Friday’s Passing Fancy/Poem: Young Strength to Greater Strengths

Photos copyright 2019 Cynthia Guenther Richardson

 

Way back then it began with

big energy of desire behind arcs

of movement through flowery air,

your flash of bravado like

(at 2 you jumped in the pool and swam),

some cellular lightning rising off head and feet,

arms outstretched for the world and beyond.

No one knew in ’86 what was coming,

that such play and work with those wheels and board

would crest and carry into mainstream places.

This was strange outlaw living then–

you weren’t trodding a middle way,

alive at deep edges, the high heat of competition

never greater than when against yourself.

 

Heart of warrior, alchemical dreamer,

adventurer’s sinew and bone,

mind swinging open sizzling with joy:

you were so young and wildly brave.

Slight and intense, admirer of sport, I followed your progress

(breath held, police watch), cheered

each feat–more so incandescence of hope

as your passion reshaped air, time, thought.

 

You are older, braver, stronger, wounds knit

together into tattooed tales of loss and discovery.

You’ve expanded with things endured,

a richer faith, and every time you test bonds of gravity

that essence shouts, flies as you rise, fall, rise.

A circuitry of life imbues you by sculpted

propulsion of fire’s calm– your daily devotionals.

Still out there, and I yet watch (going grey now)

you skate with zero regret and a fine crackling of

laughter and sweat, mastery of gratitude, sheen of wonder.

(And still I hold my breath then let it go with the winds.)

 

Many still do not understand the allure and respect for skateboarding but it is a demanding athletic endeavor (it became an official Olympic sport is 2016), beautiful and fascinating in motion. My son, Josh Falk, has been a pro skater for over 20 years and has been on several teams. I have never regretted encouraging him in his passion. You can find many photos, videos, film and magazine feature info as well as his Northwest Skate products online if interested.

   1986-Josh and me

Monday’s Randomness/Poem: Hold On

This may appear all that is left

after the lifeblood’s power is sown

in places so needed, its source emptying, an echo

as your voice is thrown into midnight or dawn,

when everything that could take you to

the core of need and fear and desire and loss

has done so, then again done so deeper.

That is when to wait, to pause and gather

the lost bloom of your life, cradle it in hand,

feel its riffling curves, its dense symmetry

and memorize its lushness as the center of you

expands and you cannot deny

the ineffable joy

nor it, you

 

 

Friday’s Passing Fancy: Spring River

By the spring river, there is hope.

No low-lying mongrels of hate

nor sting of yesterday’s tenderness unwanted,

not assorted misgivings carried like a barrel about to burst.

Here people know better. They reawaken, rebound.

Here are play and gumption,

reckless sharing of happiness,

the gathered blessings of sun:

a moment floating then layering another,

a small masterpiece.

We come to see and remember :

green ease worn loose as a scarf,

rocks to release to currents or secret into pockets,

and river’s flow, retreat, swirl, upwellings

this ancient call, a deep song, a lithe singer.

Forgiveness of winter’s roughness,

reversing our dour inward vision.

We bask and leap, we accept its gifts.

By the spring river, there is hope.

Friday’s Quick Pick/Poem: Gathering Here, There

May your quite simple or elegant repast

serve you well, shared at tables of hope

and warming cheer, of peace and forgiveness.

And may your soul’s good ease capture

a gift of delight, and voices free music, and your

hands hold gently all hands in widening circles.

And even if not so fine a thing as all this,

do not turn back, the longing falling away.

May you not regret each trying, and not

dismiss balm and beauty of care we are meant for,

but keep asking for power of Love to bless and

fill you long, long after candles burn down.

When you leave the table, you are not truly alone.

Remember this: that eternal flame glows for you.

Merry Christmas.

Saturday’s Passing Fancy: This Wintry House

DSCN1028

This sturdy house of seven,
how it gathered close snow and people,
the ice-light of winter a magic reveal;
how yellow circled thrumming life, a
collective heat of its dense center:
such music, affection, courage, prayer.

And she lept into the beauty of it,
dove into wide, steep snowbanks,
rode the glistening waves on her
Radio Flyer or creaky toboggan
which transported her to Alaska
or Antarctica, toward the edge of dreams.
On her tongue snow melted sweet-sharp,
water for the thirsty child
who could have been lost but was given
doorways to joy, exploratory powers to
forge freedom in December treks.

Oh, such dancing flakes sparked air, drifted
in tenderness to kiss her face,
wind sang out, trees waving bared arms;
her mittens and boots grew encrusted with snow,
feet were certain of their simple fate as she made her way.

This house with simple Christmas greetings
on door and porch goes blood deep,
felt like our hearts worn on our sleeves.

And I confess each year my spirit strengthens:

how the God of Love reaches to uphold us,
how the winters can rescue a woeful child
how wonders cannot be separated from the living
and those gone weave a music of their own

how Christmas still carries hope of peace,
a great promise of healing that cannot be undone,
a blessing of mercy folded ’round broken hearts,
how good will can reign when all else has fallen away