The Zumbathon for Harvey

I wrote this Pantoum-mime poem in honor of the many people inside and outside of Texas who have given any aid to the victims of Hurricane Harvey.

Dream Births

It is that time of year again: Parkinson's Awareness Month (April). As I've done for the past few years, I've written a poem for the occasion. However, this one is a bit different in that it doesn't address Parkinson's Disease directly, but could apply to any number of tragic happenings and conditions that threaten our future and dreams, leaving many hopeless and feeling helpless.

Yet based on my own experience dealing with such events and diagnosis these past six years, I think there is a different perspective to absorb. With that thought in mind, I present my 2017 Parkinson's Awareness Month poem for your digestion.

______________________________________________

by R. L. Copple

I checked the map,
I picked my goal,
I planed my path,
I was ready to roll.

The road was wide
providing the room
to fulfill the desires
sucking me into gloom.

The way was easy
so I struggled less
and enjoyed addictive
pleasures, I confess.

Then tragic detours
force-dumped my rare
bucket-list of hopes
into a grave of despair.

Leaving my only route
a narrow, climbing path:
rocky, exhausting, austere—
drenched in grief’s wrath.

Among peaks and valleys—
hardened by sun, droughts,
freezing ice and snow—
I clawed through my doubts.

Yet somewhere within,
I found the inner drive
to put one foot forward
rather than let it slide.

I’m not going to lie,
the trip was a pain,
the struggle: surreal—
it drove me insane.

But when I crested a peak,
panting from thirst,
more dreams were born
as they did at the first.

Dreams more precious
despite all the loss;
they became more valuable
due to the high cost.

Now I know that my
destiny is given wings
when my dreams die
and are no longer kings.

I allowed divine passion
to gestate fresh life,
birthing new dreams—
carved by His knife.

Embracing the Gate

I'm going to share something of a personal nature today. So bear with me.

My mother is currently dying of liver cancer. About a month ago, she was given less than three months to live. With chemotherapy, it would have been less than a year, but she didn't see much point in prolonging the inevitable for a handful of months more, so she said let it run its course. So now she's in hospice care, facing the gate of death in the next few weeks.

I've been struggling to even know what to feel, say, or do other than to be there for her. My dad still lives, though my step-dad died a couple years ago, but due to how it happened, I didn't even find out about that until the funeral was done and he was in the ground. So to a large extent, this is new ground for me--knowing one of my biological parents is approaching death.

It dawned on me earlier this week that I should do what I normally do when faced with these life-changing events: write about it. Inspired by one of the poets at our critique group this past Tuesday, I decided to write a poem for my mother, while she can still read it and appreciate the sentiments I wanted to share. So I've decided to share this poem here today with my friends and family in the hope it will not only remind me of what I value about her life, but what each of us should think about in our own lives.

Thanks in advance for your prayers and support for my mom and our family this coming two months. Know they are appreciated, even if I fail to say thank you individually or never knew you did so to begin with. Now onto the poem I wrote just today: "Embracing the Gate" by yours truly.

In this world, the journey of life
carries us to the gate of death.
Some earlier than others,
some much later than the rest.

In life, most of us ignore this gate
that only two recorded have escaped—
fearing the unknown it hides,
and the road beyond its dark glass.

Now, my beloved mother,
you're drawing near to this portal,
to experience the reality we've been
told about but have never tasted.

You've taught your children,
through word and example,
the virtues you've valued
that have graced your heart.

You've taught us to respect
all people, no matter their
race, sex, culture, or differences—
since we are all equal in God's eyes.

You've taught us not to interrupt
with our talking points, but to
patiently listen and respond, knowing
their thoughts are important too.

You've taught us to empathize
with everyone by refusing to
judge their souls, whose experiences
are alien to our paths and thoughts.

Those values will carry forward into
the world beyond the gate and guide
you to trust not in your own judgment
but in the lovingkindness of the Father.

But perhaps the greatest lesson you
are teaching us now is not to
fear the gate but to embrace it
with courage and firm resolve.

Have you held to your values in
each and every instance?
We're all prone to failure and sin even
against our values, much less God's.

I'm sure you'd agree that with
dreams come regrets:
they hold hands as they greet us,
they are partners in the dance of life.


For none of us are perfect,
being humans restricted by finitude;
our only hope resides through
resting in the mercy of Love.

How we face death says a lot
about how we've faced life and
the lives we've encountered
in our journey toward the gate.

You've accepted it is your time to
enter those opening doors.
You've greeted the gate with confidence.

We will miss you, even as we share
your values and our memories of you.

And know that beyond the gate,

You will not be—

alone.

The Clay Pot Speaks

I finally wrote something today. A new poem.

If you've ever struggled to find meaning to life (and no, it isn't 42), maybe these thoughts will provide a road sign to point the way. Something I've known for a long time, but am still working on putting it into practice.

-------------------------------------------------

“All is vanity,” says the Wise Man.

We are asked at an early age,
“What do you want to be
When you grow up?”
Planting the seeds of goals
That should fulfill us.

But when we arrive and
Accomplish our dreams,
Then we ask ourselves,
“Is this all there is to life?
I need a new destination.”

The dream becomes an
End in itself,
Spinning us in circles,
Leaving a soul-vacuum
That never gets filled.

“All is vanity,” says the Wise Man.

We are told that we have a right
to “pursue happiness.”
Live in the now,
Eat, drink, and be merry
For tomorrow is but a vapor.

But when tomorrow arrives,
We are hit with sorrow, pain,
And the fallout of tragedy,
Which sends us back to the
Bottle of numbing pleasures.

Happiness becomes an
End for self,
Spinning us in circles,
Leaving a heart-void
Drained by the transient.

“All is vanity,” says the Wise Man.

We are encouraged to obtain
An education so we can
Maximize our wealth and power.
To protect what we love
And provide security to life.

But once it is obtained,
Once the bank accounts are full,
It all can be swept away
By a failing economy
Or a more powerful foe.

Power and riches become an
End to pride,
Spinning us in circles,
Leaving a negative balance
When death knocks on our door.

“All is vanity,” says the Wise Man.

We hear there's no point to life and
Ask the Potter,
“Why did you make me this way?”
Because in the end, we seek
That which fills us with meaning.

But the answer reveals
Not all is vanity,
Because we were not made to
Fill ourselves and meet our needs,
Rather to invest in the lives of others.

Love becomes an
End for creation,
Traveling into eternity,
Leaving a trail of unity
With God and humanity.

“Love God and each other,” says The Wise Man.

It is the purpose that fulfills.
It is the happiness that doesn't end.
It is the security nothing can steal.
It is the design of the Potter
When He formed us in His image.

The greatest of these is love for He is love.