SIX-FEET-A-PART-ART POETRY
SIX-Feet-A-Part-Art is intended to be an expression of hope contained in the three sections a collection of art, a collection of poetry, and an article by Brea Persining about nurses’ experience. The art was created during the past weeks of social distancing. I hope you find connection in this space. I hope you feel a little more A-PART of the whole. If you would like to submit writing or thoughts to add to Six-Feet-A-PART-ART please submit to panoplymichiana@gmail.com.
Majestic
by Dan Breen
On Sunday I went for a walk in the woods with my son, Jack, to Sarrett Nature Center north of St. Joseph, Michigan. We hike for entertainment and to get out of the house during this time of social distance. The park is a low wet land surrounded by a higher rise along the south edge. We hiked the rise first, and as we walked down into the swamp section of the park a large and majestic oak tree came into view. The oak was at least thirty-six feet around at the base. The canopy gracefully ballerinaed twisting limbs far above the other trees. The girth of the oak’s broad limbs belittled surrounding wooded companions. Several old burls the size of yoga balls embellished its bark. Trees are just beginning to bud so the invincible life and strength of the tree’s branches majestically revealed an honored position of the forest.
I wanted a photograph of this inspiring oak. I tried to capture a single image from several angles with my camera. From one angle I could frame the base, but not appreciate the canopy. I tried from the base to shoot up into the canopy, but the marvel of the limbs would be unknown. I tried from another angle from a lower path, no good. I tried from an angle higher up, the oak was concealed by lesser trees. Jack was eager to move on; I left the effort behind me.
The oak reminded me of life in COVID-19. Each day when we look at our life it seems a little unknowable compared to a few short weeks ago. Our perspective has become askew. Our ability to see the bigger picture, a little narrower. Family, friends and acquaintances worry for those close to them, concerned for their own well-being and safety. We are looking at a potentially different world in front of us, if only for a short while. It is confusing, stressful, and keeping us separate from each other.
Only when I stood back could I appreciate the whole majestic oak and the woods surrounding. I feel we cannot ignore the important, the now of the COVID-19. We must wrestle with the passions of our fears. We must rest our heads at night with concern for our parents, families and friends. Hands sanitized we cautiously step out in a world expressed six feet apart. I feel it is important we step back and appreciate the whole of our life keeping perspective on the beauty surrounding us. I think of all the past tragedies that were to be life changing for us, and how they did not change us significantly. I think of the courage people are filled with already. I think of how courage has changed the world, not because tragedy caused heroics. Out of tragedy the true expression of faith, hope and love found higher ground. Individual courage a greater expression of peace and love as a change agent than the alternatives.
I came across this quote I saved from the tragedy of April 2019. Rabbi Yonah Fradkin, executive director of Chabad of San Diego County, said that "in the face of senseless hate we commit to live proudly as Jews in this glorious country. We strongly believe that love is exponentially more powerful than hate" (Washington Post April 28, 2019).
If COVID-19 is to change us, then let us be the masters of change. Let our change be a light of hope, reason and courage.
Arise 2020
by Pam Blair
Spring has arrived
But I dare not go outside
To greet her, meet her
So everyday I go to the window
And intentionally see her
Through the blinds
And now breaking news
There’s an elephant in the room
And it’s not safe to assume
That anyone is immune
Counting the days
As Christ knew that Palm Sunday
Was the beginning of His conviction
A cup He would not pass
Was His own crucifixion
And these biblical stories
Were not meant to bore you
But inform you
That He is familiar
With this life set before you
And if only our happily ever after
Included no sorrow
And being with you outnumbered
These days that now feel so awkward
I’d remember
I’d remember
All that matters
In a world that’s filled with so much chatter
Is an Altar
An Altar that holds something sacred
Built to recount things conquered
And things that were complicated
I’d remember
The one in whom I choose to believe
The one who inspired you to watch this message virtually
Suffering He also received
If hope springs eternally
In places we can not see
Then why consume our thoughts with worry
When Goodness and Mercy
He gave us for the journey
Let us walk in shoes laced in Peace
May the souls of man
Leave footprints in the sand
That God is with me
Starve your unbelief
Close your eyes
And visualize
A place of grace
Where God can arise
And invade our space.
and we're living
by Howard Mueller
and we're living
in the plague years
hurricane dogs
in driving rain
sweet nothing
in empty ears
echo streets
of fire and ash,
boneblack
and everyone
in quarantine
giving up tears
for Lent
strange days
we find ourselves
loving in
living in
castles of faith
but fear
can't pay the rent
all the holy healers
are calling in sick
staying home
shaking snakes
and practicing
parlor tricks
speaking in tongues
dial tone glossolalia
telephone click
the prophets
and the profits
rose and fell
and the shelves
were bare
and the fields
were fallow
The Curve
by Dan Breen
What will we do today?
After the closets are cleaned
You are lucky
I have gathered a life time of unneeded memories
And your will stronger
Than the call to nap
How shall we spend our day together?
After you beat me at backgammon
Seven times
I lazily stretched
Said I was tired, leaving
The puzzle a quarter done
You turned your attention to TV
I read the blue light
Illuminating my worries dancing
Diablada shadows on the walls
Above the headboard
How shall we weave our hours?
Uncorking the bottle of Moscato
From our vacation
The one we were saving
We pass the dish you took all day
To prepare from an online course
How will you hold me at night?
While the sails of my spirit
Buffeted by the uncertainty of the day
Will you flatten the curves of my fear?
spring of ‘20
by Chris Wheeler
Why is it that I hold
the spring in such suspicion?
I have given up on the hope
that life will lift up its tousled head
and throw the covers back
with a fruity yawn the size of an open grave.
I am Midwestern enough
to eye the sky and tut-tut about snow,
to keep my coat on its hook by the door.
I am wounded enough by the purloined promises
of buds sewn shut
to play the skeptic when they bloom.
Unbidden, then, this delight
when the sun strikes my eyes,
when the first great green middle finger
pokes its way up through the sod.
It’s been so long since last year
that the first warm day
smells of birthday cake,
and the little things
crinkle in the field like gift wrap.
And every murmur stills to silence
at a single daffodilian bow
crowning the package,
and I know then
that spring is worth the wait.
by Howard Mueller
Hindsight 20/20
Jesus slept in
on Easter Sunday
quarantined
he ate
ham and beans
and stitched a mask
from Mary's sundress
To Fill the Void
by Thomas Christensen
Every day, I’ve looked at pictures, of my son
Mainly the most recent ones
Presenting him in good health
It is a need that I have
To distract my mind
From his sudden death
At first the pictures triggered emotions
Of extreme sadness
And in my solitude I would cry
With grieving have taken place
I am able to peruse the pictures without crying
But the pain of loss is not lessened
As there is an empty seat at the table
I miss his presence and conversations
These are things grieving can not provide
Could it be Any Better
by Thomas Christensen
Any better, can I be
Then when I was a teen?
When I had a full head of hair
A 42” chest and a 32” waist
And after every high school dance I found romance
Parked in a car by Lake Michigan
Where we listened to rhythmic sounds
Of the waves as they slapped upon the shore
Back then life was great
No concerns
No worries or pressing issues
We were young and living in our own little worlds
Now 50 years later
I am fat and bald
Still love to dance
And I am romantic with my lovely wife
Could it be any better?
Sure
It could
Like no joint pain
Plagued
by Chris Wheeler
We are feeble,
dust and droplets and germs
with face masks on guard against
all the fears populating our world.
We lash out and reach out
and sometimes both at once,
not really knowing
what we do or don’t do,
not really seeing what we need
or what harms us –
children all,
sequestered in a global sickroom
with an IV drip of articles
and campaigns and quests
to keep us well.
And I am sitting in my home,
looking out
at a world returning to the wild within,
tied to filtering screens,
and suddenly so weary –
stretched thin by all the things I must do
the responsibilities I hold heavy
as a follower, a lover,
a human.
But on sunny days,
(and more of these are dawning)
the window is open,
and the air coming in is cold and fresh,
carrying bird song on its back
and wildflowers in its wake.
And I feel then
as though the world
is a winsome place,
infected, yes, utterly plagued
by songbirds,
and though beauty may exhaust me
(as it should)
I will not stop breathing it in.
“The Haunting”
By A.E. Fonner
Cocooned within the nest, I slumber; hours pass, time counts down the number.
In peace repose, I dream’ly wonder of the one whom I adore;
The one of whom I most adore;
Whose love I cherish most, assured
Secure within unconscious sphere, and free from torments that I fear;
In tranquil dream, my hope lies near where I find refuge from the storm;
Oh, blessed refuge from the storm;
In refuge where I’m safe and warm.
Alas, the dawn creeps in unspoken; kayoed state to soon be broken.
Away, the fog of slumber’s shaken; senses soon to be awakened;
Senses from deep slumber shaken;
Soon to leave my restful haven.
Arousing, then, to silence eerie; cheer gives way to senses leery.
I wait within my sanctuary certain that it’s drawing near.
Foreboding sense, my doom is near;
These hopeless feelings that I fear.
A presence, now, I sense draws nigh; or have my thoughts, then, gone awry?
I listen closely to the air; and, peering widely in despair,
I strain to see what’s haunting me.
What specter comes to torment me?
The silence slowly then gives in as faintest whisper breaks the din,
Whose somber words in forlorn measure drip as water to the ground;
A most unsettling tortured sound
Is water dripping to the ground.
“Now listen,” said in morbid tone, as nails across a weathered bone.
“Recount the evil you have wrought, and loath the start of each day caught.
Yes, dread what’s hidden in the haze,
For numbered are your passing days.
“Consider those whom you called ‘brother’, recall your promise to your mother,
The havoc that you caused the others, the wretched trail left in your wake.
The more received, the more you take,
Each day lived out for your own sake.
“Tomorrow’s sure to spell your doom, for worries of your life consume
The flowering of a hope renewed while, feckless, from the edge you fall.
So, take your final curtain call;
The ‘morrow ushers in your fall.”
“Reprieve,” I moan in morning’s chill. “Appeal to you I surely will.
Why torment me when I awake of bygone days, for pity’s sake?
My heart has bled for each mistake;
I meant no harm, my spirit aches.
“Please trouble me no longer, then, as with each dawn you’re here again,
Reminding me of broken strands and doubts held in tomorrow’s hands.
Against approaching storms I’ll stand,
Or be engulfed in shifting sands?
“Reveal yourself! From whence you came? By whose domain do you cast blame?
My peace succumbs to scornful shades that, stealthy, steals where nowhere bade,
While I devise a veiled charade.
In all my glory, stand arrayed.”
I listen close for a reply; and strain my ear with subdued sigh
When faintest voice, much like a dream that rides along synaptic streams,
Crescendos to a lurid howl;
Then softens to a guttural growl
A chorus most unpleasant, foul.
“A wraith who haunts cerebral paths, I know your fears; I know your wrath.
Recall your failed schemes again; your plans now dashed to bits again.
Tomorrow’s hope, illusion’s game; they really are both quite the same.
So, turn the corner; and I’ll be there to push you down that flight of stairs.”
“Away from me!” I plead once more.” Remove yourself, depart my floor.”
Like the raven perched above Poe’s door; as my soul lies bare on lonely shore,
Pronounced it surely, “Nevermore.
I’ll haunt your days forevermore.”
So every day, an anxious dawn, it beckons me with demons spawned;
And I, consigned to be a pawn, have I the faith to carry on?
Perhaps there’s hope for even me; the prospect that I’ll be set free.
Or is despair ordained to me; contented, nevermore to be?
Either way, I’ll find out. When I get there, there’ll be no doubt.
The Other Side
by Pan Blair
All our life given the option to choose
Until circumstances change all the rules
Wondering how long and why
Will I make it to the other side
Laying here waiting for the storm to pass
Tears start to feel like raindrops
Clouds build to form nose drops
Thunder rolls across my heart and the beat drops
Oh to remember
The sun never left
It always settles in the west
It never intends to hide
It’s just on the other side
Uncertainty is the new norm
When the world closes windows and doors
Our minds become a prison in time
Fear and hopelessness unite and combine
When I can’t stand upright
Give me words to fight
Words to paper my pen will engage
There’s a story on the other side of the page
Oh to remember
The sun never left
It always settles in the west
It never intends to hide
It’s just on the other side
I want to make it
To the other side of pain
Testify to things overcame
Be a witness to the damage now contained
A feeling of peace to regain
We are but travelers passing through
May our shoes stay intact and carry no residue
Dark skies still have stars that shine their best
And the other side does not always mean death
For the sun never left
It always settles in the west
It never intends to hide
It’s just on the other side
