Spring Yearning

Spring Yearning
by Betsy McKenzie

Cautious, peeping out to see if it’s safe
To start living again. Breathing
Sighs of relief,
They turn their faces,
Straining blind into the sun’s warmth.
Unfurl their leaves, like tiny
Umberellas, parasols.
Mayapples leaning out to catch
Sunfall between the shadows
Of the trees. They bow and
Shiver in the wind.

May 5, 2007
Image courtesy of www.fieldstonefarmbandb.com

Spring Tease

Spring Tease






Spring is a tease:
Here one day,
Gone the next.
Winter's back is broken,
But Spring can't get going.
Blossoms in the snow.

Betsy McKenzie
April 13, 2007

Out of Context

Out of Context

by Betsy McKenzie

Pop me in a metal tube,
Fly me through the air.
Move ahead or behind the sun,
Drop me some new where.

The sun's too bright!
The air is too warm.
I'm in the wrong place,
Wrong time, bad alarm.

There's something wrong
Inside of my head;
Connections
Fraying thread by thread.

I've jerked myself
Clean out of context.
Traveled too far, too fast.
Take time to correct:

Feet on the ground,
Head in the sun,
Time will help make this
Land and me one.


March 18, 2007

Hawaiian Eulogy




Hawaiian Eulogy
by Betsy McKenzie

Hawaii:
Island fastness
In long isolation left
A specialized ecosystem.
Now, hollowed out, with attacking
Visitors, invasives that
Swallow native
Species.

Eco-death:
It all began
With canoe species brought by
Far-sailing Polynesians.
Then, accelerated by our
Speeding planes, shipping in new
Exotics that
Spread far.

Remnant:
So little left
Of the thriving network
Built by explosive speciation.
Sing a dirge for all that’s lost:
Extinction is forever.
Gone from the skies,
The land.

Feb. 25, 2007

Whitewater

Whitewater
by Betsy McKenzie













My stream,
Smoothly
Sliding,
Flowed through
Silent woods.
Midway down the whispering stream,
There came a sudden change.
Big rocks, then boulders,
Riffling and crashing the
Smooth flow.

Whitewater
Mixed with air,
Flashed with light.
What was crystal,
Deep and smooth
Suddenly became
Froth, roar and splash.

Spirit forced its way
Into the watery matter.
In time, the fizz and froth,
Exhausted, subside,
Unless there comes
A sudden cliff,
More interrupting rocks,
Breaking up
My smoothly flowing
Stream.

Cripple Tree

Cripple Tree
by Betsy McKenzie

A crippled tree,
Broken by a bolt
From the sky, and
Bent crooked.
By decades
Under the weight
Of its leaning
Partner
In the forest.

Yet it lives.
Grizzled,
It puts forth
Green leaves
In the spring.
And nuts
In the fall.

Birds nest
In its
Tangled crown.
Frogs sing
In choirs
Among the
Branches
Raised to heaven
Like arms
In praise.

It pushes
Forth
Its life.
Like water
From a
Small spring.
Pierced
To the
Heart,
It yet
Explodes
With the
Light
Of Life.

Oct. 3, 2006

The marvelous image of a bent tree comes from Dennis Paul Himes' blog on hiking he has done at http://home.cshore.com/himes/dennis/traillog/traillog.htm The photo was taken in the Green Mountains of Vermont according to the blog, at Long Trail, near Glastonbury Mountain, June 12, 2005. What awesome photos and amazing hiking!

Masks

Mask
by Betsy McKenzie

Do you wear it,
Or, does it wear you?
Does it live
Through you?
Does it hide you?
Or is its purpose
To hide the world from you?
Or, frightening to consider,
To make the world more
Real and clear?

Sept. 30, 2006

We all use masks every day. We put on a polite mask when we decide not to fuss at the slow check-out person or complain about the person in front of us with way too many items for the express lane. But inside, we might be seething. We may put on a stern mask when we chide a child for naughtiness while inside we are chuckling over the exploit.

But there are masks and masks. Some are just the wise decisions that smooth the skids of civilization; masks of courtesy or training We tell white lies with some masks in order not to hurt feelings, start a fight or teach a bad lesson.

Some masks are the result of our different roles in different situations. We are a child to our parents, while we are parents to children in our lives. We are employees to our bosses, and sometimes, we are bosses to others. All these different roles require a different mask, and the mask may change over time. We are not the son or daughter as adults that we were at age five or age fifteen.

Some masks, however, are the product of our choices. We choose to express our anger aloud, and in certain ways. We might express the anger often, or only on rare occasions. We may express it violently, in passive-aggressive ways or through grumbling We might wear a mask that tries to express what we think others expect of us, rather than what we really feel (or don’t feel).

And we become the mask we choose if we wear it consistently. While we are teens and young adults, we try on different masks, testing the fit and performance before we finally choose the person we will be. We try on masks of irony and comedy. We test masks of tragic heroines or victims. But finally, we work out who we are, partly a choice, partly how we were raised, and partly the culture we happen to live in during our lifetime.

What happens, though, when you suddenly feel the mask? It makes things very hard if you keep thinking that your emotions are mere masks, assumed for convenience and courtesy. I find it very unnerving. It’s like noticing that the floor beneath your feet is see-through and that the wheeling galaxies are visible beneath you. Or suddenly realizing that you can see the bones, tendons and muscles beneath your skin. Is any of this real? I can’t tell if I feel or merely pretend to feel because it’s expected.

Balloon

I am a balloon,
Leaking energy
instead of helium.

Instead of soaring
On the arms of the wind,
I sink,
Tangling my basket
In the branches of the trees.

What pin pricked?
What patch gave way?
Where is the tank
For a quick recharge?

Never will I float
Across the ocean,
To the delighted arms
Of a stranger.

By Betsy McKenzie
Sept. 6, 2006

Pharisees

This is not a poem, but a meditation and an indictment.

I have a friend who is dying. She is a lifelong Roman Catholic, and a long-time member of the same parish. She does not want to see her priest. She does not want to talk to any member of the Catholic clergy or religious orders.

Be ashamed, oh Church! You are rejected entirely by a faith-filled member in her hour of greatest need.

Why? I believe it is the result of church teachings about the "sanctity of life" -- meaning against euthanasia. It is also the result of the recent scandals in the Roman Catholic church (especially here in Boston archdiocese) of child abuse. The hierarchy tolerated child abuse by priests and helped to cover it up and perpetuate the abuse. I suppose the rationale was that it was OK because the priest pedophiles were not sinning with women.

I have wondered many times that the words of the gospels did not burn in the mouth of the reader priest when they got to the parts where Jesus chastises the pharisees for their hypocrisy and laying on layity rules and obligations they do not keep themselves. O bitterness.

Transubstantiation

Transubstantiation
Betsy McKenzie

Not only bread and wine;
There is some miracle
By which sweat and tears,
The more mundane pains and sorrows
Of everyday people who share in Christ’s
Crucifixion,
Are transformed.
Properly transubstantiated,
Our griefs and deprivations
Lift us up, move us onto a higher plane.
Raised high, like our Lord,
We spread our arms, and
Prepare to be reborn.
February 18, 2006

Voyager

Voyager
Betsy McKenzie








Voyager has crossed into
Interstellar space.
Fragile messenger, perhaps
Ill-conceived, with a map:
“Here is where to find
My home world!”

Ticking away, patiently,
Until somebody picks it up.
Until somebody decodes the
Messages, and
Cares enough to come
Looking....

How can we imagine
We are ready to meet
Minds from other worlds?
We deal so ill-ly with
Blue whales, Massai warriors,
Women, gays, the disabled,
African gray parrots and
Australian aborigines.
We had better practice!

January 15, 2006

Waiting for the Storm

Waiting for the Storm
Betsy McKenzie

I feel the pressure changes building up
In my arthritic joints and neck and head.
Some big storms feel like pressure cookers,
Building up a head of steam inside me.
The relief, like a cocked valve,
When the rain or snow arrives!
How strange to find peace inside the storm.

February 12, 2006

Water Strider

Water Strider
Betsy McKenzie









Like a water strider on a brook,
I skitter over the top of my psyche.
I count on the surface-tension
To hold me up from the depths.

God protect me from the dark things
That lurk beneath the surface.
Like voracious trout, they loiter in the shadows,
Waiting for the moment to strike me, pull me down.

Or I can be thrown off balance
By all manner of ripples and whirlpools.
I skim past, thinking all is safe and over,
And find myself overturned and tumbled down deep.

February 13, 2006