Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for
syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script
telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. ~ Carl Sandburg
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Happy 66th Birthday, Sandra
Here it is again, Sandy-B!
Another b-day notch in your life extension,
Another time to acknowledge your blessings & bounties,
Another time to vision your evolving future.
Note the new adventure to New Orleans, via Amtrak no less!
Note the offerings of Autumn, and opportunities therein,
Note the sights and sounds of Nature,
Note the health and well-being you manifest.
Know that I cherish the relationship we have formed,
Know that I’m a better man as a result,
Know that our blended, expanding family is blessed by your presence,
Know that the world is better for having you in it.
Here’s to another year of our shared existence!
Lovingly appreciative, your Hubby-Dear
Another b-day notch in your life extension,
Another time to acknowledge your blessings & bounties,
Another time to vision your evolving future.
Note the new adventure to New Orleans, via Amtrak no less!
Note the offerings of Autumn, and opportunities therein,
Note the sights and sounds of Nature,
Note the health and well-being you manifest.
Know that I cherish the relationship we have formed,
Know that I’m a better man as a result,
Know that our blended, expanding family is blessed by your presence,
Know that the world is better for having you in it.
Here’s to another year of our shared existence!
Lovingly appreciative, your Hubby-Dear
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
NATE IS THE PAPA - Poem
Nate is the papa
As he lays his baby grandsons Sachin and August on his chest
They fall asleep together
And he pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he loads the van with camping equipment
Tows Samantha’s canoe and throws balls to Max
He pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he kicks around his philosophy about jobs, trips, food, and finance,
He discusses deeper urges with his sons Jon, Dylan, and Sunil,
And he pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he explores how to deal with children, family, food, and relationships,
He shares his wisdom with his daughters Ariana, Heidi, and Emily,
And he pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he erects fences, digs holes, runs tillers, mows lawns,
And hangs out in doctors’ waiting rooms instead of sailing toward Tahiti,
Alas, he cannot pretend. I know he is in love with me.
By Sandra Bender
June 20, 2009
As he lays his baby grandsons Sachin and August on his chest
They fall asleep together
And he pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he loads the van with camping equipment
Tows Samantha’s canoe and throws balls to Max
He pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he kicks around his philosophy about jobs, trips, food, and finance,
He discusses deeper urges with his sons Jon, Dylan, and Sunil,
And he pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he explores how to deal with children, family, food, and relationships,
He shares his wisdom with his daughters Ariana, Heidi, and Emily,
And he pretends not to be in love with them.
Nate is the papa
As he erects fences, digs holes, runs tillers, mows lawns,
And hangs out in doctors’ waiting rooms instead of sailing toward Tahiti,
Alas, he cannot pretend. I know he is in love with me.
By Sandra Bender
June 20, 2009
Twenty-two Years with Nate - Poem
Twenty-two Years with Nate
It started on a lark, his search for a buddy,
My what-the-hell, why not. Nothing to lose
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
We met, talked. I knew he was for me.
He didn’t.
Group meetings, dance outings, and then…
The kiss. He knew.
The tests came. Could we trust the connection
To hold?
Evenings with children, camping, sailing lessons,
Dancing classes and Starting Anew.
Nancy and Ross.
We knit two lives into one relationship.
Four lives into one family.
Marriage—a chance to heal wounds and trust.
Learn the art of empowerment, type differences,
Styles of housekeeping, meals to prepare.
We survived our children’s teen years.
Did better than that. Launched three
Competent, loving adults.
New families to celebrate.
Careers completed, faces turned south.
Thoughts of retirement brought overflowing joy.
We uprooted thread by thread, piece by piece.
We brought treasures and memories into
The wet, warm womb of Mississippi.
We did not know the birth of our retired years
Would be so difficult.
We cast away lines to dear ones—father, brothers, cousins.
We nurtured family as it reconfigured.
The young generation emerged. New babies,
New roles.
Cancer wrought another transformation.
My cancer, Nate’s care for me. We learned
Together we are empowered, even facing death.
The wisdom of our bodies led us
To spirits free of bodies.
Through Nate’s care, I am loved.
No longer a rock
He needs the same from me.
These twenty-two years with Nate
Have been a blessing.
Your loving wife,
Sandy B
It started on a lark, his search for a buddy,
My what-the-hell, why not. Nothing to lose
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
We met, talked. I knew he was for me.
He didn’t.
Group meetings, dance outings, and then…
The kiss. He knew.
The tests came. Could we trust the connection
To hold?
Evenings with children, camping, sailing lessons,
Dancing classes and Starting Anew.
Nancy and Ross.
We knit two lives into one relationship.
Four lives into one family.
Marriage—a chance to heal wounds and trust.
Learn the art of empowerment, type differences,
Styles of housekeeping, meals to prepare.
We survived our children’s teen years.
Did better than that. Launched three
Competent, loving adults.
New families to celebrate.
Careers completed, faces turned south.
Thoughts of retirement brought overflowing joy.
We uprooted thread by thread, piece by piece.
We brought treasures and memories into
The wet, warm womb of Mississippi.
We did not know the birth of our retired years
Would be so difficult.
We cast away lines to dear ones—father, brothers, cousins.
We nurtured family as it reconfigured.
The young generation emerged. New babies,
New roles.
Cancer wrought another transformation.
My cancer, Nate’s care for me. We learned
Together we are empowered, even facing death.
The wisdom of our bodies led us
To spirits free of bodies.
Through Nate’s care, I am loved.
No longer a rock
He needs the same from me.
These twenty-two years with Nate
Have been a blessing.
Your loving wife,
Sandy B
Spirit of 2007 - Poem
by Sandra Bender
Spirit of Nate and me, dream the same dream of preparation for marriage;
Dreaming different dreams of pleasure, mission, freedom, and adventure.
Cancer leads us into health, wisdom, gratitude, love, loss, grief.
Nothing will be taken for granted again. Children, husband, mother,
Food, stomachaches, green leaves waving just above the soil, tension in my body,
All precious, all say I am alive.
Spirits leave with relentless, overpowering change—Hugh, Reuben, Dorothy, John Ed.
My brother I took for granted, as close as my own limb, is no more.
I peer into the spirit world, listening for voices. Sometimes they advise.
Mostly they just enjoy hanging around, Hugh nudging me toward the piano.
Daddy goading me into hoeing and planting in the winter chill
When I’d rather stay warm indoors, delights in being in the garden with me.
Spirits arrive—we welcome Jon’s wife, Emily, aware, creative, complex, lovely,
While baby Cashie awaits an introduction.
Mom left our home to return to hers, restoring her own spirit as her body struggles.
Our togetherness gains strength as we face what’s next.
Spirit Sandra, with grace, skilled doctors, nutrition, exercise, love, and prayers
Triumphs over cancer, toxic drugs, medical ignorance and confusion;
Seeks stability and continuity, shared wisdom and loving people.
Darling Nate, husband of twenty-one years, and closest life companion,
Sweetest and most generous spirit, is eager to break toward the future.
Spirit of Nate and me, dream the same dream of preparation for marriage;
Dreaming different dreams of pleasure, mission, freedom, and adventure.
Cancer leads us into health, wisdom, gratitude, love, loss, grief.
Nothing will be taken for granted again. Children, husband, mother,
Food, stomachaches, green leaves waving just above the soil, tension in my body,
All precious, all say I am alive.
Spirits leave with relentless, overpowering change—Hugh, Reuben, Dorothy, John Ed.
My brother I took for granted, as close as my own limb, is no more.
I peer into the spirit world, listening for voices. Sometimes they advise.
Mostly they just enjoy hanging around, Hugh nudging me toward the piano.
Daddy goading me into hoeing and planting in the winter chill
When I’d rather stay warm indoors, delights in being in the garden with me.
Spirits arrive—we welcome Jon’s wife, Emily, aware, creative, complex, lovely,
While baby Cashie awaits an introduction.
Mom left our home to return to hers, restoring her own spirit as her body struggles.
Our togetherness gains strength as we face what’s next.
Spirit Sandra, with grace, skilled doctors, nutrition, exercise, love, and prayers
Triumphs over cancer, toxic drugs, medical ignorance and confusion;
Seeks stability and continuity, shared wisdom and loving people.
Darling Nate, husband of twenty-one years, and closest life companion,
Sweetest and most generous spirit, is eager to break toward the future.
Nate the Seeker - Poem
On Nate’s Sixty-Third Birthday
Can I help you, Little Girl?
Always ready to be of service.
A hand, a glass of water, a chair,
Hash-brown potatoes ready upon request.
Yet his soul is ever moving
Fed by a computer networked to all ideas
Left, right, red and blue
He comforts and cajoles his friends.
His clipboard always ready to receive
A poem, a memory, a story,
His books lie idle as he drifts
To another idea about religion or injustice.
His chest exposed to the golden Mississippi rays,
Plodding behind mower or pool brush,
His vision is beyond the curve, over the hill
Imagining unknown people and adventures.
Where are you going? Take me along
Your bike, your boat, your green machine.
Tell me a story I’ve heard a hundred times
Sing me a song, again.
I love you, Sandra
Can I help you, Little Girl?
Always ready to be of service.
A hand, a glass of water, a chair,
Hash-brown potatoes ready upon request.
Yet his soul is ever moving
Fed by a computer networked to all ideas
Left, right, red and blue
He comforts and cajoles his friends.
His clipboard always ready to receive
A poem, a memory, a story,
His books lie idle as he drifts
To another idea about religion or injustice.
His chest exposed to the golden Mississippi rays,
Plodding behind mower or pool brush,
His vision is beyond the curve, over the hill
Imagining unknown people and adventures.
Where are you going? Take me along
Your bike, your boat, your green machine.
Tell me a story I’ve heard a hundred times
Sing me a song, again.
I love you, Sandra
My Husband Isn't Old Yet - Poem
My husband isn’t old yet,
Although his years betray him.
He rides his mower to maintain a tan
To contrast with his baby blue eyes.
He lifts weights, digs post holes and follows an untamed tiller
So that his biceps ripple.
His quads hold his mighty frame without challenge.
He’s a man’s man.
He can hear the tiniest whisper
With his bionic ears.
No holding him back from adventures and missions
As he seeks his path.
My husband isn’t old yet but I am grateful for his years.
He strokes and soothes me with tenderness
Born of maturity and experience.
I’m his lady.
I love you oodles and wish you many birthdays before you are old.
Sandra (7/15/09)
Although his years betray him.
He rides his mower to maintain a tan
To contrast with his baby blue eyes.
He lifts weights, digs post holes and follows an untamed tiller
So that his biceps ripple.
His quads hold his mighty frame without challenge.
He’s a man’s man.
He can hear the tiniest whisper
With his bionic ears.
No holding him back from adventures and missions
As he seeks his path.
My husband isn’t old yet but I am grateful for his years.
He strokes and soothes me with tenderness
Born of maturity and experience.
I’m his lady.
I love you oodles and wish you many birthdays before you are old.
Sandra (7/15/09)
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