Last words. The final say. A very prophetic prompt in light of yesterday’s events. We have a chance to express these “last words.” You have continued to outshine yourselves, each week. You all hold a special place in Marie’s and my hearts. And in all ways we hold all of our children closer still and the new angels forever in our hearts.
Marie Elena’s Pick
You who know me at all know that I naturally lean toward poetry that packs a punch in few words. There were several this week that fit the bill, and that I enjoyed and appreciated immensely. However, this week my choice goes to Marian Veverka for her untitled epic poem based on the proverb, “For every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under Heaven.” We know Marian for her ability to capture time and emotion in her words. This week, her poem encapsulates history in visual, sensual imagery. Marian’s words deliver realism, emotion, and life lessons in an engaging manner that she seems to effortlessly achieve. Thank you, Marian. It is my pleasure to honor you with my Beautiful Bloom.
UNTITLED (Marian Veverka)
“For every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under Heaven.”
I have given birth and I have made the acquaintance of death.
I was born into a smaller, tighter, world, a world where I and my
Friends and family knew where we fitted and we were content.
The decade I was born into was a time of violence and despair,
It was also a time of helping friends, being united with family,
Helping where needed and sharing whatever we could spare,
It was a time when people believed in their God. When
People attended and belonged to churches. Churches were in
Every neighborhood, in walking distance, or a streetcar or
Bus ride away . There were also large central churches -the
Synagogue at University Circle, the cathedral of St. John
In downtown Cleveland where Masses were said all day
And all night And all the mighty Protestant churches, the main
Denominations with their Greek revival splendor and the small –
Almost hidden in a lovely suburb – the famous little
Church in the Wildwood
Singing in choirs was popular and popular songs were often
Sung as people did their chores or walked down the street.
The national anthem was sung before any sporting event
And often a prayer was also said. Newscasts were important,
My father followed Lowell Thomas, the Sohio Reporter and
Gabriel Heatter. We also listened to broadcasts of all the
Cleveland Indians games.
My girl friends and I all learned to sew and we made most
Of our school dresses. We traded patterns and spent hours
Sitting at the counters of fabric shops, leafing through their
Giant catalogues of fashion. We dreamed of wardrobes, a
Different dress for every day of the week. We were also the
Ones who first wore blue jeans, buying them in the men’s
Department., then carrying them over to the Women’s
Department to try them on in their fitting rooms.
Several years later, the women’s departments of the national
Chains began to carry blue jeans for women. During the war
They had carried slacks for women who worked in defense plants.
The general assumption was that at the end of the war, women
Would happily abandon pants & all things masculine. No more
Factory work! No more women mechanics, plumbers, gas pump
Jockeys! What the leaders of public opinion thought was wrong.
Women would not give up their newly gained freedom of occupational
Choice. The door had been opened. The goal now was not only
To never close it again, but to open it ever wider.
In church basements in the north-east and mid-west, another fire
Had been ignited. I sat with my friends in the basement of St. Aloysius
Church while a young priest who had been a chaplain with the troops in
Europe gave a speech. He was so good looking! And had a sharp sense
Of humor. But what he told us was hardly humorous. At a train stop in the
South, they had entered a diner to get some lunch. There were some
Colored soldiers with the white guys, but the waitress refused to serve
Them. The white soldiers demanded to see the owner of the diner. He also
Refused to serve the colored soldiers. In a booth towards the end of the diner,
Some former German POW’s were seated and eating lunch. The soldiers
furious. Former enemies could eat here, but not uniformed American soldiers?
They left the diner in disgust (and still hungry) Another struggle was
Beginning. Were we with it? Everyone in St. Al’s basement gave
A resounding YES!!
While re-reading the entries to make my selection, the news of the day had over-whelmed me as I’m sure everyone here on this page. Trying to make sense of something so illogically senseless, one thing stuck in my head. What was this deranged person thinking? Did he know himself? And if not, how are we supposed to “know” him? With thoughts of these precious angels and their adult counter-parts, this poem stood out in my thoughts. My BLOOM is dedicated to these lost voices and beautiful blooms with the hope that others searching for clarity be full. Hannah Gosselin, your BEAUTIFUL BLOOM.
Check-in with True Self…Often by Hannah Gosselin
In a world of such great influence…hold on to your beliefs.
Placed amid hopeless struggles…faithfully move forward.
With sudden wealth or increased status…don’t let it define you.
When grouped in with over-bearing personalities…be yourself still.
We’re each born with a highly individualized seed of self-
a kernel of genuine-being that blooms when watered.
Never lose your authenticity to the seasons of change.
Keep the wonder and awe of child-like eyes alive.
Sow the honesty that is yours to offer-
you’ll reap the harvest of an honored spirit;
a field flowering richly of the truth within you.
For there is only one you on this planet,
your gift to us all and to yourself is just this…
BE YOU TO FULL….always.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2012
Congratulations Marian and Hannah!
Please remember the lost souls in your thoughts and prayers!