IT’S OUR BLEND THAT MAKES US OUTSTANDING
POETRY AND PROSE
By
Thomas L. Poteet
ALSO BY TOM POTEET
SING A NEW PSALM
THE WINDS OF CHANGE – MAKING IT THROUGH
HOLD THEM EACH IN YOUR LOVING ARMS
FOR A SEASON – THE OTHER POEMS
DEDICATED TO HOPE:
That never-ending Source of Nourishment
Table of Contents
Introduction – Page 9
Chapter 1 – Our Blend – Page 11
Chapter 2 – Our Struggle – Page 19
Chapter 3 – Equality – Page 25
Chapter 4 – Prayers for Others – Page 43
Chapter 5 – Prayers for Self – Page 49
Chapter 6 – My Teacher – Page 55
Conclusion – Page 67
Bonus Poems and Messages – Page 71
INTRODUCTION
I have been trying to convince anyone, who will listen, for decades, that we are all equal; that no matter our nationality, race, sex or religion, we are all children of the Most-High God; whether we believe in God or not.
I feel like I have been working to convince others of this truth for more than thirty years. You may think that the pages, before you, are not much to show for a thirty-year effort; but the need to expound and to convince others that we are all equal, that our blend of nationality, race, sex and religion brings beauty to our humanity, has been on my mind (if not on paper) for a long time.
I have included, in this book, poems written since the early 1990’s. These poems span decades of thought and words placed on a page. I believe my thoughts and expressions have stayed true over the years. I may have changed my mind, during this time, on some things; but my thoughts on equality have stayed the same. They are continuous and consistent.
I also have included some commentary on my poems. Poems mean different things to different people, in different places and over different times. I understand that. It is what makes poetry so special. I thought it prudent, however, with the poems included, to explain some of my thoughts; thoughts as I wrote; and thoughts as I peruse again.
I have spent the last few decades of my life writing, mostly in the early morning. I would begin the morning writing process in prayer to my Lord for getting me through the previous day; then continue my prayers for preparing me for the day to come. It was my time of peace. I found that my morning prayers flowed in a more coherent pattern as I prayed; and my prayers eventually became my poems. I could see how His Words became mine through my filters. I could better face each day knowing He Was With me. There is no better way for me to begin each day.
Throughout these decades, my prayers and thoughts, combined with His Leading, have led me to this place and time; where I understand 10 better the meaning of who I am and Whose I am. My parents were good and honest people. They loved me and my two brothers. They loved their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They taught me what love is; but not the width and depth and breadth of what Love is. Though I never heard a word of bigotry escape my dad’s mouth, that was not the case for all of the members of our family and extended family. It wasn’t until I fully realized that I was a child of the MostHigh God, as were all of His children, that I knew that we have one Parent, the Father of us all; whether we recognize Him or speak with Him or even have ever come to know Him. We have one Father and we are all His children. We are to love Him with all of our heart, mind, soul and
strength; and we are to love our neighbors (His children) as we love ourself; even as He Loves us.
Throughout my years of prayers and writing, I have become more and more aware of all of the inequalities we seem to see; and the equality we should be seeing. My hope is that I can, with the following poems and prose, present a better picture of what I’m seeing.
CHAPTER 1 - OUR BLEND
OH, PATCH OF WILDFLOWERS
Oh, patch
Of wildflowers,
Growing as if
You were unattended.
Your colors
Are wonderful;
Your shades
Are precious;
Your blend
Is
beautiful;
You are short
And tall
And of many hues;
You bend differently
As the
breeze
Passes you by.
The weeds
Are intermingled
Here and there
But you
Do not seem
To care.
You are so
Much more
Together
Than apart;
And though
You are each
Precious
In our sight,
It is your blend
That makes you
Outstanding.
I begin with a poem I wrote in the early 1990’s. I have written other poems about the beauty of flowers; but I still like this one best.
I planted a patch of wildflowers behind our garden way back when. I started them from seeds. I really didn’t think they would do much the first year; but they did. They were spectacular; eventually spreading over the last row of plants in our garden. The blend of size and type and color were remarkable to me. I watched their growth each day. I enjoyed their beauty each day. They gave me both joy and peace. They inspired me to write the poem above; though my thoughts were as much on humanity as they were on the wildflowers. A beautiful metaphor should not be wasted.
PEACE WE’LL FIND
Some flowers
Bloom
At night.
Some flowers
Bloom
In light.
Whenever
They decide
To bloom,
They bring me
Such delight.
The colors
Blend
For all.
I do not
Force
Their call.
All hues arrive
Under
My sky;
My motion
Seems to stall.
I stare
At beauty
Here.
I stare
At color
Dear.
I can’t
Let go;
The colors flow
Across the palette
Near.
Why can’t
We be
As they?
Let colors
Lead
The way?
Our beauty
Blends;
His Colors send;
And peace we’ll find
Today.
Another poem about the beauty of blending; and the peace that the blending of color can give. I stated, in the beginning poem, that weeds do not get in the way of flowers. Weeds can steal moisture from flowers; but they seldom diminish the flowers’ beauty. Weeds are a powerful metaphor, to me at least, of all of the things that detract from our beauty together. Whether those distractions are worries and concerns, thoughts or greed. There are so many distractions; including not wanting to see past the distractions. Beauty exists, however, among and through our distractions. We can see the beauty if we wish 14 to see the beauty. With beauty comes peace; whether that beauty comes from flowers, art, music, writing, family, friends, or just that special someone. We can find beauty. It is there.
THEY WERE ALL IMPORTANT
As I watched the symphony,
I noticed the preponderance
Of violins and violas;
So many
more were they
Than the others.
There were rows and rows,
But only a few bassoons
And not many oboes;
A few
flutes,
Trumpets and trombones;
Some cellos;
Only one piano, a harp
And some
percussion.
I should not
Have heard the others.
They should have been
Blotted out
By the violins and violas;
But they weren’t.
As the conductor began,
He pointed to this group
And that;
He waved his arms
Over all
As he blended
Each and every instrument
Into one
wonderful voice.
If I listened carefully,
If I listened carefully,
Though I preferred
To listen to them
all
With such clarity
And brilliance.
When it was over,
He took a bow;
Then asked each to stand
As one body;
For they were all important.
I turn now to the blend of a symphony orchestra.
In my much earlier years, I played the saxophone. I played in the Junior High (now Middle) school concert band; then I played in the High School concert band. Instead of violins, there were clarinets; but the rules of engagement were the same as a symphony orchestra. Through the years, our son played the trumpet in the high school concert band; our grandchildren have played the flute, the trumpet, the saxophone and percussion in their respective school bands. We have been to many school concerts and professional symphonies. I have always loved the experience.
I must admit that the maturity of the players becomes evident as they move from elementary school to middle school to high school to college; and then to the professional stage. Learning to play and read music is one thing. Learning to follow the conductor is quite another. As the members of the band or orchestra mature, they learn the music better and they can more and more concentrate on the conductor.The focus shifts from friends and family, in the audience, to the conductor standing before them. The music, coming from the instruments, is beautiful; but it is the conductor that blends them all together in a way that transcends each individual instrument; and
the notes that each instrument play.
CONSIDER THE LILIES
Consider the lilies,
How they bloom;
Bringing beauty
Next to gloom.
How their colors
Stand alone,
Whether crowded
Or as one.
They blend with others
And themselves;
They add their
beauty
To all else.
They grow in stones;
They grow in clay;
They grow in water;
They
bloom all day.
I cannot wait,
With the rising moon,
For the morning
To see new
blooms.
I think that we
Should be as they;
Bringing beauty
To each day.
Consider the lilies,
How they bloom;
See their beauty
Erase the gloom.
THE LILIES AND WEEDS
The lilies and weeds
Get along;
The roots of the lilies
Are that strong.
No need to free
The lilies from the weeds;
Their beauty will shine
With little met
needs.
One of my favorite perennials is the daylily. Since I first planted them in our garden in the early 1970’s, I have loved them. My brother first gave me some orange and brown daylilies, which I planted in our garden. Then a woman at church, whose name was actually Mrs. Flowers, gave us some yellow daylilies, which I planted next to those from my brother. They grew so well that I had to separate them and plant them in other locations; including within the evergreens at the back of the property; and around the pond. During their summer bloom, I would marvel at their beauty; how they would bloom in poor soil; even under water. They reminded me, so often, of how we can share our beauty no matter where we are. Again, it is their blend and strength, together, that make them so beautiful and so resilient.
CHAPTER 2 - OUR STRUGGLE
YOUR DELICATE PERSISTENCE
Delicate petunia,
Discarded in the pile
Of dead weeds;
Plucked because
You were
ungainly,
Not pretty
Anymore.
How you struggle
In the box
Of weeds,
Gathering strength
From who knows where.
Your roots
Have been severed;
Yet you still bloom,
Though faintly.
Discarded,
Not loved,
Left to fend
For yourself,
Your color is pale;
Yet you still
fight
To stay alive.
I,
Who have so much,
Long for
Your delicate persistence.
There is beauty in our blend; but there is struggle in our loneliness; when we do not feel we belong to those beautiful wildflowers or that talented orchestra.
So many of my poems were written in the early 1990’s. This, too, is one of them.
We had pulled up some withered annuals from our gardens, along with the encroaching weeds, toward the end of the summer growing season. It was fall clean-up time. I was more interested in cleaning up and making the outside look more presentable. I preferred not looking at the weeds which were taking over the flower beds. I had all of the weeds packed in a large cardboard box; and the box was sitting by the trash cans at the back of the house. When I got ready to take that box of weeds back to the back of the property, I noticed a petunia with a faint blue bloom. Another metaphor stared me in the face. I noted then, as I remember now, that we tend to discard the poor, the homeless, the disenfranchised. We don’t wish to see the many who struggle as part of our Father’s family, as a brother or sister of worth. We tend to think they have nothing to offer; but, of course, they do. They can add to our lives if we let them.
There is beauty in our blend; but there is struggle in our loneliness; when we do not feel we belong to those beautiful wildflowers or that talented orchestra.
So many of my poems were written in the early
1990’s. This, too, is one of them.
We had pulled up some withered annuals from our gardens, along with the encroaching weeds, toward the end of the summer growing season. It was fall clean-up time. I was more interested in cleaning up and making the outside look more presentable. I preferred not looking at the weeds which were taking over the flower beds. I had all of the weeds packed in a large cardboard box; and the box was sitting by the trash cans at the back of the house. When I got ready to take that box of weeds back to the back of the property, I noticed a petunia with a faint blue bloom. Another metaphor stared me in the face. I noted then, as I remember now, that we tend to discard the poor, the homeless, the disenfranchised. We don’t wish to see the many who struggle as part of our Father’s family, as a brother or sister of worth. We tend to think they have nothing to offer; but, of course, they do. They can add to our lives if we let them.
SOMEWHERE IN THE COSMOS
Somewhere in the cosmos
A lily is blooming.
I cannot see it.
The wildflowers
Are hiding
Its existence.
I see its stem
But not its bloom.
Yet
I sense its bloom
As clearly
As I see the others
Which are framed
By the
foliage.
The ones I see
Delight my eye;
The one I can’t see
Makes me sigh.
The ones I see
Like painted blooms;
The one I can’t see
Sings these tunes.
I am dazzled
By their beauty;
I am impressed
With blooms profuse;
I am delighted
They appeared at all
Midst this summer
Of abuse.
But the lily
I cannot see
Delights me most;
For it blooms
Without a care
Of who is there
It blooms
Though no one
Can ever see,
