The Poetry Marathon

As a periwinkle sky provided background,

For a storm cloud to gather its strength,

And spread warning before the thunder and lightning would start,

The Forest Ranger checked her dashboard clock.

Tonight, her lifetime career would be crowned —

Praised for its unblemished length.

Easily given, since it owned her heart.

Nature had called her to a beat, down on the dock.

By Nancy Ann Smith

Our Christmas memories show that we were happy,

We grew up with the most loving story we knew, being that of Christmas –

of a baby born to fulfill a promise made eons ago to

universal ancestors I cannot possibly know at all.

In my lifetime, whether it was easy or hard, we always had Mass and

Gifts that showed caring a commitment to

Share loving care – with well chosen gifts — for all.

After all, that baby was GOD’s son coming to us – a

Bit unworthy to be sure, but often trying to be good.

And starting with Midnight Mass gave us a very special night!

By Nancy Ann Smith

This is a “Golden Shovel poem” meaning it took a line (or more) from an admired poem and

uses the words of that line, (in the same order) as the last words for each line of the poem.

Wisdom across the nations tells the same truth

The Irish say, “If you do not sow in the Spring,

You will not reap in the autumn.”

Other cultures teach the story

of the busy ant working hard to prepare,

and the grasshopper who just wants to play his music.

Other wisdom from the Bible says, “train the young

In the way they should go; even when old,

They will not swerve from it.”

I see the same wisdom in all three of these

Do not wait until the fruits are showing (or not)

Before deciding to put forth the guiding effort.

By Nancy Ann Smith

Charles Egan wrote a bit of history of the Irish        1

The late 1840’s were cruel for the Irish

Potato crops were a staple of the Irish

A blight on the crops starved many of the Irish

Rotting from the center, devastating the Irish

And then, a harsh winter wiped out many Irish.

The Killing Snows, the first of a trilogy shows the Irish    2

Tragedy, from the perspective of one family of strong Irish.

This family were ordinary and extraordinary Irish

Ordinary needs for food and hope are not uniquely Irish

The need to pay the rent, also not uniquely Irish

The fact that life moved on, of course not uniquely Irish.

Extraordinary were the habits of the Ryans, proudly Irish         3

Like saving seed potatoes, for planting the next year, smart Irish

But the rot did not reward discipline for these Irish

The rot filled their bins as well as the fields of these Irish.

Bread and corn will have to suffice for these Irish

Physical strength in their teen and adult son – fortunate Irish.       4

And the fact that they had been hard working Irish,

Running a quarry of shale and stone made them reputable Irish.

So when relief came – it needed local workers to dispense to the Irish

Jobs that were back straining, almost impossible for the hungry Irish

Government programs underestimated the need of the Irish.

The government aid overestimated the work possible by the weakened Irish      5

But aid would not be given to the non-working Irish.

Laws based on fear of “encouraging people to be lazy” further starved the Irish

The local market suffered the truth of supply and demand and that Irish

Corn was rare and expensive and pitiful and the ONLY vegetable to feed the Irish

And it was not even possible for too many Irish.

The Ryan’s were fortunate in having that quarry to give work to the Irish        6

But the work was government work, with policies not based on care for the Irish.

Policies were based on stretching the aid money to as many as possible –  Irish

And the numbers of people in the vulnerable hills were uncounted Irish.

The Ryans were fair, but hunger affects a person’s thoughts, even the proud Irish

Stealing a cow becomes more necessary than fairness, for the local Irish.

I am a descendant of the surviving Boyles and Callahans, true Irish.

It feeds our souls to know what troubles have been endured, and being true Irish

We commit ourselves to being quick to help and never to waste – as true Irish.

By Nancy Ann Smith

My kind of normal takes time and trouble to see the beauty in life

          In words and In efforts

     In nature and In relationships

   In activities that stimulate thought

            (Pear)           Shape

And allow me to accept a body shape most like those last four lines.

Invited to run with daughter —

LOVE the daughter, Jenny May.

I admire her physical activity level —

she is 20-some years younger.

But, no, running is not comfy for me.

I prefer the pace at which I can see

the variety of weeds, trees, flowers, and

the breathing pattern does not change.

Let’s notice these little white caps on clover.

Seems that when I was a girl, they were occasionally purple.

Be watchful of the three leaved vines on that tree;

poison ivy loves to climb on, and cling to, strong trees.

Did you know this orange jewel-weed is more than pretty?

It usually grows near poison ivy and really soothes the itch.

Oh, I wish I had known, when you kids were little —

this broadleaf plant has antiseptic elements for scrapes and such.

Your Bentley and Royce want to go faster, don’t they?

They are accustomed to your energy level, and

they are fortunate four-legged brothers.

Perhaps – and most likely – you will take them for a real run later.

Look, here is a dandelion in its last phase.

You can make a wish, and blow those seeds all around.

Papa Claude may have preferred all green grass,

but I just love the sparkles of yellow throughout my yard.

At this pace we can chat — how happy you are with Amy’s and Andre’s baby news,

and how challenged you are with the team at work —

that resents your earnest efforts to supervise and maintain.

And we talk about getting back to God.  He’s waiting patiently.

So, thank you for this nice little jaunt at my grandmotherly speed.

Lots of grandmothers do run like you do –

traveling through the paths, seeing enough to stay safe.

But, I love our “chatting pace” and tiny nature study.

By Nancy Ann Smith,  Amherst, Ohio

Dreaming of a Time Capsule

I would like to find a window to the past,

a capsule of evidences of the joys and sorrows,

the ordinary and extraordinary days on this plot of land,

part of the Western Reserve Firelands of Northern Ohio.

We only know Jack’s growing up years from his perspective.

When the Polish professor talked Jack’s Dad into selling Polish candies

in addition to the apples and peaches at the Firelands Country Store,

could the future life of the store be imagined?

The ups (appreciative customers!) of providing candies and wines and cheeses and teas

and downs – how the Midway Mall changed shopping for everyone.

When Mr. Smith was still selling quarry stone everywhere he was sent,

he missed little Jack’s early school morning routine and Jack’s zeal for arrowheads.

So he brought home a cigar box full, and planted a dozen in the field across the street.

Little Jack was happy to go arrowhead hunting with Dad that afternoon.

Dad steered little Jack toward the field, but Jack intuitively found a couple beauties “over here.”

When the owners before the Smith’s built the home

did they imagine the small room at the front of the house–

being an office for homework and other day-dreams?

Did the large living room always hold music, especially classical music,

from the Harpsichord kit put together by two unlike brothers — an engineer and a poet?

When even earlier men and women roamed this wild early land – were they content?

Did apple trees grow abundantly back then, too?    Did the wild asparagus grow back then, too?

An Erie village is well known to the local Archeological Society some miles west,

and while several historical reports are convinced that Adenas were further south in Ohio,

this land was a hunting ground for them, as evidenced by arrowheads and other artifacts.

A time capsule?   I can only dream — filling in the details around the facts that we know.

By Nancy Ann Smith,

Amherst, Ohio  (historically known as the “Firelands of the Western Reserve of Northern Ohio.)

Living in the Vermilion River Watershed, published by Western Reserve Land Conservancy, last line of “Plant Communities of the Vermilion River Watershed”   FUTURE GENERATIONS WILL BENEFIT FROM OUR COLLECTIVE FORESIGHT TODAY

Future generations go even further than

The children I birthed, and focus much hope and care upon

Further in distance than Iowa, or Eastern Pennsylvania, or Kentucky, or Southern Ohio.

Further in time than the first great grandchild, due later this year.

Future Generations will benefit from the care and examples we set

Being helpful, being interested, being proud of the land we own and cultivate.

The time we spend on making a difference

Is an investment in the future further than we can see.

Future generations will benefit from our collective foresight

Collective is more than just you and I, so we reach beyond ourselves

Gathering information from those who understand more than we learned

And adding my passionate, sometimes persuasive invitation to all.

Future generations will benefit from our collective foresight today.

Yes, today.   Do not take a day off from gathering and sharing

Information, ideas, anecdotal stories, academic studies, time and tools

Native planting will feed bees that will pollinate the future.

Stewarding is a responsibility to care about the legacy

We leave behind.     Let’s set the foundation

Let’s care for God’s green earth, keep it vibrant with life.

Future generations will benefit from our collective foresight today.

You are loved —

When told to a child

and shown in everyday actions,

strengthens that child as intensely

as well-balanced food, safe shelter, and exercise.

You are loved –

When reported by a friend,

who watches the ordinary, helping gestures

and sees the eyes look across the room,

convinces one of the great fortune.

You are loved –

When we sense in nature’s gifts —

sunflowers, and sweet chirping are bird thank-you’s;

when little miracles get us home safely,

through the pretty, but slippery Winter storms.

I am loved!   You are loved, too.

By Nancy Ann Smith

Prompt 2  —  The Joy of Unseen Things       by Nancy Ann Smith

U rging me to smile; unleashing glee from deep within

N oticing the otherwise unexplainable sense of “all is well”

S cent of Aunt Leona’s cologne, reminding me of feeling loved

E ven in the midst of 1977 – a very hard year on economic, emotional, and loss levels

E asy peace and calm arising; I can take us through these temporary stresses.

N ancy is supported by love and grace!