Dew drops of living green
grace the tips
of newly awakened branches
to soften the silhouette
of winter’s dreary palette.
Sundrops of gold
sprinkle the landscape
with promises of wishes
yet to be made.
Snowdrops of palest pink
kiss the sky
with hands opened wide
up to the heavens,
whispering
with the faintest
perfumed breath…
Thank you for
bringing us back
from the grips of death,
for the flow of warmth
for the return to life.
This piece is dedicated to the members of our community, who walk among us, and yet feel invisible ever day; for those who are the most vulnerable, who have fallen on hard times; those who need extra support to get back on their feet. This piece is also dedicated to the kind souls of our community who lead by example, who lead with love to show other struggling souls that they matter, that they are human, and that they deserve to be treated with human dignity…for they are not forgotten.
The invisible walk among us,
up and down noisy streets,
perched on park corners,
playing cribbage in hopes
to feel the pride of a win;
a moment of validation
to prove their worth,
to show the world
that they exist.
The invisible walk among us,
ever uncertain of where
their footsteps will lead,
of where their head
will lay down to sleep.
Will their demons
tell them lies today
or will they overpower
those monsters
who come out to play?
The invisible sit among us,
beneath the shadows,
desperate to escape the reality
of being unwanted, forgotten,
criminalized by society.
The invisible fight among us
to belong, to exist,
to breathe
in a world that has only
ever been cruel,
and fails to see beyond
the mistakes of their doubts;
to show the world
how cold the darkness can be;
how trauma can steal
their only sense of home,
their only feelings of safety;
how human beings
drown below the waves
of suffocating poverty.
Yet, upon shooting stars,
their wishes reach high,
and upon listening ears
fall the whispers of their prayers…
for the hearts of Earth’s angels
have hands to uplift;
guided by purpose
of truth and service.
Even so, the power of change
is living still…
in the hands
of those Earth angels
who choose to see,
to not turn away,
to not place blame,
but rather rise and speak
for the silent,
for the invisible,
for those among us
ever worthy of
our shared humanity.
Photo: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
This piece is dedicated to each of you, who have been left behind when a loved one is taken too soon from this earth. May their spirit always live on in your hearts.
___________________________
There is a light
that transcends
both space and time.
From above
it does not come,
but rather from within,
for that is where
love begins.
This light,
an unending flame,
flickers and flares
across distances
and years.
Through it all,
this light burns strong;
for a candle ignited
by unconditional love
will forever burn on.
Then, without warning,
your song comes on…
and old memories wake me
in the break of early dawn.
I crave just one phone call,
to hear your voice,
to laugh about the times
we used to know.
But, not this time…
no longer are you
on the other line.
I catch my breath
deep within my chest,
remembering
the day you suddenly left.
Burrowed in the embers
of heaviest grief
a warmth from within
begins to cascade,
and once again I realize
by our side
your living spirit remains.
For, a brother’s love
death cannot untie.
It is forged
in the stardust
of the Universe divine.
A brother’s love
has passed through
many hands over time
and will continue
to beat in the hearts
of those left behind.
Although the Angels
may have called you
much too soon…
I know a brother’s love
will never cease.
For the light of love
will always guide you
back to me.
When our breath sparkles
beneath the glow
of colored lights,
we know the magic
of Christmas is not
far behind.
When the smell
of cinnamon and clove,
once again return
to fragrant our homes,
we know the magic
of Christmas has returned
to comfort our weary souls.
When carols sweet
from yesterday
resound in the streets
and memories hang
upon branches of evergreen,
we know the magic
of Christmas is here
if only we believe.
When smiles warm hearts
between strangers
and miracles appear,
the magic of Christmas
ignites the love
that has been forgotten
throughout the year.
And Santa so kind
reminds all
no one is alone
in this world so cold,
for each Soul
is a worthy gift to behold.
So when the season comes,
may we reach out
our hand in love
to welcome the lost,
to lift the broken,
to forgive the wrong.
For, when the magic
of Christmas
to each of us comes,
may we all become
Angels of love.
Photo Courtesy of National Geographic Kids: By David Sucsy, ISTOCKPHOTO
When the breaking comes,
do not hold on.
The walls will fall hard
because you’ve been so strong
for far too long.
When the breaking comes,
do not be afraid.
Let the feelings spill over,
let them run free,
it’s time for them
to be released.
When the breaking comes,
do not be ashamed;
do not try to hide.
For breaking is not weakness
as once was thought.
Rather, it’s a chance
to regain
all that has been lost.
We have been taught
to keep continue on,
to push through,
to never quit.
But, we are human.
We feel deeper
than we wish to admit.
When life becomes
a swirl of dates and times
and memories disappear
as if never alive,
we know the breaking
is ever close by.
Then, without warning,
whispers of tears
well up in our eyes,
the moment a hug
unexpectedly arrives.
With the kindest touch,
we remember…
that maybe we’ll be alright.
For, when surrounded in love,
we’re never alone in this life.
When the breaking comes,
yes, our hearts will shatter,
they will crack and bleed,
but still, we’ll survive.
For, the breaking,
my Dear…
is all part of
the grander design.
The breaking exists
as a means for us
to be refined,
to ground, to breathe,
to take some time.
For we are not meant
to run and do and think
morning, noon, and night.
We are here to laugh,
to sip, to dance,
to notice the colors
of an early morning
lavender sky.
So when the breaking comes…
let the rivers flow,
let the feelings float on,
for this is how we heal,
for this is how we grow.
Yes, Child,
the breaking is truly
a gift in disguise.
May you find courage
in the letting go,
May you welcome
the glorious healing,
time after time
when the breaking arrives.
Photo Courtesy of: Psychology Today
Some days the river is too powerful…
the walls cannot hold the storm of tears before they overflow.
Some days the attraction is too great…
my soles are pulled to the green, to kiss the grass,
to feel the warmth of the sun upon my face.
Some days my heart beats to guitar strings dancing around me…
my mind longs to find comfort in her vibrations,
my mouth longs to taste the sweetness of her notes.
Some days the weight becomes too heavy…
I let all of the obligations of this world fall away;
I follow my spirit back home, back to myself,
back to the quiet of my Soul;
back to the calm of mother nature’s canopy,
where dragonflies welcome me with a tickle upon my naked toes,
where my mother whispers in her cooling breath…
Welcome home, child, how I’ve missed you.
On those days I sit in my heaven’s peace
knowing that I am and always will be…
Mother Nature’s daughter.
Mamas, I see you…
I see you who try,
you who smile through the tears
you who say…
“No, I’m sure…
Everything is fine,”
when all you need
is desperately to hide,
to take a quiet moment
to breathe, to sigh,
to sit down and cry.
Mamas, I see you…
you who are not machines.
You who are not made to run
on coffee, requests, and routines.
Mamas…
You ARE human beings,
spilling over with love,
effort, knowing, and dreams.
You carry the weight
of helping your children
to become somebody.
You carry the weight of shame
when your children misbehave.
You feel the hurt
when they fall and bleed;
when their heart is in need.
You carry it all every day.
And, still you carry the weight
of your own mistakes,
upon your shoulders
your own worries,
your own blame;
the moments you broke down,
the moments you were drowing
beneath the waves.
Mamas, I see you…
I hear your truth
when the words
you cannot speak.
I know that you are trying,
ALWAYS
even when you feel
broken and weak.
Mamas, I see you…
For I am a Mama, too.
Please remember
when our days become mountains
and are impossible to climb,
we are never alone.
We are here together;
and TOGETHER we will always rise.
Photo courtesy of: Tomsickova Tatyana/Sjutterstock.com
Heaven welcomes me
among blankets of moss
and canopies of green.
Cascading waterfalls resound
only to tease,
as the gentle breeze
rings through the windchimes
of the trees.
Within this temple
of sacred peace,
shades of emerald green,
highlight the peridot-colored sea.
While all around me,
life’s wild heart beats…
deer nibble tender leaves,
a monarch sips
her nectar sweet,
two sandhill cranes
find lucious seeds
upon which to nourish
and to feed.
The crimson cardinal
serenades his lover
above the hum
of bumble bees,
as a rainbow of wildflowers
sway in perfect harmony
to the rhythm of
the welcome July breeze.
Even amid the song
of the bullfrogs
and trickling streams,
there lies a stillness…
a quiet peace,
calming the chaos
of the day’s unease.
For here,
a playful breeze
tickles the cattails
and hushes the reeds.
For here,
in this place
is my holy peace,
beneath the arch
of oak and maple leaves,
alongside the willow’s
tearful honesty.
For here…
within my heaven of green,
I, myself, can truly breathe.
For here…
within my heaven of green,
I, myself, can hear
the beauty of my Soul speak.
Photos taken at Heckrodt Wetland Reserve.
Dedicated to my father, Grant Arendt, who has always encouraged his children to explore the land around our home and discover the past living beneath the soil. Through his stories, the Arendt family’s memories live on in each of us and now in his grandchildren.
*****
There are days
when the waves
come crashing between
the smoke and haze
and tomorrows fall back
to flashes of yesterday;
when photographs
captured life
in white and gray,
and children made
their way
outside to play.
Centuries passed
without ever looking back.
Worlds carried on…
homes held new memories
and crops grew strong
on land that years before
raised families with love.
Were the memories lost
once the people had gone?
Or are their stories
living still below the ground
that we walk upon?
Pieces of teacups,
plates, and pottery,
horse shoes, plows,
and tales of old
farm towns…
Once again come to light
to speak words of life,
of love, of dancing,
of laughing into the night.
The days may have floated by,
yet the soul of the family
is still deeply alive
in the photographs,
the memories,
the pieces of life
they left behind.
Photo courtesy of: The Alois and Martha Arendt Family (circa 1960)
Photo: Pieces of memories found in the fields where the Arendt family residence was previously located (circa 2023).
You visited me
with dragonfly wings,
traveling across
time and space
to meet me
in this most sacred place.
Among the daisies,
the dahlias, the amethyst pansies,
you chose my weathered hand
upon which to land.
With a tickle of breath
from the Earth
upon your wings,
a humble greeting
do you bring.
Welcome, my friend…
your humble presence
speaks of your transcendence,
your trust,
your endless patience.
Without a spoken word,
your message is clear,
your knowing is heard.
A simple creature,
born among the mud,
a symbol of change,
of strength, of courage.
As you grow,
your colors reflect
the beauty of your Soul,
your holy transformation,
your elevated vibration.
For you know
that in order to rise,
we must relinquish control;
let go of the weight
of the past that we hold.
We must trust in the divine
to let the Universe guide.
For the truth you have lived…
none are starting over,
but merely learning ourselves
how to forgive.
From our mistakes,
only the lessons we take,
as we prepare for the one
we are to become.
With a grateful heart
and a humble nod,
I lift you high
and return you to God.
May you fly high,
may you fly free,
may a symbol
of transformation
and a gift to the Earth
you always be.
Chronicles of an Open Heart 
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