A Poem for All Hallows' Eve

Catholic Brits of many years ago believed their

dear departeds took a leave of absence from

their current digs in Purgatory, going back to visit

home and hearth the eve before All Saints.

They kept a vigil, prayed and read the Psalms

(129, to be exact), snacked and when the designated

townsman rang the bell well into night, they

knew the spirits had departed once again.

Unruly Protestants knew who to prank, then, for

adherence to a doctrine they'd forsaken.

Sola vide (SO-la FEE-deh, it's pronounced)

renounced the concept of a holding tank

for those who weren't quite good enough

and said (thank God) that no one is. The Risen

Christ has paid the bill, but still, it's best to

live the kind of life he did, or try to, anyway.

We fall short, from Billy G. at one

end of the spectrum to the newest saint in

Christendom, some bum who never graced

a church at all or sung a single chord of godly

hymn, but with his dim and dying breath 

says, "I believe, Lord, I believe."

But we may have it wrong as well, and

prob'ly do at least in measure; still it's

great to know that sending us to hell where

we belong is not our Father's pleasure.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Shackles

Some shackles cut into the flesh as pride
swells tissues softened by our weakness and
presumption. Shrunk by humility, wounds
cauterized by grace and mercy,
healthy limbs slip from the grip
of that which held us captive. Others
are more comfortable, more cherished bracelets
than bondage, shiny from the careful
daily polishing we give them, homage to
to their cold reality. The trap is there; it binds,
constrains, prevents our moving forward into the
freedom that we say we want, but so accustomed
are we to its presence, the metallic music that requires
us now to dance and then to sit and stay, the fetters
have become our friends, and we are loathe to
leave them even though the key lies well
within our reach.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Cub Scout Haiku

Pledging, standing tall.
They get the wiggles soon, though.
Uniformly so.




(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Flight Back

Flying later in the afternoon

at 40,000 feet or so, a blip on

someone's radar screen, sipping

diet Coke and eating peanuts,

human sandwich tucked between 

the bread of window seat and aisle

unless I happen to get lucky.

900 miles will pass with engines roaring

in my ears unless I pop in Norah Jones

and Come Away. Soon I'll be

on the ground again but until then 

if you're missing me especially,

look up to the sky of blue and clouds

and know I'm heading home to you.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Conversation, Texas-Style

Texas often boasts that things are better here,
and now I know it's true, at least in one
regard. I've noted it to others, odd condition in the
world today: ask someone a question
and he answers with a word or two and
then goes back to doing what you interrupted
out of curiosity, or interest, or the habit you've
developed over years of watching people.
It's not a gender thing, not racial or political,
(although I have suspicions that a bit of economic
snobbery's been known to rear its ugly head a time
or two, as well as that of status or degree)
so common I perceive it as an epidemic. Social
lethargy, or maybe I just come off as that boring.
But then, last night, these ladies making
conversation matter on their Texas deck,
serious yet precious moments for honest inquiry,
reflection, digging deeper into what we knew
of one another or ourselves. They did not only
welcome me into this home, but left the mat
out to their hearts and lives and thoughts,
sensing that I cared as much for them,
new friends who help me every day
by helping family whom I love and miss.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Helotes Deck

Sitting on the deck and drinking wine,
talking about life beneath a dark and starry Texas sky,
problems, love, and family,
drama and the ways to stay sane until
a long awaited hot shower, bed clothes,
grandson asks, "Have you written your poem yet?"
and I'd forgotten. So easy amidst the
talking with new friends, a half a bottle
of chardonnay, the odd experience of people
who seem genuinely
interested in what I think and say.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Candy Crush

They suck you in with easy levels, cutesy music
that you have to turn off when the tune starts

creeping into dreams, bright colors take you back
to childhood. You have a chance to help friends out
by sending extra moves and lives. And then the game
sneaks up on you. You calculate the time it's taken,
knowing that you won't get back those minutes, ever.
Impossible level you're stuck at for days, weeks,
determined not to pay for added arsenal
of candy bombs. You thought you'd faced the worst,
and then you get to one with gel to clear before
the chocolate ooze takes over. Days! Days of it
whenever you had time to kill. Then finally. Finally, when
you think you'll have to play the corporate game
and drop the dollar just to make it through or give
it up completely, the little board goes wild, candy popping
everywhere, candy fish swim past. Enjoy it while
you may; the triumph will not last. You're only
in the double digits, novice Candy Crusher, sole arena
in which chocolate is an enemy, and no one
mentions tooth decay.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Plane Trip

Leaving on a jet tomorrow, and although I know
when I'll be back again, it's exciting just
to realize that all around me will be people
whom I've never seen or met, our paths to
intersect so briefly and yet...
such chance encounters hold potential
to be more important than either I or they could
ever hope to guess. Even better is the knowledge
that I'll have a much-anticipated visit with two
favorite people I've been missing for so long.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Static Electricity

Doldrums, "painted ship upon a painted ocean"
was the picture Col'ridge used but I am not at sea,
and from my window there is evidence of breezes
that are  trashing up the driveway with a thousand
acorns and the corpses of the leaves that gave us
shade back in the summer. I know the feeling, though,
of hanging static in a matted photograph of someone
else's concept of what it means to be a Christian or
a wife or mother, be conservative or this or that,
hemmed in by expectations from a world that
wouldn't think of asking questions that might lead
to understanding who it is I really am.
You've taught me that, the standard for an excellence
of kinship willing to dig deep, to mine the gold
I didn't even know was there, electrifying ions
in my atmosphere so that in dry times my
hair's unruly as my heart and when I touch,
a shock.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Mixed metaphors, but life is mixed up, too, isn't it?

Elementary School Teachers

Mentally exhausted at the end of day,

The quietest room in the world
supposedly can only be tolerated
for 45 minutes. A teacher
might be able to break the record.

"on" for hours without many blessed interruptions
to the flow of lesson plans, demands of parents
and administration, teachers may require for their
salvation something of a buffer zone
before the chores of home and hearth dictate
activities before they've earned the right to sleep.
Excuse them, pray, at least until they've had a chance
to just sit still inside an isolated room and sip a beverage
of their choosing with a fan to blow upon their face,
something soothing playing in the background,
absence of small voices asking questions, needing noses
wiped, reminders constantly to sit, be quiet,
and focus on the task at hand.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Brat Haiku

Children who behave

never fret about being
called brats.Simple fact.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Rapunzel

http://inkdropart.com
I liked this better than the Disney
versions I saw online, I think
because the tower looks
a little ricketty.

Rapunzel might have cut her hair
to braid into a rope, escaping
through the window on her own
instead of waiting for her prince
to come, just one, the only man
she'd ever seen but in the story
there's no faltering, no question
that her life would be much better
if she did but take his hand
and deftly climb out of the tower
that had been her home so long.
She could have done it, though,
if she'd realized that she was
stronger than the lies someone
had whispered in her ear. How
long before she figured out that
happiness could not depend
on anyone but her? The prince
was great, don't get me wrong,
but not without his faults, and
caught up in the matters of the
kingdom could get fairly
self-absorbed. When Rapunzel
found herself regretting
stepping through the window
then she knew that all the
fairy tales aren't true, not even
ones in which she had the starring role.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Sister Talk

At night, after bear hugs from Daddy,

Don't let the bedbugs bite!

Mama's "Sweet dreams, sleep tight"
still echoing in the tiny room,
light's out and we would lay there
in our flannel gowns beneath the quilts
and one of us would whisper,
"What do you want to talk about?"
Fast forward over forty years and we've
been known to say the very same
as soon as it is dark. Discussions have
grown up, as we have, subjects that would
make our mother blush, perhaps, but
little girls who giggled nightly as we did
are destined to retain the giggles into middle age.
When we are in our nineties, should we share
a room, I dare say it will be the same when
once the lamps are flicked off, phones dimmed
(by then Lord only knows what they'll be like).
"What do you want to talk about?"
That's another forty years into the future,
so much life we have to live to mold into
the bedtime stories of the last nights we will share.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Mary Poppins

I've lost too many necklaces

All that remains of my own
bracelet similar to this one
is Mary Poppins, a little the
worse for wear. Aren't we all?

in too many moves
with too many hings
distracting from the care I should have given them.
Gifts of love that touched my heart,
carelessly neglected until chains grew snarled,
entwined with random contents in a drawer,
left behind by accident along the edge of
carpet where my dresser once belonged.
Now I wear such charms around my neck
together where there is no need for them to
wait and tarnish in a jewelry box until I think
to pull one out. A ball and glove for happy
hours watching games or playing softball with
the ladies up in Lillington; a tiny bell that said
good-bye;; my high school flute; frilly cross
the elders gave me when I left for college.
There's a golden mother's heart
with four birthstones for my children,
"I love you Mom" from Becky that last
Christmas we were whole. A tiny silver
typewriter signifies the love of writing
and the newest charm is very old: the Mary Poppins
from a Disney bracelet I had that when I was nine,
treasured remnant found while looking through
my mother's sewing box. My third grade teacher
fussed at all the racket from the bracelet
dancing up and down upon my desk as I
practiced cursive writing. She is dead, I'm sure,
and cursive writing's on its way, but Mary
Poppins lives once more. I think it's time to
find a bracelet again to celebrate with
clanging jingles, raise some eyebrows,
make too much noise, and resurrect
the art of handwriting and childhood magic.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Time Haiku

My watch has stopped and
yet time marches on accord-
ing to my cell phone.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Mama Will Be 80

Laura Jane Pendergraft,
(AKA Jane, Mama, Aunt Jane,
Grandma Graft,
Grambo, and G.G) with
her newest great-grandchild Axl Yount.
She was born in Albemarle, NC
on October 17, 1933.

Mama will be 80 in the morning,
far from her Stanly County birthplace,
but its traces still remain within her voice
and fondest memories. We've still got
kinfolk there, but no one who remembers
1933 or held her as a baby, heard her cries,
or watched her take first steps. And now she
is unsteady once again, but not from lack
of practice. She gets around with help,
still plays piano beautifully but frets each
time she signs her name, the loops and slants
so changed from years ago. She's buried
parents, son, a grandson, sister, niece and nephew
and the time until she joins them is, she knows,
a little closer every day, as it is with all of us
but more acutely felt by those who've lived
as long as she.Active, but with medical restraint,
she still has things she wants to see accomplished, still has dreams that fill her mind each night as quietly and patiently
she lies awake and waits for sleep to come.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Blues Singer

Blues Club IV
by Alfred Gockel
See more at:
http://www.mynewmaster.com/

I don't have a skinny woman trapped inside,
although I'd like to lose a pound or two (or ten).
No dream (although I wouldn't mind it, now
and then) of donning helmet, leathers, gloves
and swinging one leg over, snuggling up against
the biker that I'd also (if it happened) be in love
with. One day I may take scuba lessons in Aruba
or learn to play a bass guitar, but far more likely
I will let the bluesy singer out who's waiting
patiently for me to put her in a low-cut beaded gown behind a mic and little back-up band that follows closely just by watching how she sways her hips inside a room that's filled with people holding hands across white tablecloths. They're whispering sweet nothings in each others' ears, looking beautiful by candlelight, the smell of good cigars dancing in the air with every note she sings.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Dragonfly

Tenacious dragonfly that stopped to rest
upon a stake some twenty feet away
to listen to the windchime
on a breezy afternoon reminds us that
sometimes it's worth the trouble to hang on,
that this gentle healing music wouldn't even play
if all was calm. Chimes need moving air
that also threatens to unseat the dragonfly,
who doesn't seem to mind, or be concerned
about the weeping woman sitting in the shade.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Space

Molecules are tiny

planets with a version
of cold outer space in
microcosm, meaning
that there's nothing solid
but the things you
cannot even hold
like faith and hope
and love. Our atmosphere
can sometimes stifle,
but its gravity insures
that things that matter
do not drift too far
apart. Sometimes the
oxygen's so pure it
makes me giddy, other
times you take my
breath away and give
it back before I had
a chance to miss it.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013


We went to see the new movie out, "Gravity," which put me in a celestial, cosmic frame of mind.

A Prayer

I just liked this photo, by Mike Dagher,
that I found at this link:
http://www.detroitnews.com/article/
20100824/OPINION03/8240356

Do you hear me, Lord?
When I'm in the car
and in the shower, on the toilet,
getting dressed, I talk to you
throughout the day, into the
night, no formal "quiet time"
so I can check the box on
someone else's list of what a child
of yours should do. No eloquence,
just daughter-dad time since you
know already what I'm thinking.
Accompanied by tears, at times,
and language that may make the angels
blush, but they prize honesty as well.
Sometimes I know you're listening
because you answer back, a nudge to
make a call or just the sweetness of
a Father's love to touch my heart.
But sometimes you are quiet, and
looking at the broken dreams and
things I'm doing that won't win
me points for being good
(but make me awfully
grateful that your grace can overlook
my weaknesses and flaws),
I get discouraged, seeing goals so
far away, and wondering how long
I'll have to wait. It's been awhile,
in case you have forgotten.
The things I pray for every day,
for those I love, for me? Still waiting,
Lord. Not that I cannot see your
hand along the way, but maybe
you could speed it up a little?
Give me just a hint, a tiny sign
that there's a plan to fix the
messes pressing in? I trust you,
Lord. I do. I do. I guess you
trust me, too, not to turn my
back in anger or to fall away
because the road's too hard,
too long, the joy ahead too far.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Gossip Spiders

Actors Patricia Burgemeister and
Kingsley Ehrich in Lillian Hellman's
"The Children's Hour"
presented by The Barn Theatre in
Stuart, Florida 9/27-10/13/13. The play
dramatically shows the possible,
far-reaching effects of vicious lies.

Lies and half-truths,
speculations out of context
weave a web of hurt containing
gossip spiders that will bite
each person within reach
but one day, sink their teeth,
releasing venom, back into the source.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Injustice

Our son Adam found a 1995 Ford
Explorer when he was 16. Ford
knew the design was unsafe but
figured they'd make enough
money they could afford all
the lawsuits. And now they've
made $2 million MORE than
they filed suit for against an
insurance company in a dispute.
Grrrrrr.

Ford is getting even more
money than they asked for
in a settlement. They knew their
car was dangerous in '87,
paid out millions when the
families whose loved ones died
in Fords filed suit. Correction
of design flaws doesn't make up
for the fact they never owned
it, never said "We're sorry,"
no acknowledgement their greed
was more important than the
lives so many lost. Now the focus
is upon the company that
dragged its feet and owes Big Ford,
but Ford can never pay the debt
they owe to me for knowing
that the car my son was so excited
about driving could well be
the instrument of his death at
such a tender age.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Stress at Home

Home is an oasis when it's filled with love
and laughter, pitching in to help and finding
things to do together. We're sure that there were
days when we felt stressed, young parents of
four kids, but it was such a happy time for us.
Would that we could say the same today, the
family systems now at work so different from
the ones those years ago. No one thing or person
can be blamed or should be, but it's also true
that when we go to work, we finally get some rest!
Can you relate? I'll bet you can, if you are also
of this age embracing drama of so many kinds
you'd never heard of when you thought that something simple (such as dirty diapers)
was the toughest thing you faced.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Fatigue

It comes in many forms:
a syndrome all its own;
a fashion choice for waging war;
the state of being overloaded,
stressed, worn out. Fatigue
has found me on a Monday,
early job upon the heels of staying
up too late the night before
and sleeping poorly. Surely if
I rest this evening, get some
protein in my system (pizza
counts as protein, right?), and
savor chardonnay in moderation,
I'll be ready to zip up the
uniform of quite another sort
of battle, and face tomorrow's
troubles well-equipped.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Maneki-neko

It beckons from my office bookshelf,
there beside the photo of me sitting on
a mound of dirt in Turkey playing music
to the wind upon my flute. Maneki-neko,
Japanese, will beckon with its paw until
the battery beneath its haunches loses all
its juice, faint but rhythmic ticking giving
comfort as I sit and work. Good luck follows
close behind its placement in a home or shop,
presumably, but since I do not put much stock
in luck, I like the fact that if, perchance, I need
one in response, a smile is just a glance away
beneath the painted eyes and whiskers,
golden bringer of good cheer.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Free Advice

My generation watched
"Captain Kangaroo" which
featured, among other delightful
characters, Grandfather Clock.

Twenty-four hours in a day,
we bet that we will make it to
the next, expect to wake up
in the morning, take the very
breath within our lungs right
now for granted, wasting
time we'll never see again,
just idling, treading water.
in a holding pattern waiting for
our life to start, as if this isn't
it at all, but what we're putting
up with until everything else
falls in place and finally we're
living to the fullest. Be present,
savor now, instead of living for
a future or regretting all the past.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Turtle Detour

A turtle in the road was not priority
for me or other drivers. Despite our
flaw, however, we nevertheless had to stop
and wait, detained mid-journey by a kinder
man who had the gall to park halfway off
the blacktop, get out (trusting that he wouldn't
be run over himself), and gently
pick up said turtle. It was walking
steadily down the broken center line
as if it led to Nirvana, making it a target
for cars on either side. Maybe it had been
walking for days. Maybe it just started, but
even those of us who would've passed
with the briefest of glances knew, at some
level, that it stood a good chance of being
hit, run over, crushed. And still we would
have driven past, some greater need or want
compelling us to rush, speed by, to look
the other way. I assume he held it at an angle
so it wouldn't pee on him, which showed
that he was smart as well as good. The turtle
remained calm enough but was probably perplexed
at the sudden appearance of a benevolent giant god.
Karma being what it is, I'm guessing that
this man had a pleasant day. As for all the rest of
us who waited on the road for him to
stop and help one of God's creatures, I am
guessing that the next time, if we can,
we'll be more apt to be the ones who
take the time to care.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Blue Skies

One day when I'm feeling blue
I'll think back to this afternoon
when heading west from town
the sky was bluer than I think
it's ever been before. Each cloud
high above, a masterpiece,
and swaying slightly in the driver's
seat to something from the 70s,
I had a moment that I'll tuck away
and pull out when the skies are
gray and gloomy and there's
nothing on the radio I know.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Subs

We may not have a PhD or Bachelor's
(some states will take you if you graduated
high school only) but we're hired to come into
a classroom, unprepared in many ways as far
as union murmurings or gossip in the lounge,
not privy to the teacher's rules and such, but well
aware that confidence which comes from
knowing we will handle what we find will
see us through the day, gratified we're helping
teachers who are sick or need some time away.
Teach the lesson, give the test, send a bully
to the office (doesn't happen much),
take a child aside to see what's wrong, ask if
unruliness is due to something we can fix,
then time for lunch, if young a little recess-
try to get them settled down at that point!
Crisscross applesauce upon the carpet for a
story, then it's on to math and clean-up, lining
up for parents or the bus. Now the government's
shut down and neither side will "give." Perhaps
we need some subs to step into the mix, take
matters in their hands and find a way to make it right,
without the votes or pedigree but armed with common
sense and love of country over love of selfishness
and stubborn party interests, a substitute upon the Hill
would be the thing.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Balk

In baseball, it's illegal for the pitcher

A photo by LS Wynn
at www.wisegeek.org

a balk that's penalized by runners

moving forward on the diamond,

one base closer to their goal of home.

The sort of home we live in, though, 

requires the periodic balks of different 

sorts or suffering will ensue. Awful words

must stall upon tongue's very tip, dark grip of

violence about to strike must catch itself

and stop, mid-air, before it finds intended mark. 

About to lie or hurt, denying and defending self

when what is needed is to listen calmly, utter not

a sound, breathe deeply and perhaps just walk away 

so like an agitated pitcher might, stepping off
the mound, the crowd all waiting
in the stands for peace to overcome.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Benz Envy

Those who despise the rich and all the cars
they think are owned exclusively by those
who take advantage of the poor are looking
at mine strangely as I drive past these days.
Capitalist swine! they mutter underneath
their breath as the shiny black Mercedes SUV
pulls in beside their trendy compact that gets 40 mpg.
How could they know it's been so well-maintained
it looks as nearly new as possible (from certain angles -
there's a piece of trim that's plainly missing in the rear,
but haters don't go in for details) with mileage in six
figures or that Clinton was still president when it came off
the line? In addition, it was given (in reversal of the normal
order in such matters) from a son to parents, latter being
Mr. G and I, with I the blest recipient of driving
privileges since he is partial to the van he hauls
things in most every day and wouldn't want to
scratch the leather seats or figure out the gadgets
anyway. I'd get a bumper sticker that would tell the world
"My other car's politically correct" but that would be a lie
and really, I don't care. I accept that they assume
that I am this or that, because I know the truth:
our son is generous, and excellent as well.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013