beautiful outdoor wedding, followed by a reception. What a fun time.

It will also be fun to visit with my oldest son. We will have some time to visit shops and sights in Santa Fe, a city with an artistic flair. Sharon will be in artists’ heaven.

For the first time in over eleven years I have received permission from my doctors to travel back home to Troy, New York in September. With all of my health issues I thought I would not be able to make a final visit back east. It will be quite challenging, yet, an exciting trip for me. Other than traveling on a National Guard troop train, it will be my first trip on a train. Imagine, at eighty, fulfilling a lifetime travel dream – riding on a choo choo!

It will be more expensive than flying. I need to use my oxygen concentrator and bi-pap at night, which requires that I travel in a roomette. Such extravagance I am not used to. It reminds me of the old fellow who saved all his life to buy a pink Cadillac. Two days after he bought it he died. His widow, knowing how much he loved it, decided to bury him in it. As he in the Cadillac was being lowered into the grave, one grave digger said to the other, “Man that’s dying!”

In years past, men running for President used to stand on the rear platform of the train, and make speeches. I wonder as an Octogenarian Patriarch if I will be permitted to do that? Probably not, so I will just mumble to myself in my roomette. However, like them I will be duly impressed with my erudite stately observations.

I am looking forward to spending time with my extended family, visiting old friends, spending a little time at family graves and visiting places about which I have fond memories.

Hopefully, it won’t be like going back to my forty-fifth class reunion. For weeks I told Sharon I was going to dance with two girls I occasionally danced with at high school dances. When we arrived at the reunion I learned that one of them was in a nursing home. The other one had helped arrange the event. Following dinner, Sharon and I danced. I took her over and introduced her saying, “Shirley, I would like you to meet my wife Sharon.” Her response shall live in infamy, “Pleased to meet you Sharon, and who are you, you’re the only classmate I can’t remember.” Ah, nothing like lasting impressions!

Anyway, after years of being unable to travel, I am looking forward to this great adventure.

This morning I had another poetic spurt. It is titled “Teabag of Life”.

TEABAG OF LIFE

I peer at the nice wrapped teabag,

What does this wrap enfold?

If I venture to unwrap it,

What will my eyes behold?

It has a little tab and string,

Keeps fingers from all harm.

A porous bag contains the tea,

Gives it a certain charm.

The wrap, the bag, the hidden tea,

Reminds me of our lives,

They both contain a secret hid,

To be revealed it strives.

The secret will not be released,

Until we open up,

It in the tea pot must be placed,

And brewed for us to sup.

However hot the steeping be,

To bring the flavor out.

‘Tis the fire of life we face,

That shows what we’re about.

The tea and life that remains cool,

No pleasure can it give.

It’s only through the heat of life,

We really learn to live.

So as we sip the well brewed tea,

And all its pleasures know.

Remember in life’s hot water,

We learn in love to grow.

My cup of life doth overflow,

With blessings from above.

For in a cup of tea I see,

The brewer of all love.

Don E. Cunningham, Author/Poet ©6/5/08

Until next time, slow down, sip a nice cup of herbal tea and connect with life! Enjoy the occasional hot water we all get into. As you look back on the incident it may be part of what makes your life flavorable.

HUGS, IN CHRIST’S AND MY LOVE,

Don E. Cunningham, Author/Poet ©6/5/08 870