Distressing Weather

Vulnerable

Weather’s fury

Life-destroying winds

Floods that devastate home and community

Security shattered

Sharp turns on the pathways of existence

Yet fertile soil

For the seeds of compassion

We pray, meditate, visualize, connect, and act.

We feel our common humanity.

Prayer for Tornado Victims (Repeat)

I am praying for the people in Joplin Missouri and elsewhere in the Midwest who have been affected by the recent tornadoes. I haven’t heard anything about my cousin who lives in Minneapolis, which also had tornadoes. I just read on the internet that this is one of the deadliest tornado years ever. The following is the prayer I wrote last month for tornado victims.

Dear God,

Please, enfold in your loving presence all those affected by the recent tornadoes. Comfort those who have lost loved ones, homes, businesses, and a sense of security. Heal those who have suffered physical or emotional trauma. Send courage and wisdom to help everyone rebuild their lives. In the midst of incredible devastation, help them to know that there is still something they can depend upon. A-men

Neglecting My Cadence Blog

Lately I have been unintentionally neglecting this blog and focusing on Kata Chimes In, where I have been writing about my experiences reading the Hugo Award winning novels. I have now started reading the Hugo Award novel nominees for 2011 and some of their prequels. Once I am caught up, I expect to be spending less time reading and more time writing.

So many books, so little time,

I have been neglecting my rhyme.

Reading, always a faithful friend,

Conspires to set my world on end.

Last June a thought said in my head,

“All Hugo winners can be read.”

Science Fiction and Fantasy

Awards given over half a century.

While my mind is in an unknown land

No lines of verse have come from my hand.

Soon the trend will run its course

Cadence again the main force.

Reinvention

They never tell you about the blank, white paper.

From first memory, the paper has lines
Thick and black.
A box of crayons at your side
Neatly lined up in the box.
You must always put them back neatly in the box.
You must always color within the lines.
You must teach your body to obey the lines.
You see the frowns, the head shakes
The “No! Inside the lines!”

So you are good.
Soon you do not need to see the lines on the paper
You reproduce them from memory.
You make neat, tidy strokes within the shapes.
Soon you are given a bigger box of crayons
Markers, pastels, even brushes if you are especially good.

No one tells you about the shock of that day.
Perhaps no one you know has seen it.
Perhaps they scrunch their eyes shut
No longer see the paper
No longer move their hands along its flat surface.

But, you may see it.
The crayons are worn to stubs or broken.
The markers are out of ink.
The pastels are smeared on the floor.
You cry and cry and cry.
Someone tells you to shut up.
Big girls, big boys don’t cry.
You will upset the others.

But you cry.
You find a big barrel.
In it you put what you cannot use on the paper
Then, if you are daring, you put what you do not want.
A day comes when you wake up.
Light is glaring off the blank, white paper
Like sun rays reflected off smooth metal.
It is too much for anyone to bear.

You could tear up the paper
Leave the room
Even forget that the room ever existed.
It is a choice.

But you do not choose to leave the room.
Instead you remember an even earlier time
A time before the lines
When your little hands gripped the crayon uncertainly
Struggled to make the marks stay on the paper.
Color began to appear.
You were amazed.

You move around the blank, white paper to a new spot.
One cannot call the new spot comfortable.
You look for something to put on the paper again.
Perhaps you find something close at hand.
Perhaps you must find something new
Searching the cupboards
That you never knew existed.
Perhaps you take the edge of your fingernail
And make grooves in the paper.

All that matters to you now
Is that you see and feel the blank, white paper.