Poems and a Story

to Encourage and Overcome

"Those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles."

Isaiah 40: 31

Poems written by Steven Du Pre in Northern California (originally from Colorado)

Dedicated to those with neuro-immune diseases, central nervous system disorders, such as Multiple Sclerosis, Mitochondrial Myopathy, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, Myasthenia gravis, Inflammatory myopathies.

Contents (in order of appearance):

wind in the aspen trees

To this disease

The Breaking

One Day in Time

We will not be denied

Mockingbird, Our Premier Party Animal

Watching the Plum Tree in Winter

Top to Bottom

Kokanee Salmon

Hummingbird Dancing in the Dawn

Tableau: In-Line Skaters Delivering Fliers Door-to-Door

Ode to Strawberries

Concert of Laughter

Psalm of Thanksgiving for my Prayer Family

Psalm to God Who Brings Light into Darkness

Ready?

Haiku Poems

The Cracked Pot: A Story from India (author unknown)

wind in the aspen trees
(late summer, Colorado Rockies)

ever listen to the rustling edge
of a sudden rainstorm
through aspen trees,

how they turn and bend
as the wind strums
a bracing new song of grace?
 

To This Disease


You came with the force of the crushing breakers,
casting me down into the hard wet shore.
No choice but to let the surging tide
slowly fade away like the ebbing fiber of my body.


I find I can no longer run
but stagger up to the dry sand;
the dunes in the distance may be the way home,
but I can only lift this damaged frame,
like a wounded soldier
and look for cover.


then, to begin to grasp
these long days of isolation
will stretch on
and I need to turn my mind
to these precious gifts of creation---
watching Western Sandpipers and Snowy Plovers
search for the day's
catch in the gleaming, receding waves.


No, I can't bring myself to embrace
this withering grip of weakness and pain,

but I'm starting to discern
a well-lighted path over the dunes,
a call to pray with more passion
and insight for other strugglers,
to explore the wonder of passing cloud formations,
the sheer joy of White Pelicans
in synchronized flight over beckoning ocean waves

The Breaking

leaving my wife's room in the hospital,
out under the full moon to the car--
and there, on the passenger seat
one solitary plumbago petal
separated from the flowers I had brought---

carries my mind away to brighter times together
hiking by blue polemoniums on high
mountain slopes under the spacious sky---

yet the fallen petal---
this breaking of the body
only deepens our lovebond,
makes a way for the endless
healing kindness of our God
to bend down bearing Bread

One Day In Time

We are in a marathon,
our eyes on this faltering journey
but today I am turning
to listen to riversong,
to revel in the splendor
of mountain fields of wildflowers:
Lupine, Bird's Eye Gilia, Hot Rock Dudleya.

with this disease, I have to stop
and consider each step,
not like the pack of runners swiftly
passing by at a pace that permits
only a sidelong glance at the landscape,
but no time to look deep
into the intricate heart of the bloom--

opening pearl-white satin Globe Lily blossom,
following the maroon path that guides
the bee bearing pollen
into the mysterious birthplace of seeds---

yes, to go slowly enough to see the delicate
hand of God in creation

just now a whirling stream of irridescent blue
Hairstreak Butterflies
go surfing over waves of purple Lupine---

I'm sorry. I got caught up in this fullness of life.
I know, the race is on,
but the richness of God and the simple things
will do that to you sometimes---
to see the joy in my wife's eyes at the unfolding spring,
the mountain slope blooming and afternoon sun lighting
the river as it plays a delightful sonata---
all these make the soul satisfied.

No, I guess I'm not sorry after all.
I'm going to keep on veering off the trail,
turn my gaze fully into these hidden vistas.
I hear the prize is not just
for those who cross the line first.

We will not be denied

(Sacramento River Valley, January)

three straight days boxed in by valley fog,
but on my stroll by slumbering oak and liquidambar;
high over the sky-reaching branches,
a small band of crows,
like the dark vanguard of hope,
winging their way home,
cutting the grip
of this gray, somber morning with their strident
yet somehow festive clamor of calls

they will not be denied their steady advance
toward the sun
that is yet unseen in the distance

Mockingbird, Our Premier Party Animal

how Mockingbird loves to party!
a rich virtuoso serenade
that cascades through moonlit nights---
a waterfall of celebration songs
from high perches in the landscape

a repertoire drawn
from blue jay, mourning dove, meadowlark;
to each migrating flock,
Mockingbird proclaims:
"Play me your tune and I'll sing it till dawn."

my neighbors complain about this all-night show,
but I stand outside and applaud as they bob and bow,
set free a stream of musical watercolor,
then sail on from high wire stage to stage---
a trail of songs illumines a new and joyful way --

you see, I like to imagine Mockingbird painting
the night sky to lift up those with disabling
disease--yes, I can see and hear it. can you?---
even with one broken wing
the soul can catch wind currents, can soar and sing

Watching the Plum Tree in Winter

stark as branches of winter trees,
the losses from this disease
have stripped so much from me.
You can even scan the passing
clouds through my barren limbs.

One thing I have learned though,
sitting in this solitary place,
here watching the flowering plum tree in winter—
I see dancing bands of Goldfinches and Oregon Juncos
come flying in for their banquet
of wine-red plum tree buds.

The plum tree seems to be gaining strength
as it patiently waits through stormy days,
long stretches of fog covering,
quiet nights communing only with stars—

yes, I believe that plum tree is on the move
just as sure as the food from its flower buds
quicken the flight of migrating birds

winter can strip the branch,
bend it with fierce winds,
yet, buds break forth,
there is sweet birth in the secret place
and wings beat with the light springing
from these tree buds.

------let us rejoice in this new life
relentlessly breaking forth!
God’s light at the heart
of the flower bud made visible
and wings of this invincible
dance of love expanding and gathering force
 

Top to Bottom

foraging headfirst down the oak,
hooks on claws
catch any crack in the bark

exploring secret caverns,
savoring acorn
and leaf beetle cuisine

Kokanee Salmon

(Kokanee–“red fish” (Okanagan); Tahoe–“big water, lake of the sky” (Washoe)

for years Kokanee salmon search
the wide waters of Lake of the sky
until that autumn day
when the call comes to that sacred place of birth--

with steady purpose, they move against the current,
hurtling forward over rocks
and snags to gravel beds in Taylor Creek,
where they awoke in the flowing Sierra snowmelt

silvery blue Kokanee
turn blood-red on their death and life journey
to bury the harvest of luminous eggs—

are we searching with clear
vision the waters of our years,
listening for the call of our Maker?

there is rebirth,
in this blood-red passage,
a crossing from death
to this radiant, life-giving path

Hummingbird Dancing in the Dawn
(Black-chinned Hummingbird and Anna's Hummingbird in Northern California)

flash of Brazilian samba
dancing through red Salvia--
whirling Carnaval
wings in constant percussion,
iridescent feather dance
at fifty wingbeats per second
flowing down the avenue of blossoming Hibiscus

reaching deep into the bloom
body stretched to the limit
singing praise for the sweet gift,
then turning into the beat of the music---
snare drum wings
leave a trail
of swaying blossoms

dancing emerald jewel
perfectly fitted to the Fuchsia pendant,
flowers bending downward---
yet with loose body samba
laps luminous nectar,
stirs pollen grain rhythms
into joyous dawnseed jubilee

Tableau: In-Line Skaters Delivering Fliers Door-to-Door

like a like a gust of wind streaming
through a field of wheat,
two teenage boys on in-line skates
bursting down opposite sides of the street

a storm looms in the winter sky
as they skim up concrete driveways,
toss the “home-sale” fliers onto porches,
then whip away into the breeze

their faces are flush with body heat,
eyes bright as they twist and glide
on their sweep through the neighborhood
just ahead of the galloping, onrushing clouds

Concert of Laughter

step with me under the forest canopy,
soon this garrulous band
with their raucous banter
shake the tops of oak tree
as they gather the bounty of acorns,
hammer the harvest into their granary,
pounce on intruding jay---
see them dressed like whiteface clowns,
listen to their festive
worksongs and mealtime chatter
this team of jesters
and their lapping waves of laughter.
this drumbeat echoing through timeless wildwood---
it is good, yes, it is very good