Gut-Flora Gratitude

Source: Physicians' Committee for Responsible Medicine

Gratitude poem of the day #4, five lines in iambic pentameter, 11/27/2015

GUT-FLORA GRATITUDE

Intestinal bacteria are not

the enemy I thought. Some types, it seems,

are friendly to digestion, some protect

immunity, and some make vitamins.

Reminder: Eat bananas, beans, and kraut.

--by Mary Campbell

Labrador Gratitude

Gratitude poem of the day #2, five lines in iambic pentameter, 11/24/2015
Photos, 1997?, Amos (Lab-Golden mix) & Dani Dog, parents of 10 pups

*

I have cohabited with Labradors—

enthusiasm, joy, affection packed

in white and yellow fur—whose appetite

for human hugs and Frisbee games was matched,

or nearly so, by that for hamburger.

--by Mary Campbell

Caffeine Gratitude

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYONE! This week I'm challenging myself to write each morning a gratitude poem of five lines in iambic pentameter. 

Here's no. 1, for 11/23/2015:

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

CAFFEINE GRATITUDE

My morning coffee—yesterday’s, I must 

confess, reheated in the microwave—

is less a beverage than a simple, cheap

indulgence, plus a timely tweet from God:

“A brief reminder: Bitter can be sweet.”

—Mary Campbell

Being a Seed

I am a seed that swells with earth and water.
Though my shell is hard enough to break your
teeth on, time and melting snow accomplish what
exertion never could. I am a seed that would do
nothing but to heed my longing, ancient, deep,

beyond my understanding.

I am a seed that has no memory of being planted
in this fertile land. Safe and secure, I hug my
sturdy skin around me, grateful in my tiny
burrow when the winds with frigid fury wail an
inch, no more, above. Protected and content, I rest
until awakened by the thaw that never fails to
come in season. Buried, waiting, I can feel the
change in how the planet breathes, with each
unhurried exhalation warmer till the snow
recedes, the stony ground relents and softens.
Only then do I expend the energy I hoarded
through the winter... only when the elements
cooperate and not before. I neither labor nor
procrastinate, nor do I push against the soil... it
parts for me if I am patient, just as if it were the
Sea of Reeds and I were Moses bound for Canaan.

I am a seed and more... a dainty-leaved acacia,
lavish hyacinth, a lilac bush, a rose... What do I
care, now that I know the tender sweetness of the
sunwashed air at evening here beside an age-old
forest? I have seen the jeweled curtain of the night
sky and observed as one by one the stars winked
out like servants, dutiful and self-effacing in the
slow euphoria of dawn. For certain, the Almighty
is creating me as beautiful, as useful, and as
strong.

The Happy Gift of a Delighted God

A Biography Made Possible by
Unlikelies and Improbables

I forgot to say thank you, Steps that
know my feet. For just a moment I
was unaware of being grateful that
you didn’t crumble at my weight or
open up and let me fall into some
not-apparent-from-above dark shaft
that might— though it’s unlikely I
admit but then a tick spent on
remembering will buy a boatload of
unlikelies, a great many more
improbables with just enough
impossibles thrown in to constitute
a whole biography— be lying
underneath the sod that hides the
fragile crust, be wide enough for
such a body as is mine, and slice
through all the strata to the hot
ferrous core of the planet.

Well, there you have it. Short story
long, it satisfies me to report the
sidewalk, lawn, and steps and
geologic layers I forget the names of
held me in the sky again. Such
benefits should not be taken lightly
when entire nations tread uneasily
on acres of swiss cheese covered
with a tissue, land mines hidden in
its shallow indentations, people
venturing upon remote paths and
fallow farmland fearfully if they go
anywhere at all. Well, it’s unlikely
that my daughter’s yard conceals
explosives, it’s improbable that
bombs are ticking in the cellar, one
less thing to fret about and so we
get to be a little bit upset about
plaintain among the fescue or
whatever. (Let me recommend the
use of vinegar instead of herbicide
or better yet a kettle full of boiling
water which won’t harm the other
growing stuff nearby.)

Is it so little, not succumbing to the
force of gravity, not becoming Alice
underground, not encountering a
tardy rabbit one might feel obliged
to chase as one approached the
door and thank you God and keepers
of the peace for that and warriors
and heroes too with reasons we’ve
forgotten not to keep it... not to
mention subatomic particles that
whip about their minuscule universe
at speeds with miles of zeros
somehow keeping molecules and
moons, what we call matter,
seeming solid? Is it worth emotion,
tears, and trembling to be still
intact after a mere kilometer’s
journey? Probably... as millions
might attest who hide with rare
success from scary guys with guns,
fanatics with a mission they’re
convinced is holy straight from
heaven, close enough at any rate,
come via their commander so-and-so,
the biggest fellow with the
largest weapon. Safe for now from
him I go into the cheering
lamplight; what I find illuminated
ought to take my breath away if I
had not been sated by this time
with gratefulness, and it is this:

Blessed recognition. I am like poor Lili
from the town of Mira; everybody
knows my name and they have come
to celebrate with such a smooth and
leave-you-feeling-cozy Cabernet
and Mama’s Pizza, eating,
chattering with family and friends
it’s been too long since gathered
thus in easy conversation.




Donald Zolan, Twins Kissing

I walk past a group of children. One says
that’s my grandmother with pride
of ownership. Well, and haven’t I
been lonely for that child’s voice,
missed being Mitch’s with the
emphasis on that apostrophe and S?
And so I change my destination from
the kitchen to the den and sit down
on the floor and play with Legos,
Barbies, children’s toes and noses,
let them style my hair with tiny
combs and make them say with
tummy pokes and tickles how
adorable and smart and funny
Grandma and Great-Auntie is and
wonder, how can this be ought but
the happy gift of a delighted God?

We haven’t any rights, you know.
It’s icing, all of it, that the inanimate
behaves itself and that my daughter
makes a life of love and difference
for she was born to be magnificent
defying entropy whereas the dust,
not being sentient, does what it
does swept up by wind and with no
reason to do otherwise falls
down again

Offered gratefully November 12, 2010

It Is God's Grace That Feeds Us

Hymn of praise for use any time, communion, Thanksgiving

We Pray This Blessed Morning

We pray this blessed morning till
our circle is a sacred space,
our church the summit of a hill
above a land where, by your grace
roll fertile fields of corn and wheat,
and once again from them we learn
that though we work for what we eat
its nourishment we cannot earn.

REFRAIN
It is your grace that feeds us
and gives us strength and ease;
your light, O God, that leads us
to love and joy and peace.

Our knowledge is uncertain, thus
we pray for each decision made,
that you, God, will enlighten us
and what lies dark illuminate.
For you can see around the bend,
beyond the scope of sound and sight,
while we are blind to consequence
like searchers on a moonless night.

REFRAIN

No medicine that we invent
can promise that we shall be well
nor can it, less divine consent,
restore the hope of life and health.
Prayers from the heart we offer then
in faith for others and ourselves.
In meditation, we breathe in
the spirit of Emmanuel.

REFRAIN

Upon this hill we wait for dawn,
its promise seen, however faint,
in broken darkness now upon
the eastern sky, where angels paint
in colors ever warmer, streaks
of yellow, lavender, and red.
Now by your artistry made meek,
we humbly break our morning bread.

REFRAIN
*************

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