One Man’s Dreary is One Woman’s Beauty

I walked today and I went for miles,
Cultivation that used to be routine.   
It’s been awhile since I’ve done that,
But my steps were strong and measured
And my heart pounded.  
That’s the way it is supposed to be.  

It was raining and I let the rain fall on my face.  
It wasn’t coming down so hard that the water stung me,
But just enough to let me know that
Rain had beauty and creative power just like sunshine.  

I walked along and looked up and noticed the grey sky.  
It wasn’t even close to blue, but it was striking never the less.  
I continued my steps and lowered my head just a little,
And my eyes drew in the deep green of the cedars
And the firs that towered a hundred feet over the street.
 
Then I let down my head again and looked at
The house chimneys releasing the color gray.
It was smoke that mingled in to the sky with out notice.  
Still walking, I eased my head once more, my eyes lingering
On the winter green grass that sparkled with water droplets.  
And then my gaze went back to the street in front of me,
Its gray pavement making my steps straight and secure.  

I so adore the rain and its peacefulness.  
No one is loud or noisy in the rain.  
Everyone is waiting for something.  
Some people wait for the sunshine to come alive again.  
Some wait for dryness to breathe.  
I do not wait.  
I live in the rain.


Susan  Patterson
01-2011

It has been raining the last several days here in Oregon.  The weather man tells us it will rain for a few more days.  Many people, I don't know why, start to complain about the weather when it rains.  If it is sunny all the time, then it is said that the weather is nice.  If there is coolness, or God forbid, rain, then the weather is bad.  Well, I'm here to tell you it is not true.  Coolness, moisture, wind-- all have a purpose in the ecosystem.  At this point I'm not talking about massive hurricanes and such.  I'm just talking regular seasonal weather. 

The poem is self-explanatory.  It talks about the value of rain.  It talks about the stillness and the muted beauty of rain.  I do know that sunshine is glorious.  I do know that warm weather can cheer the heart like nothing else.  And, of course I do understand that some people suffer from seasonal affective disorder.  But, we live in a very green part of the world.  Our landscapes are second to none.  So, let's give the rain a break.  Let's say it's good weather too.  

However, more so than the rain, the poem is about enjoying whatever is in front of us.  It is about wanting what we have, not wanting what we don't have.  It is about finding peace with our life as it is.  skp

Readers have asked for pictures of our cats.  I know, I know, this might be going too far, but there you go. 

We have four cats.  You've seen pictures of three.  This is the fourth one,  Alice.  She is one of our two females and she sort of runs the other three...or wants to.  Alice is about 12 years old and was a rescue kitty.   As you can see, she doesn't need rescuing any more. 

I've heard from loyal Causerie readers.  By far, most of you want me to continue with the discussion of the poem posted each week.  I will.  Thank you for your advice.  I think it is important to make my poetry understandable literature that one can assimilate easily.  I welcome you to make my poetry yours.  Think about it.  Use it.  Share it.  Apply your own understanding and meaning to the words.  But before you do all of that, you will have the original intention and understanding to think about to get you started. 

Along that vein,  many of you get notice of a new Causerie each week via email.  And I hear you like that very much.  Thank you to Bill Merchant, our marketing and technical genius for making it possible.  However, what you get via email is the new posting, but not the best version of it.  After you've read the new poem and at your convenience, I urge you to click on the link on the email notice that will take you to the web site susanpatterson-author.com.  There you will see a complete look at the new posting.  You will also be able to hear me read the new poem, which is half the fun, I'm told. 

Thank you, once again for your faithful reading and your comments to me via email, on the post and in person.  I'm thrilled to be in touch with all of you in such a beautiful way.  Happy Autumn to all.  skp

À bientôt!  skp

Even With Gabriel’s Ingenuity,
The Question Still Remains

Not more than twelve seasons,
She was a large cherub-like child
Named Gabrielle. Curly blond cute  
And not yet clearly talking, she was
An odd but effective messenger.  

For she took her job seriously,
This angel of insight, and
One afternoon, in her innocent
Confusion about being here on
Earth, she listened to the Voice
And delivered the instruction to me.

I wasn’t paying attention to her.
Words were not exchanged.
But uninvited, Gabrielle came near.
Up she reached, put her hand to my cheek,
Then simply imparted, in her
Dainty childish voice, “Don’t worry.”

I didn’t get her garbled words.
Her mother laughed and clarified.  
I was gently taken back.
Why did Gabrielle say that?
How did she know my heart?  

Of course I could not but take it in.
One small voice, empty of comprehension,
Yet full of authority, cut the age-old fear.
Now, the question rests with me,
As with all humanity,
When the angel Gabriel speaks,
Will I bend to hear?  

Susan Patterson
04-2010

This poem is a story with a question or moral at the end.  It is a true story of my grand-niece, Gabrielle, Gabby for short.  I was visiting Gabrielle and her mother one afternoon.  At that time, Gabrielle was about three years old, beautiful and loving, but she had autistic tendencies.  She had only seen me a couple of times.  She didn't talk much, yet we know that she paid attention. During the visit, as the poem relates, Gabrielle came up to me, touched my cheek and told me not to worry. 

Now here is where it might get confusing.  In those days, I had much to concern me.  Worry was common.  But how did she know?  My premise in this poem is that the Angel Gabriel, that great messenger of God, spoke through my little niece Gabrielle.  Likely?  Probably not.  Possible?  Maybe.  Interesting?  Surely.   Apparently throughout history the angel Gabriel has shown up in the oddest places.  Theoretically we wouldn't recognize him.  But we might hear him.  However when the message comes, the question is, would we listen?   skp

Cheery-bye!  skp

There Still is a Chance


We are an evil lot
To the core, at the heart, evil.

We take and plunder and kill
Whatever we want. We ravage and
Eat every thing, even our own at times.  

We live on a bio mess of that
Which we have extruded from
The reckonings of our generations.  

Yet, once in awhile a blossom of
A human grows up from the
Fermentation of our existence.
Then we, others, bow and scrape and
Worship and wail and weep.
Then we fight and take some more.

But every once in awhile that blossom
Of a human enlightens another,
And then another,
Then there is a field of blossoms,
And then a hillside of blossoms.
Then a valley full.
And we can walk in it.  


Susan Patterson 
4-2012

Well, my goodness!  There is pretty tough stuff here.  Words like bio-mess, extrude, fermentation and reckonings do not give one claims of hope.  But it is there in this poem.  Hope.  There Still is a Chance takes the stance that mankind is evil at heart.  Some religions say we are, some say not.  Some people think that man is basically good.  The poet is saying men and women are for the most part evil and clueless.  Wow.  But, you know, we do things in the name of God that is just plain stupid, if not heinous.  We have done so for eons.   

However, every once in awhile a human (some call him the son of God) comes along and teaches us a different way.  Whether that person was Jesus of Nazareth, Mohammed of Mecca, Confucius, or Gautama Buddha, they all wanted us to be better humans.   People who follow the right leader can move humanity forward to a more kind and civilized place.  We can walk in the "valley of love and delight" as the compelling Quaker song goes, and "it will be just right."   There were other teachers besides those listed and there are teachers today.  One just has to be aware of and alert to them.  Then one has to follow what they say and not the radicals who preach death and destruction in the name of God.    This poem was posted on 9-11-2013 in recognition and honor of heroes.  skp

First, thank you for all the support sent my way.  Thank you for the comments in person and in emails.  Hardly anyone posts comments on The Causerie, itself, but I know that you are out there reading away.  So, my readers, bless your hearts! 

Second, it has been brought to my attention that perhaps I should not include the discussion when I post poems.  Some think that each person should decide what the poem means for him or herself.  When I include my thoughts in the discussion, I hinder your process.   I put it to you, then, would you enjoy The Causerie and the poetry more if I did not include the discussion of each poem that I post?  Please email, post on the blog, call or tell me the next time we meet, what you think.  I will bow to the majority.  Thanks for your help.  skp

Third, did you miss me?  I did not post a new poem for a week.  Yep,  I took a week off.  Life happens and sometimes plans and energy give way.  I have been posting poetry twice a week for six months now.  I am happily stunned at the positive and long reaching results.  However, as I add new activities to my schedule, other responsibilities will have to change.  So, for awhile, I will post once a week.  You will get a new poem to read, think about and comment on each Wednesday.  Hopefully that will carry you through the week.  Please feel free to write me anytime.  Know that I am think about you each day.  Please think of me as well. 

Last, for those who asked, more kitty pictures coming soon.  skp

▶To improve the quality of one's soul, one must repeat these words often, "How may I be of service?"    Earlene Grey

Till next time, may you find a valley of love and delight.  skp