The Reluctant Baker

This is the one time of year that I bake. I make only a couple of the many cookies my mother used to make at Christmas. Even after many years, this is not in my comfort zone, but I don't want to give them up. Maybe I need to make sure the memories are well done.

The Reluctant Baker

I am the reluctant baker.
I carry on by making your
Christmas cookies each year.
I should never have been
more than your assistant.
As a young child,
I only kept you company
while you did all the work.
Later, I helped with the easy parts,
like prep work or filling and folding.
I never made the dough.
No, that was your domain.
I will always remember the year
I came home and realized
there would be no cookies
unless I was the one who
mixed all the ingredients.
I did all the work as you watched,
able only to keep me company.
Now, I have friends who count on me
to make the cookies each Christmas.
They have become mine.
For me, they will always be yours,
but not quite.

John "Buck" O'Neil

Today is the 100th anniversary of the birth of Buck O'Neil. There is an exhibit about his life in the changing gallery at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum that will be up through February 5, 2012. The exhibit uses the work of visual artists and poets to help tell the story of Buck's life and his impact on others. Below are just a few things I believe he taught us.

Buck Up

Make the most
of the opportunities
you are given
and work to
give more
to others.
Honor your history, but
always move forward.
Accept that life
will hand you
disappointments,
but avoid actions
that will cause
disappointment
in yourself.
Never hesitate 
to share a smile.
Most of all, love.
Oh yeah, love.

Movin' On

One day, I was riding in a car going south on I-35. I saw a group of dogs walking by the railroad tracks. The thing that struck me was they weren't barking or chasing each other. They were just walking single file.

Movin' On

Six dogs walkin' by the track.
Looked like they were travelin' in a pack.
I wondered if they had gotten lost,
or if out of their homes they'd been tossed.
Lazily, they made their way.
Meandering on a sunny day.
Didn't seem to have a worry in the world.
Weren't bothered by any sounds they heard.
Six dogs walkin' by the track.
I noticed that they never looked back.

Reflections

Today is the 97th anniversary of the birth of Lillian Pond. Know as Lil, not Lily, she was kind, loving, never met a stranger and had a great sense of humor. She loved to tell stories, especially about her eight brothers and sisters. My sister and I called them "Fractured Fairy Tales", after a segment on Rocky and Bullwinkle. So, Mom, here's a piece of "fan mail from some flounder."

Reflections

You watched my reflection
in a shiny metal bread box.
Kept an eye on me
from another room
when I thought
you weren't watching.
Spoke to me
when I couldn't see you,
but you could see me.
You still do the same
when I look into my heart
and see your reflection.

Stormy Day

 It is literally a stormy day today so I thought I would post this poem about a figurative one.

Stormy Day

The front
moves in,
bringing
not a chill
but a
bleakness.
The clouds
gather
and darken.
Anguish
thunders
and the
downpour
begins.
Reality
sets in.
You are
gone.

Something in Their Eyes

Something in Their Eyes

There was something
in the eyes
of those who were
trying to rescue them.
They had already seen:
fire and smoke
ignited by heated rhetoric
and hatred;
loss,
although they had no idea
how much there would be;
debris
that would be
searched and searched
to try to provide certainty
to so many families;
the skyline,
forever changed by absence
but eventually to be renewed.
By the time they emerged
from the building,
there was something in
the world's eyes.

Blowout

With storms past, present and future in the news lately, I am posting a poem I wrote about Kartina. It is also one of the few poems in which I have drawn on my knowledge of sports.

Blowout

The presence of the Saints
was scattered throughout New Orleans.
Black and gold T-shirts, caps and jerseys
were a common sight.
Suddenly, the shirts were soaked with flood waters,
the caps were used to wave down rescuers
and the jerseys engulfed loved ones
and absorbed their tears.
This touchdown was not cheered but feared.
Numerous fumbles ensued
and the recovery is still a work in progress.