Poetry,

In addition to the poetry and prose below, Brooks-Howell residents have produced a new publication, Prayers and Ponderings, which contains inspirational messages highlighted by captivating pictures and artwork.

Readers have said of the contents: “a premier gift,” “a beautiful book,” “tremendous project,” “such faith and witness statements,” and “what a treasure.”

Prayers and Ponderings is available in the Brooks-Howell Home gift Shop for $17.00, or may be ordered from the Home for $20.00 (includes cost of postage and handling.)

If you would like a copy make your check payable to Brooks-Howell Home and send to:

Christmas Morning

It’s Christmas morning

My garden is dusted white

Against the grey sky

Shrubs and trees dressed in silver

A study in black and white.

–John W. Krummel, 1998

The full moon twists a veil of clouds
wraps her head in its silver light,
she looks out over the scatter of stars
calls "Come! Sirius, Come!"

The Dog Star rises
stretches
ambles past a neighbor star,
starts to run
gaining strength and light;
he's the brightest in the sky.

Veiled moon strokes him as he crouches
close beside her.

Then come the fulsome months,
July, August,
the first hot piece of September.
Bright Moon says, "This could go on forever."

Sirius slips away from her hand,
growls,
Looks to where the new stars, autumn stars,
wait their cue to enter the stage of heaven.

"There it is. The bow of the hunter," Moon whispers.
"Orion is calling."

Sirius rises, shakes himself.

He licks Moon's hand and moves away.

Ready for the hunt,
he runs toward the emerging hunter.

-Ann Janzen

"The ancient Romans associated the rising of the Dog Star [Sirius] at dawn with the hottest part of the year, called the "dog days."-Encyclopedia Britannica, "Sirius."

Reflection on General Conference Resolution. A Yearning for Unity. "As United Methodists, we remain in covenant with one another, even in the midst of disagreement and we reaffirm our comitment to work together for our common mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ throughout the world." Resolution on Church Unity passed 869 to 41.

Will we next seek to expel the red-haired ones among us?
Or perhaps those with brown eyes?
Or perhaps those who need glasses?
The homosexuals among us are one in ten in our population.

Why do we want to separate them?
Will they harm us? No
Will they change us? No
Will they cost us money? No
Will they make us smell bad? No
Or lose our hearing?
Or go blind?
Or make us hate?
Or make us lose our faith in God's goodness?
No, No, No, No, No!

The sunshine does not ask the daisy to be a tulip.
We are one family.
We all belong.

To Our Musicians
Maker of Music, where does it go?
Out on the air waves, that I know.
And deep in the hearts of those who will hear,
Let it flow into mine all vibrant and clear.
Singer of Music, "Come closer, I say."
Let it come to my ears to bless me all day,
And into the night, all stored in my head.
A silent refrain while I am in bed.
Player of Music, on strings and on keys,
On reeds and with fingers you surely will please,
With gift God has given and discipline, too,
Surrendered to music, it all flows through you.
The Giver of Joy, Eternal and True,
The Maker of Music abiding in YOU
Brings heavenly music e’en while in this world,
All glory to Jesus! with banners unfurled.

John Wesley
Esther M. Russell

A famous horseman, too, was he–
John Wesley, long ago.
"The world’s my parish,"
That, said he,
And God says I must go!
In saddle bags he packed the herbs,
And poultices to heal.
His Bible packed to heal the soul,
To preach salvation’s real!
We celebrate three hundred years;
In England he was born,
To Susanna and Samuel –
Oh, what a glorious morn!
Two hundred twenty-five thousand miles,
Eight hundred sermons a year;
Most of his life upon a horse,
He was a conqueror!
At Aldersgate his heart was warmed,
And he was there in prayer;
And Romans ten became so real,
He spread it everywhere.
The Holy Spirit filled his soul
And set his heart aflame;
And we, like him, as Methodists,
Proclaim our Saviour’s name!

Snow Day
Helene R. Hill

Thank you, God, for a Snow Day!
We had many in Michigan!
Now the snow is glistening in the sun
Just outside my window.
Walks have been shoveled.
But who wants to get out?

In my big rural school,
Where I was a social worker,
The kids came by bus.

When school was canceled
I could spend the day on
My heart’s desire!

Often that was -
Never-enough-time for records.
What a relief to have
A Ketchup day!
Time to think through
The problems and worries,
And formulate plans to help!

Now - retired -
I rejoice with snowy walks, outside.
And inside? - I write letters and read.
I enjoy the leisure
Of a wonderful
God-given Snow Day!

May the rich blessings of our gracious and abundant God pour over our earth and its peoples.
May the benediction of the Holy Ones enrich each nation, and all who dwell therein.
May the peaceful rhythms of our ever-changing planet resound in the hearts of every human being.
May the energy of the Creative Power who brought us to birth reverberate within the lives of all who breathe and live - waking and giving birth within us to that which ought to be.
May our firm sense of community - indeed the kindom* of God–become a focal point drawing to itself all those who bless our connectedness.
May the awareness of our planet-wide community continue to grow and penetrate the dimness and divisions of our cloistered souls.
May the holy Life of the God we know flow through our world, cleansing it from all evil and violence.
May the peace of God, bigger than any faith we know, rest upon you, so that there is no need to hurt others, but only to reach to others in love and caring.
Amen and Amen

*kindom, not kingdom

Thoughts of a 91-year old
Polly "Lois" Whitacre

Could my ninety-one-year-old life be touched again by war–the seventh one for me? My grandmother wanted my middle name to be Juárez for President Juárez of the "Mexican War." Mother thought "Pauline" enough to stand alone. Later I "adopted" Lois, her name, for my middle name. As a child I leaned against my great-uncle John’s wooden peg leg as he told me of barely surviving being a prisoner in the Andersonville prison in the Civil War. My dad and uncle told of the First World War and my sister, brother, cousin and friends gave their lives in World War II. A neighbor was a prisoner of war in the next one, and another neighbor was so traumatized by the last one that he stayed in his house and yard only, and wrote letters–pleading for peace.

I thought I had enough of war, but "we are in an age of assassins--fanatics who would tear down centuries of civilization to achieve their new world." So an attempt to do this began September 11. I will seek to survive this one with my Christian spirit and the Holy Bible and Shakespeare as the first two books in my bookcase . . .

A Prayer of Welcome
to our new residents
by Jewel Brown

Dear God, we are here to welcome our new friends and members of the Brooks-Howell family. The birds are singing, the flowers are showing their colors, the dogwood trees are off stage ready to make their grand entrance and dazzle us with their performance, and we look forward to the coming of Easter and the renewal of our faith in the resurrected and living Savior. Lord, what a time! We are truly rejoicing. We have so many reasons to be thankful and to celebrate newness of life.

We pray, our Father, that just as we all have come here from various places throughout this country and the world and have found a comfortable and loving home, many old as well as new friends--so may it be for our newest friends and family members. May their lives be rich in blessings here as ours have been. May they feel at home here. Amen

Thanks in Summer
--Helene R. Hill, Deaconess
(May be sung to the tune of "Old 100th.")

When summer comes our thoughts are turned
To You who cradle all our earth
With food for all, abundant life,
And gracious gifts beyond all worth.

Forgive us now for careless ease
With which we waste the gifts you give.
Grant us a care for friend and foe
That in Your love, we all may live.
Amen

The Body Recall Class Produces a Song!

My body is over the mountain;
My body is over the hill.
My body is no longer fifty --
I’ll recall my body, I will.

Recall, recall,
I’ll recall my body, I will, I will.
Recall, recall,
Oh I’ll recall my body, I will.

How do crocuses and jonquils and daffodils
Know that Spring is coming?
They look like lifeless bulbs!
Yet warm sunshine has touched their hearts,
And warmed their innards!
Their hearts say "Push!"
And they send their impudent fresh
And tender leaves through the snow!
Up they come, pushing audacious green
Through frozen ground.

These gay and gracious living things
Bring delight and joy and color
Into our gray and frozen days.
Sunshine yellow, perky purple, or perspicacious pink.

On a rainy day, they stand in receptive clumps
Rejoicing in the liquid honey for their souls.
The softened carpet at their feet
Give them room to stand erect
And to thrust their blooms to the clouds.

Thank you, God, for your gracious treasures
That lie unseen - covered with frozen dirt -
Like bodies stiffened in death -
And then to show forth with gay and joyful color
To give us new life and joy!

A Cardinal
by John Krummel

It is a pleasure

When, looking out my window,

Ah, a cardinal

In regal splendor.

A quiet conceitedness.

In December 1999 Sarah Margaret Watson was invited to have the following poem included in America at the Millennium, The Best Poems of the 20th Century, published by International Library of Poetry. She said one of the advantages of this was that one did not have to buy the book as some others require. Unfortunately, there is no monetary award, only the honor.

Little Stream
by Sarah M. Watson

Where did you come from, Little Stream?
From clouds; from air; from springs
- to my stones.
From the sea, the sea, the sea.

What are your colors, Little Stream?
Blue from the sky; gold - the leaves;
purple - the shadows.
From the sea, the sea, the sea.

What are your voices, Little Stream?
Shouting, whispering, laughing o’er
my stones.
To the sea, the sea, the sea.

How do you travel, Little Stream?
Curling, rushing, rippling round my stones.
To the sea, the sea, the sea.

When will you reach it, Little Stream?
In days, and days, and days--past my stones.
To the sea, the sea, follow me.

--

Refrain: Oh, Chrismon tree, Oh, Chrismon tree, How thoughtful are your branches.

1. On lovely branches verdant green
Redemption's plan may here be seen.
'Tis made in love so gratefully,
To make it plain for you and me.

2. Inside Christmas here we see
The branches give the history
Of crib and cross and ministry,
The Savior of the world is He.

3. The monograms in Greek are here,
In white and gold and jewels clear.
The Alpha and Omega He,
He's everything from A to Z.

4. The fish, a sign of ancient days,
The Icthus in a symbol says
That Jesus Christ is Lord of all,
In any language one may call.

5. The Chi Rho in its dignity,
An X across the letter P,
Is hanging from the lower bough,
The name of Jesus for the NOW.

6. A bunch of grapes in wax, or pearled,
With tiny tendrils golden curled,
His poured-out wine, His life for mine,
That life was crushed for all the world.

7. The loaf of bread appropriately,
Is promised that to us would be.
All that in life we ever need,
He's life's essential-food indeed.

8. A star, a lamb, a cross, a rose,
The butterfly, and root that grows,
From barren ground for Jesse's tree,
These Chrismons bless and speak to me.

My husband doesn’t buy me roses
But then, why should I care?
He plants a bush by window pane
And I can see them there.
My husband doesn’t buy me roses,
But early every day
When dew is fresh and sun is beaming
He picks one fresh to say,
“I love you, Esther Mae/tion, my ‘pretty one,’ my star.’
Of all the girls upon the earth
My choice it is, You Are.”
And when there are no roses,
His fragrance fills my life.
Thru all our journey, now, thus far
I’m glad I am your wife.

--
(Esther Russell won first prize in poetry in an Art Show sponsored in 1999 by the North Carolina Association of Non-Profit Homes for the Aging, with headquarters in Raleigh. Sarah M. Watson placed third with her poem, below. We congratulate both these women for their contributions.)

Please Tell Me
by Sarah M. Watson

When you tell me I’m wrong,
I feel turned upside down.
When you say “Don’t” a lot,
it makes me frown.
When you yell “You never do
well don’t even try,”
I think I am no good,
I just want to cry.

But “You’re very good”
Sets me right side up.
“That’s much better”
Makes me happy as a pup.
I am flying up high;
your words are so pleasant.
My joy bursts everywhere
like a bright pheasant.

THIS IS MY SPRING TIME.
I HAVE NOT A MEMORY
MIST ONLY REMAINS.
EVEN THE NAMES OF FLOWERS
ESCAPE MY REMEMBERING.

WAGA NATSU WA
SHIZUKA NA PISUGA
SONO NAGAME
KAMI NO KUNI KA NA
WARE NO INORI WA.

THIS IS MY SUMMER
THE SILENCE OF MOUNT PISGAH
AH! SUCH IS THAT VIEW
LAND OF GOD'S KINGDOM FULFILLED
THAT IS MY HEART'S LONGING CRY.

Praise to God in Spring
by Juanita M. Kelly
(May be sung to the tune, "Open My Eyes".)

Amid the beauty of the spring,
Our gratitude and thanks we bring
For the return of each growing thing;
With hearts rejoicing let us sing.
Abundant life is ours today,
May it be shared along life's way.
Your will be done in this your world,
O God, we pray.
Amen

THIS IS MY AUTUMN
BLACK MOUNTAIN IN SETTING SUN
EMBLAZONED IT SEEMS
BY YOUR STEADY GAZE, MY LOVE,
MY HEART IS REVIVED AGAIN.

Winter - bright and happy,
Soft white snow.
Ice like glittery silver.
Children's faces press against the glass to watch their world turn white.
Boots squeak on frozen ground.
Bundled children play on ice.
Pines glisten like Christmas trees.
Cars make trails on freshly white roads.

My father said he was sorry that it snowed.
How could he say that?
Snow was sledding and snowball forts and ice skating.
I could wear my new, warm coat to school.

Years later, I was a social worker in a rural school.
With a terrible snowstorm,
School was closed, all classes canceled. I sat reading cozily at home,
With plenty of food.
Then I learned that some families had no food;
They were cold.
Neighbors brought food and blankets by snowmobile.
They bundled the older ones warmly, to take them to doctors.

My father's words rang in my ears.
I, too, was sorry that it snowed.
My father knew the sufferings that come with snow.
Thank God for those who remember the needy ones.

THIS IS MY WINTER
A TREE STRIPPED OF ITS GLORY
YES, NAKED, DISROBED,
DECIDUOUS TREE SET FREE.
SUCH MY EMANCIPATION.