So often we move, and live in between the beauty of this season,
and the brutality we don’t want to see in our world,
may we learn how to dance, and to love anyway
accepting who we are, choosing to believe
in that hope we know still exists, filled
with dances of light
as we move forward
twirling,
each of us a graceful ballet
of love and new life.
Amen.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
A streetlamp flickered as Marcy walked by, and snow began falling. She wanted so badly to be inside, anywhere, any place that had heating. She didn’t know where else to go, she didn’t want to go there but it was the only place that would take her on this bitter cold Christmas Eve.
She was desperate. So she headed to the Gospel Mission. At least she could find warmth there and a decent meal. She knew she smelled bad, but it didn’t matter anymore.
Once she got there, it did not go well. There was no food left, and the staff argued with each other on whether Marcy should sleep with the men or the women. They looked at her with disgust and continued arguing with each other. Marcy’s face turned beet red with embarrassment and anger. She tried to explain why she was a woman, but they wouldn’t listen.
Marcy turned and headed for the door. No one, absolutely no one tried to stop her. There was only one place left she could try although she was sure they were closed now.
It was a long difficult walk including over a bridge and in the snow, and now the wind picked up. She asked heaven for help, and she was bold enough to ask for three small Christmas gifts.
“I could really use these gifts right now” … she said out loud, looking up.
Almost an hour later she made it…to the Pride Center. The door was locked! She banged as loud as she could, weeping and calling out for help. Suddenly the door opened, “What is all that noise!” And when the woman standing there saw Marcy, she said “Come in child come in, dear God look at you!”
Her name was Linda, an older woman and a psychologist who had fallen asleep after meeting with a client there. She took Marcy in and went into action, wrapping her in blankets and fixing something up in the microwave that smelled delicious. Marcy knew that smell, and with a smile on her face said, “Lasagna!”.
The two women talked, and Marcy told her about her night so far. They finished the coffee in the coffee pot, and talked some more about everything. Linda offered to give her fresh clothes from the attached thrift shop. They both hated red!
Linda pointed down the hallway and said, “Second door on the right is a bathroom with a shower.” Marcy smiled beautifully. Linda continued, “There’s shampoo in the closet.” And after the shower and fresh clothes, Marcy realized something.
Linda had given her the Christmas presents she was hoping for. When she told Linda, they hugged each other with tears streaming down their faces.
All Marcy wanted for Christmas was to feel loved, accepted, and encouraged.
Linda said,
“Merry Christmas Marcy!”
P.S. That night Marcy slept on the sofa at the center, warm and comfy. She and Linda became good friends, and Marcy now works at the thrift shop.
Writing and Image Copyright © 2022 rivers renewed
I’d rather have a cup of coffee with a transgender woman…. than with any extremist on the right, most likely she won’t even own a gun let alone an AR15….. she hates violence of any type,
and since she studies history, we could talk about the constitution…. “assault rifles are not in there…” she continues, “do you realize how long it takes to reload a musket?”
She’s getting her PhD next year, but she tears up, reaches for a tissue from her purse because children aren’t being taught about the pain of racism, “slavery really did happen…. we need to acknowledge our pain, so we can heal”…. I shake my head yes,
when I mention the radical left, she laughs saying, “I’m more of a John McCain myself…..you see how people assume?” …. She mentions the only radicals she knows are in a musty old basement on the east side of Brooklyn, university students writing their manifesto….. “by the way, they have no guns,” she quickly adds,
“I think people just want Grandma to have her electricity on, to have heat in the winter, and some decent food to eat…. instead of dog food out of a can…. is that so terrible?” No not at all, not even one bit, “that’s not radical…. that’s being human,” I add. “Exactly!” she says.
Yes, I’m sure I could have an amazing conversation with a transgender woman….. but not with an extremist, from the right.
What time does Starbucks close?
Writing and Image Copyright © 2022 rivers renewed
The French cuisine was exquisite along the border. Emma reached for her steak knife, cutting deeply
into the honey glazed chicken, as she was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight in a quiet corner of the café. The meal reminded her of a certain general who always wanted her, honey glazed
The plan worked.
show ‘em a little leg, have him caught in a web of a beautiful seduction, and before he could be her champion… she called forth the wolves,
he learned his deadly mistake as he quivered on the marble steps. She had towered over him
another Nazi leader decimated,
eliminated,
then fertilizing the moss covered soil that would one day carry Allied tanks.
Emma poured herself another glass of wine, smiling sardonically, looking at her reflection in the shine of her steak knife. Then she cut deeply again into the honey glazed chicken, while a wolf howled in the distance.
She would never be the victim of anyone.
It was 1941. Or was it?
Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed
Awakened by the falling, I move forward anyway
and I love
the way the light moves
filtering
through the leaves.
Poetry, and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
P.S. Whenever I go through a difficult circumstance I seek to allow the light in.
The ancient poet Rumi taught me this. And even when I think
I cannot continue, I move forward anyway.
Peace.
Layer upon layer, each layer
of my unending horizons
washes over me
teaching me that I am more,
so much more
than my struggles
clarity, corrected vision
encouragement even
that yes
I can embrace a sense of hope,
and I have
a future.
By God I do.
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
As I write my heart I find,
some poetry still living
as if from a cave, no longer dormant
a summer flower,
never fading, longing
for the sun.
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
P.S. I will share some poetry for the next couple of weeks.
It was all about God in those days, working those hours
children in the minivan, McDonald’s
we were so young then,
oak trees could still reach up, able to breathe
California was not on fire yet,
and the Earth
had not yet rebelled against humanity’s insanity.
We left our guns at home
rarely concerned about a break-in
and this was all before Fox news was ever invented
and before trans people had to run for their lives,
France they say is still safe,
and we remember, Josephine Baker.
Poetry and Image © Copyright, 2022 rivers renewed
It has been a long time coming, and since I don’t like good-byes I’ll use the term farewell. Many of you know I’m not here much anyway but I need to take it a step further and make it official. I’m retired from blogging.
There are a few reasons. My wife’s health hasn’t changed, and she is still receiving treatment. Love is stronger than fear though.
I’ve decided to do more studying. Many of you that have been with me for a while know, that I love anthropology. What is anthropology? The study of people. I’m also studying gender. Yes. Gender.
We all need and enjoy healing and positivity. I have written that way for a long time. That’s how I used to write though. It’s beautiful but that’s not who I am now. Now I write more like the Emma stories, edgy females that don’t take crap from anyone!
Adding a little supernatural is always fun too. Is there an Emma novel waiting to be written? Absolutely.
Finally the extremism from the far-right is the most dangerous element our country has faced in a very long time. The threat is from the right… not the left. The most the left will do is spend your money.
In a few years we may not have democracy. It’s called fascism. I could rant and rave about this all day on a separate blog, but I simply don’t have time. Yes it does affect my writing.
Finally and most importantly is to say thank you! I cannot thank you enough! Some of you have been with me a long time. I’m in tears as I write this part.
Thank you!
If you don’t mind I’d like to hang around once in a while, visiting.
I wish you peace.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed
If the spirits of the poets are subject to the poets
then the spirits of wolves are subject to the moon,
and Madrid never gave away any of her treasures
because there were too many vampires
in Belgium,
night clouds cascading
into dark poetry.
It was 1941.
Narrator: Emma wrote these notes on the back of a napkin, while taking the train to Paris.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed
Rivers Renewed 