July 8: Unconditional Love, Tracy K. Smith, "Song"

Sometimes, I don't think that I'm a very nice person.  I can be grouchy and impatient.  Snappish.  Especially when I am dealing with a problem that keeps happening over and over.  At that point, I tend to step up on my soapbox and deliver a sermon.  My kids hate it.  My wife isn't too fond of it, either.

I'm not an easy person to love, and yet people love me.  That's amazing to me.  But that's all part of the deal, I guess.  True love is unconditional, despite flaws and idiosyncrasies.

Saint Marty is pretty lucky to have unconditional love in his life.

Song

by:  Tracy K. Smith

I think of your hands all those years ago,
Learning to maneuver a pencil, or struggling
To fasten a coat.  The hands you'd sit on in class,
The nails you chewed absently.  The clumsy authority
With which they'd sail to the air when they knew
You knew the answer.  I think of them lying empty
At night, of the fingers wrangling something
From your nose, or buried in the cave of your ear.
All the things they did cautiously, pointedly,
Obedient to the suddenest whim.  Their shames.
How they failed.  What they won't forget year after year.
Or now.  Resting on the wheel or the edge of your knee.
I am trying to decide what they feel when they wake up
And discover my body is near.  Before touch.
Pushing off the ledge of the easy quiet dancing between us.

January 21: Transition and Change, W. E. B. Du Bois, "My Country 'Tis of Thee"

My final poem for this week of transition and change comes from the great writer/poet/thinker W. E. B. Du Bois.  Until this morning, I had never seen this poem before.  It's deeply moving and deeply appropriate for our times.

I do pray for God's protection for the world.  That common sense and accepting hearts will prevail in the end.  We all need to look out for each other.  Stand up against injustice.  Sing out for love.  I am not getting on a soapbox.  I've been up there far too many times this week. 

So, stand up, raise your head, and sing Du Bois' song with me.

Saint Marty guarantees you'll feel better.

My Country 'Tis of Thee

by:  W. E. B. Du Bois

Of course you have faced the dilemma: it is announced, they all smirk and rise. If they are ultra, they remove their hats and look ecstatic; then they look at you. What shall you do? Noblesse oblige; you cannot be boorish, or ungracious; and too, after all it is your country and you do love its ideals if not all of its realities. Now, then, I have thought of a way out: Arise, gracefully remove your hat, and tilt your head. Then sing as follows, powerfully and with deep unction. They’ll hardly note the little changes and their feelings and your conscience will thus be saved:

My country tis of thee,
Late land of slavery,
         Of thee I sing.
Land where my father’s pride
Slept where my mother died,
From every mountain side
         Let freedom ring!

My native country thee
Land of the slave set free,
         Thy fame I love.
I love thy rocks and rills
And o’er thy hate which chills,
My heart with purpose thrills,
         To rise above.

Let laments swell the breeze
And wring from all the trees
          Sweet freedom’s song.
Let laggard tongues awake,
Let all who hear partake,
Let Southern silence quake,
         The sound prolong.

Our fathers’ God to thee
Author of Liberty,
         To thee we sing
Soon may our land be bright,
With Freedom’s happy light
Protect us by Thy might,
         Great God our King.