When There Is No Other Way

Mother - Melissa Fry

Mother – Melissa Fry

Claire Askew has been kind enough to feature my poem “When There Is No Other Way’ in her ONE NIGHT STANZAS here.

This week’s My Roots, here.

It has been such a horrific and devastating week for every Oklahoman. There has been so much loss. There is nothing to compare the landscape to but a war zone, much like our spirits. These storms hit at such an interesting time. With children happy to be finishing another school year. Looking forward to the summer break ahead. Parents busily making plans and arrangements for the same. None of us expecting what would be. One cannot help but realize and consider how short and precious life really is. How much time do we waste each day on worry, stress, things that would not matter if we weren’t promised tomorrow. We are not guaranteed a thing in this life, including anything beyond now. It should not require tragedy to jar or wake us from our self absorbed existences. There is always more we can be giving and doing for others. There is always another person who needs our love and help. A person reaching out, who needs someone. There is always somebody in need.

I am so touched and humbled by the strength and resilience, the way we are pulling together as a community to try and get everyone through this. To help people pick up and salvage the pieces we can and are able. To help to somehow go on from all this. To bring a bit of light and hope into such darkness. These are the very reasons I have always been proud to be an Okie. I have always known we have amazing people here. Truly GOOD people. It is my prayer that we learn from this and take away the wisdom that there is no time like the present. There is no other day than this, no other time than in this moment. To live, to love, to share, to laugh, to give, to cry, to help, to heal. To BE for another, for the people.

The storm’s victims will need long term care and assistance, we should not forget about them in the weeks, and months to come. We should also learn to practice gratitude for all the blessings we have in our lives, and learn to let go more of all the petty things we let interfere with our peace and happiness here. When I was little, (a long time ago, in the very old days lol) if we were sad, feeling sorry for ourselves we were taught to go do something for somebody else. It is hard to feel bad if you are making others feel better about things!
There are opportunities right now from making donations, to hands on labor. We can open our homes to a family that has no where to go. We can make prayers for all those involved and impacted. Those of us with skills, talents, or other creative resources can come up with even more ways to be useful. These are our sisters and brothers, these are our mothers and fathers, these are our friends and neighbors. There shouldn’t be anything we wouldn’t be willing to do huh?

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Almost – D.G.J.

cracked-mud-texture

Almost
DGJ

“ Our little envelope of time we share during the hustle and bustle of these green country days in Oklahoma like constellations of yore or some intergalactic planetary Z world. Sometimes two meet in harmony, come together and orbit around each other. At first a tender orbit that starts in a moment & leads to clasping, gripping, kissing, licking, holding into a thrust & release. Release back from each other and their orbit ….back to their worlds …back to their separateness….for a moment until the arc begins again. “ (he said)

What you didn’t do was sing to me one more time before said release.
There was no rain to save me from the drought cracking away at my spirit.
What you didn’t do was even ask before you ran. (again)
You assumed he would mean more than you,
or hold some sacred place he had never touched or known.
You didn’t see my world crumbling and falling around me.
You never really stepped inside.
I have spent the last 1097 nights alone.
With some days more bleak than this longing since your absence.
I recite you every moment like a prayer or poem.
How can I forget the sudden ferocity of our commingling
Here where more than flesh remembers,
in faint drawn out sounds.
I am but a ghost walking empty streets
draped in great stars of white hoarfrost,
in time that thickens and closes around me.
This is written with brushes
made from the bones of what could have been.
You folded my heart like it was paper and crushed it beneath your shoe.
(she said)

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

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Endings Begin Thus Quietly

The fortune cookie at dinner read,
“ You will make many changes before settling down happily”.
In that moment, I knew there was more to love than you.
Strange the way something so simple can speak in signs, significations.
The way omens are visions and we will suddenly see what is sitting before us.
I knew the road behind had not led me to you, so much as to this place.
Where I would awaken within and see that there was another thing
I was meant to be doing this entire time.
Years wasted and gone in what was never anything more
than pictures we painted for those watching.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved