thinking about Matthew

Another kind of fence

On a sunny California day, October 7^, 1998, I was so stunned by a news report of the savage attack on Matthew Shepard in Wyoming that I had to pull to the side of the freeway and gather my thoughts. I know the plains. I was raised in a ranching family from NE Colorado. I knew the kinds of secrets that could precipitate a hate crime.

The memory of a young boy left hanging on a prairie fence post for eighteen hours still sears my soul. He died on October 12th. What can one do to change such a world? His mother and father have devoted their lives to bringing a message of hope and peace to other outsiders like Matthew. And, being from the plains, I know that his killers were outsiders, too. That is one of the legacies of that part of the West.

My greatest wish is that in someway, somewhere, sometime, I have been able to give witness to nonviolence and perhaps someone has foregone learned hate.

Thoughts of the plains attitudes, the long and terribly lonely roads and the need to escape have been motivators of much of my poetry. My poem about Matthew’s death written from a note taken that day on a freeway remains one of the most potent for me, though so imperfect.

 wind : Matthew Shepard

wind-seared fragment of a boy

if only I were able to hang with you

on the Laramie fence post

a son of the prairie, like you

I longed to escape its desolation

but just moved on

life holds less now

knowing that you were

martyred on that split rail

none, none, no virus, violence

or loss of self

marks my quest

no martyrdom beyond the common:

a wearying howl

of an old-man wind

another voice may speak

One of those days when there simply isn't much feeling of creativity....perhaps too much work, too busy with the stuff of life. But, remembering this poem....allowing another voice to speak....

“Praying"

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.”

― Mary Oliver, Thirst

on this date

Old bones creaking today and I was not quite up to participating in a vigorous day at the street fair of my favorite organization, the San Francisco Center for the Book. I went back and looked at photos I had taken in previous years, but then thought…did I document this calendar day on other years? What do I remember…and were the photos worth it? The photos are within the 24 hours of September 29th each year since 2008. Really weird what I photograph! Only one is a verifiable event. Photo four is setting up for the street fair early in the morning of September 29, 2011.

before the sky filled

Autumn came in with a surprise rainstorm…very unusual for September here. I am always amazed that the ocean roils with a storm message before the sky is filled with clouds. Once, many observers knew what this portended, how to read it….now, at least for me, I go to the internet weather report.

circular nature of nature

This morning I had several reminders of the joy of the changing seasons. 

A flutter outside my kitchen window focused my sleepy eyes on a small flock of birds feasting on the seeds of a drying garden a few properties to the north. Finally, able to identify them as juncos…all the dates for arrival in my bird book have been in late October or November. Not sure the significance of this….perhaps an early and harsh winter?

Later, puttering in my little garden area, I saw a butterfly on a salvia…same type butterfly in the Spring on a meadow sage. (I posted it here at the time...they look almost identical). 

Just a gracious and happy reminder of the circular nature of nature.

the end of art

Seamus Heaney, RIP

“The end of art is peace…."

                                                                                             From The Harvest Bow

 “It strikes me that the hermit and the poet probably have much in common: the need for solitude; the deep-down awareness of things and the self-discipline to spend hours in contemplation,” 

                                    Fr. Kevin Doran, homily at funeral mass for Seamus Heaney

and you get to smile

If everyone had the luxury to pursue a life of exactly what they love, we would all be ranked as visionary and brilliant. … If you got to spend every day of your life doing what you love, you can't help but be the best in the world at that. And you get to smile every day for doing so.

                                                                                                    Neil deGrasse Tyson

I am not sure lolling about qualifies one for vision and brilliance, but it does look like something that would make me smile a lot. Not feeling particularly visionary, but the weather here is finally nice enough for pool time. (But, I don't have a pool).