AUGUST: Sun, Sea & Flowers from Two Talented Seniors

NOTE: Here is a double posting from two very talented contemporaries. Diane Mattis, a photographer who captures flowers with great artistry and Mary Lou Meyers, a published poet/writer who has won awards for her poetry. I feel these two women are “gifts” in my life and want to share their talents on my website. They both have a strong love for Mother Nature.  The first is an update on Diane’s booth at an arts and craft fair here in PA with dates she will there. The second is a poem from my classmate Mary Lou Meyers.
Diane’s booth at the craft fair from a previous year
Here is the information for seeing Diane’s work, but you might also enjoy going directly to the North Star Orchard website to see all of the wonderful things they sell and the events that they produce for the community.
Address:  3232 Limestone Road (This is also Route 10.)
Cochranville, PA 19330
Phone:  484-502-7360
Dates and Hours:   Thursdays through Sundays, 10AM to 5PM
   August 5th through August 8th
   August 12th through August 15th
   August 19th through August 22nd, closing day
Diane will not be there every day of the show, but expects to be there on Opening Day, August 5th, and again for Meet the Artist on Saturday, August 7th from 10-3. Then again on the 14th or 15th, and on August 19th, and closing day, August 22nd.
There is no admission, but please note there is a short flight of stairs
to climb in order to see the art.
Contact Diane via email: dianemattis@mac.com
Here is a recent photo by Diane. For more photos, put Diane’s name in my SEARCH box for my postings of her work.
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Mary Lou is not only my classmate from Douglass College, but also also my virtual poet-in-residence. The ocean is such an important part of climate change that I thought this poem would be perfect for a posting.
Thanx, Mary Lou.
P.S. Photo from the Internet.
Luminosity by Mary Lou Meyers from her book, Floating Free published by Author House
Thesand caressed by ocean waves,
design imprinted;
mind drifts and plays in lazy waves,
back to the rhythm of life again,
magnified at the water line.
High rollers driven by moon and wind,
crashing through the shrouded veil,
giving way to our ponderous presence,
yielding to each footprint we make,
tracing, erasing, forever undoing
what we though was done,
all the while struggling for balance,
trying to gain a foothold in the sifting sand.
Our lives are circumscribed
like chromatic sediment settling in a dome.
Shape-shifters, lives sandwiched by the tide,
even our sand castle enterprise,
simplified;
uncovered, revealing hidden luminosity,
bare bones of shells bleached by the sun,
leaving their intricate patterned whorls undone.
(evolutionary genocide prevails),
expelled pearls and diamonds on the shoreline,
iridescent glass mirror of our fleeting likeness,
markers from afar magnetized by the stars.
Let us be as the moon shell spiraling
back to the self, our raw beginnings,
complete in our fetal positioning.
Though we often delude ourselves,
gravitate toward others, longing, giving, forgiving,
like the hermit crab scribing its presence in its new home,
aloneness is imbedded in our bones.
Like silver gulls, we stare at our reflection
in the sheen of the wet sand.
Impenetrable we remain.
How easily we lose our grip as the ocean strips us.
Is there something we can take from breakers
whittling its treasures into shape?
Shattered rainbows are born from the spray
where waves are torn asunder.
Our lives forever emptying, flotsam and debris,
open arms awaiting the ocean’s embrace,
rinsed clean, restored to its energy,
forever weaving its magic spell of renewal.
The double sunrise shell is our surprise,
hinged like the wings of a butterfly,
fragile perfection internalized.
It represents the outer image and inner soul,
perfectly matched and in control,
how few remain whole.
We take with us the conch shell,
once trumpet of the Tritons,
now siren, indelible witness,
inviolable presence,
the look, smell, and sound of the sea,
forever a part of our solitary existence,
part of the mystery.  

 

Knowledge is About Consequences by Mary Lou Meyers

Here is another poem by my classmate Mary Lou which gives us much food for thought! I added a photo to lighten up the seriousness of this topic.
Knowledge is About Consequences
At first It seemed a glitch
in the predictable ups and downs of Life soon to be fixed;
until there was no switch to turn on the lights
in the darkest nights where we groped for reasons,
nor could it be read loud and clear, the cause of our fears.
The Truth every 100 years or more we have a Pandemic,
but no one kept score, and nameless it remained
until Covid-19 was blamed.
It’s invisible power manifested itself in such devious ways,
people were dropping here and there, first in China
we heard about, then everywhere,
but walls didn’t suffice anymore, we were one world.
With all our resources, we thought we could catch IT off guard,
when it didn’t, people were advised to wear masks,
some laughed about as though childish and phobic.
Fear lurks everywhere now,
settles in where  the old and infirm are cared-for,
they have little or no defenses to spare.
How can we break through the vise that grips us,
this rude awakening which robs us of breath?
We wait for validation instead of remaining safe,
not chanting USA with preconceived notions,
some marching without masks with placards of Gray,
nothing standing in the way of Freedom’s Way.
The switch from an all powerful Nation to one at risk.
Self-flattery leads us astray, does instinct betray us?
Only scientific endeavor can lead the way,
ultimately safeguard until the treatment appears
to banish our mounting fears, but we question validity
when defeat doesn’t come naturally to a Nation such as We.
The sing/song way we sang about the Depression,
how we reaffirmed our Soul in the turmoil.
The War Years brought tears and bravado both,
when the century goes by, they will remember
how it opened up with more than a sigh
for the thousands of lives lost in nine eleven.
They will remember our willpower when we defeated the Foe
instead of laying low.
But will they remember how the virus was?
Soft and insidious as a velvet glove taking on all,
even those who installed social distancing warnings;
making its way without regard to border crossings,
until a trail of dead bodies made them barred.
What we could not conceive of in all our nightmares
recall limited to reason at some point
fail in any explanation of negligence.
Our memories limited to expressions of Faith
or does it take over to generate Hope?
Do we take a cursory glance at Chance?
It’s the Nature of our submission
to an innocuous but deadly strain of commission.
These are the darkest days we’ve known as a Nation
for a long time,
which can’t be attributed to War Times,
where we were behind our GI’s no matter
the clime they found themselves in,
no matter the sacrifice we had to make.
We debate the opening of schools.
We went during the War Years, bombs dropping down
who knows where, submarines sited on the coasts;
went to a basement room or hid under our desk
during the atomic era blasts.
But the comfort of arms to disarm works against us,
and the sneeze dancing across the room infects us.
what is not known cannot easily be resisted like a kiss.