Singing Parts by Marie-Louise Meyers

When I posted the review of Revolutionary Love by Michael Lerner yesterday, I forgot that June 6th was D-Day. Then I received my classmate Mary- Lou’s poem and decided to post this as a reminder of WWII, even though I am posting it late.  I am also including Mary Lou’s photo with her new book, which is coming up for review next week.
Singing Parts
by Marie-Louise Meyers
Mary-Lou Meyers with her new book
How easily our lack-luster lives can be synchronized
but you have to know the intention
before you finalize the Score.
For we are made of singing parts, 
once the humming is over and done,
the insular part of us exposed,
day after day long after Silence is predisposed
to a cantilevered promise,
and you burst out suddenly into song
as if it were wrong to do otherwise.
And the Song resonates and treats us confidentially
far into the dim and shrouded night
as if it takes on wings.
It may not last long, and beat a fast retreat
when our sober side is without merit.
“Give me a leg up” you hear yourself say from time to time
for you are not defeated yet,
the willing ones are not always there to rescue you,
but out of the blue those transitory wishes may come true.
We might have dismissed in another Life
what comes through loud and clear.
I know through the kindness of your heart,
you’ll always be willing to give a helping hand
and know that you do it for Someone
who has their eyes on you through a Lifetime
of just struggling through.
My world growing up though only a few
were stirred by the Word coming through.
The world astir then, the giving up
for those who lost everything
till the World War tightened everything up again,
when we had to account for how far Dad
had to go for work,
how Mothers caught up with rationing,
long lines of preparedness but never despair
for there was something about resiliency
we lived through before we were aware,
something about sharing and yearning
for a life we knew would come true, and it did,
and somehow most of us lived through it.
All we did sometimes ostentatious and prolonged.
How rich and varied and in style our domicile
but perhaps not quite as worthwhile.
Who knew the antithesis of Hope was Fear,
and we see it every where now,
the Pandemic taking its toll on life everlasting
but it is still with us body and soul
and the foundations of Faith so content once now ill-fated
because for some a lost cause.
We only know pain after we’ve been seduced by it
little by little till it brings up a kind of pity.
What if we could blame it on being out of sorts
and have a trial run at happiness
so it might run its course.
Funny how all the best laid plans
amounted to nothing or less than nothing,
but not dismissing the avenues of bewitching
you took tidbits of words and strung them together,
not a Master Plan that’s true
but still an avenue of recovery,
even diminished you lifted your head you’re not finished yet.
You try to head off at the pass everything which didn’t last.
Then we cry out,
let there be no one to buy us out.
not lack-luster for all we can muster,
I’ve memorized and clustered them,
the ways and means to tightly woven schemes.
For you are my children, one born after his father
was torn from school into the army,
from birth you were part of an extended family,
Mother strong reinforced by her own Mother,
her Father second to No One.
The second one much anticipated,
“a new member of the club” a neighbor boy said,
born into a less flux situation until a transfer came.
“Think pink” the Doctor said
when a little girl was born.
Her older brother almost like a second father,
and the younger one thinking
she has the same blond hair as I do.
We were truly a family
through the moving parts even a second home, the Farm
which became like a first when we moved around again.
When I’m gone, I know you’ll carry on,
each in your own way
as though somehow you were headed in that direction
early on.
There will be challenges to Face
before you know it,
but don’t disgrace yourself simply show
all that gumption you know your Mother had
to carry on no matter the slice from life
which was taken,
breaking only for the good news.
P.S. My friend Prof. Arthur Shostak, sent me this for D-Day:
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Next week the Simon Wiesenthal Center is commemorating the 78th anniversary of D-Day. On June 6, 1944 the Allied Forces of Britain, America, Canada, and France attacked German forces on the coast of Normandy, France. With a huge force of over 150,000 soldiers, the Allies attacked and gained a victory that became the turning point for World War II in Europe.

This excerpt from the highly acclaimed Moriah Films documentary Liberation, narrated by Sir Ben Kingsley, Patrick Stewart and Whoopi Goldberg, looks at this incredible moment in history. It also highlights how news of the invasion reached everywhere including Holland and the secret hiding place of Anne Frank, who wrote about it in her dairy.

For more information on Liberation and how to stream it, click here.

Halloween Poem by Harvey Davis

Here is a heartfelt Halloween story by my friend Harvey Davis, who just turned 95. The photos are ones I took on a trip to see a friend of my husband’s in Westminster (near Philadelphia). I thought the lawn display was very creative and also think the poem is very touching!

I Held His Hand Tightly

By Harvey Paul Davis, October 2020

Halloween in my household, when I was young, was a miniature trick or treat.
Perhaps in our block or the next we would ring a bell, and candy we would seek.
It was normally a very short night for us, and on a school night, even shorter.
Doing homework, even on Halloween, was always number one – in that order.

I cannot recall why on that particular night my parents were suddenly swayed
To let me and three of my friends venture out; the time to return to be obeyed.
We were free to venture to new doors to knock on and new bells to ring
To see what candy they passed out or what new to our houses we would bring.

For sure, time was flying by while getting our bags full that made us happy as larks.
We realized it was light when we started out, and suddenly it was totally dark.
My parents’ instructions of when to return was not something I could disregard.
I was caught up in the joy of collecting candy, but suddenly my mind was jarred.

My friends were not ready to return home; that caused a dilemma in my mind.
I did not know my way back home, but to stay with them I would have to decline.
Returning to my home was hard to figure out. I did not know to turn “right or left”;
In a neighborhood that I was not familiar with, I found myself totally bereft.

There were two things that set my mind ablaze with fear and concern.
Would I find my way back to my family, for my way back I could not discern?
The second thought was that I had disobeyed my parents, something I did not do.
I was sure that I would receive some punishment, but I realized to me it was due.

I thought I might ask someone to help if I gave my address, but everyone was gone.
Suddenly my mind went into overdrive: would I be wandering and lost until dawn?
It was not the goblins or ghosts of Halloween that sent chills up my spine,
But it was the fear of being lost and not being found that was on my mind.

Now as an adult I realize how a 10-year-old could be out of touch with reality.
Fear has a way, at whatever age we are, that makes us think in terms of finality.
Then I saw a man walking toward me up the street. I would ask him very politely
If he could help me find my way. My father took my hand and I held his tightly.

 

This poem is from the book I edited for Harvey entitled We the People. It is available on Amazon.

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