one way ticket...

You’ve got a little tan.

I tugged at her backpack,

Set it on the curb.

Another jet leaves.

She didn’t hear

Until I repeated

A bit louder this time,

“I said it looks like

You got a little tan”.

She rubbed her hands up

And down her smooth arms.

“I guess I did” she nods.

The door slides open.

“I can take it from here.

You don’t have to wait.

And the no crying rule

Is now in effect.”

We always did that.

Pretended it was

No big deal, her leaving.

Like we did this all

The time. She smiled again

Across the car roof,

Glanced at her ticket,

Headed for the lobby.

The door swooshes shut.

Later, she will call

To tell me she’s okay.

Home, safe and sound,

And that she cried at the gate

Not even getting

As far as the plane.

I tell her I bawled too

coming back from the airport.

Above my house, this new address,

The room she never got to sleep in,

the jets come and go.

I live under these planes now.

They streak like stars

Roaring over my garden walls.

They never touch down,

But I wave sometimes

At the silver wings,

Think maybe she’s flying

Up there somehow

On her way back

To sound, to safe, to home.

Another jet leaves.

“Honey, I miss you," I whisper.

"I promise to pretend

not to cry.”

(Copyright Text Wren Walker; Photo Rob Landry 2010)

after the movie...

after the movie,

she blinks

at the sunshine,

hides her reflection

in the window,

and waits for the tears

to stop falling.

she tries on

a little smile,

her lips

too numb

to be convincing,

but still good enough

for where she is going.

I am particularly fond of this poem. There are so many possible scenarios. Did the woman go alone to the movie? Did she watch the movie… did she sit in the darkness thinking of other things?

Where is she going?

I’ll ask…

(copyright text and photo Wren Walker 2010)

school bus...

so many mornings

we stung on the curb,

heat tucked underneath

waiting for buses…

what didn’t we know

that could have saved us,

wee falling angels

wings bound in mittens?

snapping at snowflakes,

salty jaws drooling,

another day comes

to eat us away.

(copyright text Wren Walker 2010; vintage photo)

Rhetorically Rhonabwy…

the wood flickers red.
the hearth burns so slow.
sparks give a voice
to the settling flame.
the waiting knights shift
and keep murmurs low.
two mighty men lean
intent on their game.

a battered sentry
flies in from the field,
weaves through the knights
to the side of his sire.
rude laughter and shouts
now heighten the roar
struck from the ravens
heard screeching in ire.

gray eyes meet green
with no trace of real dread.
‘your move, sir’ was all
that King Arthur said.

with never a wince
Owain stares at the scene,
while the fire
still sputters and glows.
the battle cry sounds
high like a keen
in the flurry that rages
and grows.

waving his hand,
Owain makes his next move.
dark knights take form
as they shape and they shift.
then down from the trees
a swirling wild hoard
slashes the pages
with talons so swift.

not changing expression
as he raises his head,
‘your move, Lord’
was all that Sir Owain said.

the dream is now over;
the pieces are crushed.
those brave men long lie
asleep in their dust.
the swords are all buried
bound in their rust.
the silence is deep;
the echoes are hushed.

yet sometimes, it’s told,
on the dark of the moon,
red fire is seen
in the midst of the gloom
and a promise still lingers:
Arthur’s not dead.
one day he’ll return.
that's what is said.


The Dream of Rhonabwy is a story written in the Welsh Red Book of Hergest. Lady Charlotte Guest incorporated the tale into her translation of the Mabinogion. Whether the story is to be read as a literal tale, enjoyed as a satire, or is to be interpreted as a mystical vision, is unclear.

Within my own mind, the chess scene takes place in a darkened inn. Arthur and Owain are each so intent upon besting the other that their moves on the chessboard become glamoured and are now replicated in reality out in the nearby fields. The two men ignore the pleas of knights, pages and ravens to halt the game. Finally Arthur, realizing that Owain is not the true enemy, shakes off the glamour and crushes the chess pieces, thus breaking the spell.

Sometimes we get so caught up in a game that we forget that it is just a game. Sometimes we confuse friends and enemies. Sometimes we have to shake off our illusions. Sometimes we need to listen to what other people say.

Sometimes we really need to wake up.

(copyright Wren Walker, 2010. photo by Fritz Jung)

It is okay to start over...

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

– Wild Geese; Mary Oliver

It is okay to start over.

It's okay to shake things up.

It’s okay to do what you love.

So sometimes we start over.

It is okay to start over.

(copyright text and photo, Wren Walker 2010)

voices in the wood...

voices in the wood

the dark has a tongue.

a leaf rustles.

a twig stops short

of snapping back.

the wind has a pitch.

it waits to speak,

draws in the mist,

puckering the moss.

memories whisper.

leave me a note.

carry my name

into the woods.

copyright WrenWalker 2010

photo by Rob Landry

Down The Road...

Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,

I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,

I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,

I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.*

This coming December, I will be five years down the road, five years since Skye died. For the first four, I was crazy. There is no better set of words to describe how I felt and how I acted: I was just crazy.

I ranted and raved over the slightest thing. I lashed out at the very people who were sincerely trying to understand and to help. My health suffered. I lost interest in life. I forgot things. I couldn’t write. I would rarely speak. My mind would settle into a neutral resting state, not thinking about anything in particular.

And that was on a good day…

Well, I will always be ‘a little crazy’ because being the mother of a dead child is crazy. It is. It is. And I think once we, as bereaved parents, come to that realization and accept ourselves as being perpetually ‘a little bit crazy', we can begin to regain some surer footing in this life.

Life holds a different meaning for me now than once it did. For my part, I have no other children. I will never have grandchildren. There is a space within me that will ever remain unfilled. I feel this core of loss always… but now I know I can carry it.

Because I am.

I am writing again. I stay in closer touch with my friends than I did before. I took up photography. I laugh a little more often. I weed my garden. I better understand how people can say and do absolutely crazy things when they are suffering indescribable personal pain and unrelenting grief.

I know because I will always be ‘a little bit crazy’ myself…

* Song of the Open Road; Walt Whitman.

(Photo by Fritz Jung)

Gaia To Gort…

What is the purpose of humanity? Why are we here?

These are the big questions usually left for the theologians to ponder. It's their job to work on the puzzle of human existence and the spiritual implications and ramifications thereof. Unfortunately for everyone who lives here on good old planet Earth, these experts in all things spiritual haven't proven that they are any better at answering those questions than anyone else. In fact, their track record pretty much stinks. I think that it's time we fire their pompous little butts -- since they obviously aren't getting the job done -- and turn the problem over to someone else.

But who? (I’m psychic so I knew that you would ask.) The most qualified people to determine the fate and direction of humankind ... sound of envelope being torn open... It's us! Yay! Humanity wins! Do try to keep those acceptance speeches short. There are a lot of us who would like to say something and seldom get the spotlight.

So now that we've sobered up from the post-awards parties and have given those incompetent 'experts' the boot. Now what?

Well, we might still need a bit of an organizational structure just to make it clear to any extraterrestrials monitoring our broadcasts that we are indeed serious about this project. We really want to avoid all of that ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ robotic intervention stuff if at all possible.

Nothin' to see here, Gort. Thanks for checking in though. And give our best wishes to Klaatu. Sorry about that whole bullet in the chest thingie.

Let's form a global committee! It will need a name. Something that sounds important. How about "The Universal Task Force on the Purpose and Future of the Human Race"? Too wordy. No good acronym there either. Hmm... I did consider a simple, “We Are Humans” but then we’d get stuck with the initials: W.A.H.

Oh dear.

How about "All Humankind" or A.H.? (Pronunciation: Ah). While it is admittedly only one letter away from the whiney wah, still I think it does aptly demonstrate our willingness to finally mature and move on up the spiritual yardstick. I understand ‘ah’ might also be an expression of relief or of comprehension. (In music, ‘ah’ is a syllable used to fill space. You know who you are.)

Okay then, “We are all humans. Hear us AH!”

Well, that all moved along rather nicely. We have formed our committee in order to determine the purpose of our existence and to explore the future of humanity. Intergalactic missile-shy aliens all across the galaxy are breathing (or whatever) a sigh of relief.

As a proposed starting point, I think that All Humankind would like to live in a more peaceful world, a world where a person is valued and respected simply because he or she is a human being. Most of us would agree that each human should have a decent standard of living. Some other non-negotiable rights for all of humanity are: nutritious food, clean water, access to basic health care, shelter, dignity, privacy, safety, justice, freedom from persecution, coercion or oppression, and freedom of religion and speech.

So how can it be that a good portion of the world’s people and our fellow A.H. members don't already have these things or these rights?

Well, it turns out that All Humankind doesn't yet possess what every organization, every corporation and every committee must have before it can move forward: a comprehensive mission statement. But before we start to formulate the A.H. mission statement, let's take just a few minutes to review a few things that we don't need. It will be time well spent. No sense repeating past mistakes.

1. We don't need any more religious platitudes.

Every religion has them and they haven't helped us out one bit thus far. Religions, for the most part, are divisive. Now, before you start sending me hate mail, I don't have anything against any religion. I follow one myself. It is just that each religion (with a scant few exceptions) more or less (usually more) operates on the premise that only when everyone on Gaia follows that one religion – and of course, it just happens to be their religion -- will there be peace and harmony and lions married to lamb chops.

And since that reasoning actually sounded somewhat plausible over several centuries to a large percentage of people who heard about it, humanity gave the various, sundry and even sometimes nefarious, designated religious headliners of the day some time to work out the kinks in the plan.

Okay. Time’s up!

It hasn't worked. So go do your own good deeds and encourage your religious organization to do likewise. Religious creeds cannot bring All Humankind together.

2. We don't need more political promises.

Politics are divisive. There will never be one political party that All Humankind will agree to endorse. (And a one-world political system would negate the integral human right of free choice.) As they operate now, each political party and individual politician works at bringing home the bacon for the people who elected him/her/it. Bad theory. Worse follow-through. A lot of bacon bits seem to get sprinkled into the salads of the politicians while the people who elected them eat naked lettuce. Politics pits this thing against that other thing and “may the best lobbyist win” is often the thing.

I suppose that we are stuck with politics. But we don't have to be stuck with politicians. Over 90 percent of incumbents get re-elected. Don't like where your local or national politicians sprinkle the bacon bits? Boot them out.

There will never be a one-world government -- one elected by the people, that is -- so let’s forget about politics as a productive venue for anything other than hashing out local and/or national issues and for generating a few juicy scandals.

3. We don't need any more reality television shows in order to make a connection with our shared humanity or to see how "other people" live.

Instead we need to spend a few days in a village in Zimbabwe. Walk down a street with a Catholic in a Protestant neighborhood in some parts of Ireland. Tune in to the kitchen of a senior citizen in the United States as he/she tries to decide whether to buy essential medicine or essential groceries.

We need to hold a child while the bombs level the town around her. Sit with a wife or a mother as she reads the telegram that begins with, "We regret to inform you..." Visit a tent in Africa filled up with people dying from AIDS.

If humanity has a purpose -- then we are seriously behind schedule. We need to get that All Humankind committee up and running soon. And we need to begin to formulate some really good solutions for those really big problems. There are a lot of logistics to work out…the first one being that multitudes of people won't be able to make it to the All Humankind committee planning meetings at all.

Many didn't have anything to eat today and their children are sick. Some of them are trapped under bombed-out buildings. Thousands are wading through filth or flood waters. Maybe others could make it… if they knew anything about the All Humankind committee other than what their oppressive governments allow them to know or what their religions want them to hear.

And yes, I know we just theoretically fired them all, but if the world’s religious leaders, theologians and elders could pry their glistening eyes from the gold collection plates, the political perks and their personal Supreme Being’s easily bruised ego, we might consider bringing them back onto the planning committee. Humanity is their business, after all. The deep questions surrounding faith and existence are the hallmarks of their professions.

And compassion, unconditional love, inclusion…surely these virtues can triumph over avarice, hypocrisy and exclusion? The future of All Humankind depends upon all of humankind working towards a better way and a brighter future.

All Humankind needs a really good mission statement. We promise to work on it. We are going to try again to get this right: “We are all humans. Hear us AH!”

I hope that you are out there listening, Gort.

The Altar of Little Beasties...

buzzsaw

the bee

cuts through

the knots

the grass

the fibers of sun.

she jams

the dust

the life

like gold

into back pockets.

she jigs

to hive

to home

just like

a tidy wee blade.

Now there are poetry lovers and then there are … well, then there is everyone else. People usually aren’t lukewarm about the subject. Anyone who says, “Yeah, I kinda like poems...” is probably buying you a drink, asking to add you to her online ‘friend’ collection or is about to hit you up for a loan just until Friday.

People who love poems can’t really explain their enthusiasm for poems with any greater clarity than poets can explain their own reasons for writing them. It’s a desire to write something as yet unwritten that speaks of something yet unspoken.

I am sure many folks over the centuries have come up with more satisfying definitions and words of wisdom. They certainly had to do something while waiting for the poem to get itself out of the pen, off of the typewriter keys or into the Word document. Poems can be such stubborn beasties.

I saw that bee in my mind. I heard her buzzing. I watched as she went from flower to flower. Buzz … buzz… buzz…

And then -- done for the day -- a sudden zip! She’s outta there and making a beeline for home. She goes from the bob… to the slice… just like that. And this is sometimes how poems act -- or how poets act -- depending on where you might wish to place the blame for all of those words bouncing about the head and keeping you up at night.

For instance, I wrote the first two sections of the poem above in 2002. I knew that the last line of the poem had to be something about a ‘tidy little blade’ in order to tie together what a bee does with what a saw does.

Poets try stuff like that…

I usually 'get’ the last lines of a poem or of an essay before I even know what the rest of the poem or essay is going to be about. That’s how it works with me. Why it happens that way or where it -- the idea, the theme, the hook -- comes from… no clue.

Then… I was stuck. The poem needed another stanza and I didn’t have one. Couldn’t see one, couldn’t hear one, couldn’t do whatever it is that we poets do one.

But that’s life then, isn’t it? Sometimes no matter how hard you try, whatever it is that you attempt to do, must do, are paid to do, or are suppose to do… doesn’t get done because you just can’t find the right way to do it.

You read books. You ask people things. You try this and that. Nothing. You look at it from this angle. Turn it around. Flip it this way and flap it that way. More nothingness. Welcome to the club. Hello, my name is Wren. Take a seat.

And then, one day, you take the thing out for the sixty-fifth time and…there it is. It comes right up to you wagging its tail.

I finished the poem today. Finished it enough anyway. Poets are always fiddling with their poems and a few lines might wander in or out or over to some other work in progress. It is a good thing for a poet to remember that words -- and ideas -- very often just come jigging on home… Good little beasties.

The Altar of Pennies...

If Pagans want to build a community spirit that will foster monetary contributions, the emphasis must always be on the benefit. The appeal to a ‘greater good’, the something beyond ourselves, should never be underestimated. Within the human spirit, there is a desire to be a member of a tribe that celebrates the good times (the bountiful harvest) and comes together to weather the bad times (the famine).

Our people are not homogenous. We come from different places. We celebrate different rites. We live in different family structures. We worship different gods. (If we indeed ‘worship’ any at all.) So none of these individual factors is what will unite us. None of these attributes will motivate us to give monetary support to anything that emphasizes particular things… unless these are also our particular things.

Pagans do support what has value. I support what I value and you support what you value.

What is the ‘value’ to me of my $200 donation to a Pagan community center if what I spiritually treasure is the new seedling of a nearly extinct tree sprouting up in a public park or a rehabilitated eagle being released back into the wild?

Although I have an altar both within my home and without, I meet with the Old Ones in the places and times of Their choosing. It is very, very personal. What is the benefit then to me if I place a ten-dollar bill into the hands of a religious usher and stand in a circle of strangers whose hearts and whose gods I do not know?

I am not you. I cannot be you. I do not want to be you. I am not special. I have no superior intellect or natural skills. I am not an elder. I am not a priestess. I am not a leader. Actually, for more than a decade now, I have been following you. And that is a key point…

I tend to be twitchy around people who want to establish something. I am especially edgy around people who want to establish something using my money and time and energy. I go almost postal if the planners are passive-aggressive in the approach:

“Don’t you want to have a place where we can all get together?” “If we don’t form a united front (or a voting block, a spiritual manifesto, a council of elders, etc) then we will never be taken seriously.”

My teeth hurt now… And so here is where the benefit thing and the differences thing and the individual thing and the money thing all get together to throw a party thing:

Take your mitts off of the thing. Stop trying to corral Pagans into something malleable and manageable.

Why do you think that people drift off after your Pagan 101 classes are done? Why do they stop supporting your shop? Why won’t they help put up the decorations or sweep your floor forever and ever?

We are Pagans, for the love of the Gods. We are pagans or want to be pagans or decided to become pagan because we fell in love. We are in love with the seasons. We are in love with the cycles. We are in love with the fire and the wind and the water and the earth. We love the Old Ones in whatever form They might approach us and within whatever form we might find Them. And most of the time, we even love each other.

We do.

And that right there is the benefit, the big payoff, the point that makes the sale. It has to be something built for the greater good. Nothing clears a room of donors, helpers, aides or potential facilitators faster than the aroma of simmering ‘me, mine and I’. It is a smell that cannot be perfumed over with a sweetly uttered we or a penciled in us. An agenda gives off a distinct stench. And most Pagans have very acute noses.

But Vision with a capital V is a good thing. So are Progress and Evolution and Cooperation and Honesty and Compassion. Throw some Valor and Strength and Endurance and Patience in there and maybe we have the start of something.

Oh yes, please do get excited. Dream big. Give people the tools and the encouragement and the skill set. Teach them what you know. Charge for it if you will. Give it away if that is in your heart.

Pagans like a good commodity as much as the next consumer. Pagans like things and ideas and training. They will pay for it if it has value and it benefits him or her. And they will then resell it, repurpose it, recycle it or just toss it away later if they want to. And if the thought of your precious commodity being chucked into a garbage heap is disturbing to you, please examine that inner pang more closely. Both you and the people to whom you peddle your wares and ideas will be the better for it.

A pagan is not a commodity. Don’t blame the Pagan if he or she doesn’t like what you are peddling. Don’t try to mold Pagans into what you or your shop or your class or your priestess or your groups think that they should be. Don’t do it.

Give them tools. Give them information. Motivate them. Become an example in your local community. Donate to causes that you believe in. Encourage a wide range of ideas. Speak of the we and the our as if you really mean it. And you better really mean it.

And there it is. Right there. The universal and ultimate benefit: love.

Build something for Pagans and do it for no other reason than because you love Pagans. Give to them your heart and your spirit and your time and yes, your money. Freely sacrifice what only your Gods will ever know that you sacrificed for them. Give to them something so powerful, so lovely, so simple and so free of your personal entanglement that they will surely know that you built it all in service to them and simply for the love of them. Build it. Expand it. Perfect it.

And then let it go. Let those wild crazy pagans do whatever they want to do with it. Let them reshape it, remodel it, recycle it or toss it in the trash heap later if they want to. And if you are feeling that achy inner pang thing again… It's a pretty good indication that perhaps you desire to have, to manage or to regulate the thing that you built more than you really want to love and serve the people for whom you built it.

Pagans will indeed support forms and organizations. But we won’t pay for admission. We already belong.