Evelyn Klebert

Walking along, in a busy life,
with every moment crammed
full of obligations, busyness and plans.
Then the life you are in
hits a bump.
A strange feeling, an odd sensation,
as though everything around was still going at full tilt.
Maybe it takes seconds, maybe hours, maybe more
before the full impact of the crash finally penetrates.
It’s a curious moment, almost as if you’re outside looking in.
What is my life now; what has it become?
Not at all what I thought.
Everything that felt essential dissipates like a mist or a fog.
Perhaps as they say, time stops,
and gives an odd, strangulated moment to look around
to take stock, and wonder why all those little things
that felt so important
have in an instant just melted away.

For those who wait quietly and patiently
so others may grow
who push when its needed
and step back just enough
to give room for wings to spread.
For the watchers and cheerers
who are always in your corner
even when you’re too busy to notice.
For the ones that say their silent prayers
and understand even when the world can’t seem to,
For the ones whose strength you draw from
even when you think it’s all you.
For the ones who take their greatest pride
in their children leading a full and happy life.
For the nurturers who enable us to chase our dreams,
For Moms whose gift of giving graces our lives.

I’m not sure why you stepped into our lives,

brought with you an energy, a brightness that reminded us to live,

live with energy, with joy, with brightness.

I’m not sure why you chose to come our way,

to bring a sweetness into the darkest of times.

How you graced us,

and then you left.

I’m not sure why,

but even as we missed you,

we felt that cool sweet breeze when you opened the door to leave.

The one that reminds us of what will be.

I’m not sure why you had to go,

but I do know we are better for the time you were with us.

When does a mystery yield its secrets?
Not on my clock,
not on my time,
when I demand it do so.
Pushing, and pulling,
and trying to force its lock.
When will a shadow find its way to sunlight?
Not when I deem it is far past sunrise,
not when I expect it is time for it to do so.
When will a seed planted finally bloom into full flower?
Not by predictions of experts,
not by forecasts of weather.
but when and only when the seasons shift,
boding a full and imminent change.

A quiet breeze, yet something stirring the air
the calmness of the night,
seemingly serene, yet not peaceful.
Anticipation crackles, something elusive,
prickling, irritating.
So close, yet just beyond reach,
brushing just near enough to drive us crazy with curiousity.
Something elusive, yet to be seen.

Those quiet times we forget.
We simply move on as if were alone.
The path glides easily,
and so life takes hold,
with its busyness
that fills the days.
Those other times,
stormy times,
when chaos is rampant,
and confusion blocks our view.
Then we remember,
frantically reaching out our hands to be be guided,
supported, simply helped through.
When it all seems too much,
we desperately, readily shift the burden,
remembering that there is always someone there to take it from us.
With assurance that even if we don’t understand,
we are loved and cared for and never truly alone.
In time the darkness will lift,
and again life will go on easily,
but perhaps this time we’ll remember
and consider who led us to the other side.

What word or thought comes not from an old place?
Do we always view each other through the shades of the past?
Does a phrase trigger a memory, a slight, a slander
that makes us recoil not from the present but from old pain?
It all seems like quicksand,
but are we ever truly be free or safe from such wounds?
Perhaps in freeing each other,
we free ourselves.
But then stand in our own vulnerability,
unguarded as we were the first time the daggers hit.
And the first tears were shed.

Thrashing it Out

Children are given a beloved sensibility.
They see the world through unsuspicious eyes,
unless they are taught suspicion.
They expect kindness from everyone,
unless they are taught cruelty.
Their nature is a trusting one,
unless their trust is broken.
As adults we carry the imprints from childhood,
sometimes more difficult to cast off,
than events experienced much later.
Like a footprint on freshly fallen snow,
that mars its pure essence.
So much care should be taken
in what we draw on that fresh new canvas.

It’s quiet through the old house,
although the wood seems to speak itself,
with creaks and noises afoot when all else is still.
The lights flicker in mutating, colored shapes across a darkened ceiling,
the only illumination in the room.
And all is in anticipation,
children sleeping but lightly enough so as to awaken quickly.
Their nerves filled with the awareness that magic is all around them,
magic whether it be true or be imagined is real just the same.
An innocent time,
where possibility stretches an endless length.
It’s quiet through the old house,
But all is wildly alive in anticipation.

from Considerations

Beginnings have no reason.
They are not marked until much has passed.
Endings seem clear,
sometimes final,
sometimes only a well-sheltered pause,
before all begins again.