let me be

let me be an open ear,
slow to speak and quick to hear
each rustle, whisper or stifled cry,
both joy and sorrow, celebration and sigh

and let me be an open hand,
for hands can in compassion touch,
a gentle hand to serve and heal,
a touch to confirm care's gentle seal

and if this tongue must needs speak
let words such truth and beauty seek
that they, in purest distillation, combine
balm for souls and salve for minds.

Eleanor's First Year.

1. Prayer for My Grandchild.

May you, dear child of the winter solstice,
Born on this clear blue winter’s day,
Have a heart so warm and loving
That it blows all the chills away.

May you, dear child of this shortest day
Grow to be so joyously bright
That in your dear sweet presence
All bask in warm, clear morning light.

May you, little babe of Tim and Prue
Bring them such deep sense of pleasure
That through all life’s frost and cold
They are filled and warmed beyond all measure.

And may you, little babe, little girl,
Precious gift from God above,
Forever dwell in the pure warmth of faith,
Snug in the arms of God’s great love


2. Eleanor.

Because she was so bright and shining,
Theirs to love and to adore,
For her they  just had to choose
The beautiful name of Eleanor.



3. Eleanor and the Shiny Piano.

There is a girl in the piano’s shine
And she looks exactly just like me.
Whenever I crawl to that same place
It’s the same little girl I see.
She has my doll and has my toys
She sits so quietly and makes no noise.
Whenever I want her she’s always there,
She wears my clothes and has my hair,
She has my smile and shares my stare,
And finally she even has my glare,
Especially when at last I see
That she does nothing but copy me.



4. Eleanor and the Little White Dog.

A little white dog sits on the bookcase
On top of the big red dictionary.
When my Pa’s hand goes behind his back
He nods his head and barks at me.

He has a little black nose and a pointy face
And his coat is snowy white,
A little red vest that says “Guide Dog Pups”
And eyes that are black and bright.

I think he’s funny and very cute;
He makes me smile and laugh,
But though he barks and nods his head
His voice does seem a lot like Pa’s.


5. Eleanor Looks at Books

Hush! Tread quietly and don’t disturb
For here is a moment to always treasure
For Eleanor Miette, though she’s less than one,
Is looking at books and chatting with pleasure.

Hush! Tread quietly and softly retreat,
Tiptoe gently away from this place,
For who for a moment would ever disturb
That look of pure joy all over her face.

Hush! Tread quietly and don’t disturb,
Yet linger a moment for one last little look,
For this little girl though she’s less than one
Is lost in the world of a wonderful book.


6. Eleanor and Lizzie.

Some people indeed have unusual pets-
A pig, a python, a fish or a frog-
But none of them can ever compare
To the commonplace, marvellous dog.

You think she's dozing by the hearth
But she’s always got one eye on you.
She knows exactly how you’re feeling;
She knows exactly what to do.

When Eleanor is upset then Lizzie
Places her muzzle on Eleanor's knee,
Looks at her with gentle soft eyes
And gives her wonderful sympathy.

One day Eleanor will come home from school
And Lizzie's greeting will make a dull day bright;
Her ears will go sleek, she'll bark with joy
And shake and wag in pure delight.

Can you take a python for a walk?
Is a frog a blind man’s guide?
Can a fish be taught to sit and stay?
Will a pig lie faithfully by your side?

For slithering snake the answer is no
And also so for fish, frog or hog,
But Eleanor knows the very best pet
Is the loving, loyal and wonderful dog.


7. Eleanor at Eleven Months.

Bend, little baby, and kiss
The picture of Teddy in your book;
Love and hug your soft toys;
Reach for them with adoring look.

A miracle is each day unfolding.
Eleanor's heart is rapidly changing.
Now with toys to fondle and play
She grows in loving and caring.

She laughs and sings as she turns the pages
And then her chatter turns sparklingly bright;
Look! The pages with pictures of children
Are filling her heart with special delight.


8. Eleanor Learns to Walk.

From the very moment its life has begun
The little antelope can walk and run.

The same thing is true, of course,
Of the very lovely baby horse.

The infant giraffe first kneels on its knees
Then stands and runs with incredible ease.

A little monkey from a high, high branch
Leaps out boldly without risk or chance.

A baby elephant weighs one tenth of a tonne
But soon walks beside its three tonne Mum.

The tiny elver, it would seem
Can very easily swim upstream.

These creatures can swim, stand or run
Well before they’ve reached the age of one.

For months Eleanor just waves  legs and arms,
Giggles, gurgles and certainly charms.

Finally, at four months old she begins to roll.
Alas! without very much control.

Animals at eight months old can frolic without falling,
the very age when Eleanor is still crawling.

To stop her flopping to the ground
She holds onto cupboards as she walks around.

Finally, at twelve months, she steps and wobbles
She has joined the much loved group called toddlers.

Her Mum and Dad are, of course, excited
And Eleanor herself is truly delighted.

And  Eleanor Miette knows she would certainly fall
If she had tried to walk before she could crawl.




9. Eleanor is Puzzled.

I’ve been practicing for quite some time
and now I feel quite delighted
Because today I took five unaided steps
Which made my Mummy very excited
Since then I’ve noticed that Mummy
Is putting everything up very high,
And although I’ve thought about this a lot
I just can’t seem to understand why.



10. Eleanor and the Plum Tree.

Look little Eleanor,
The leaves have turned yellow,
The sky is pure blue,
The day mild and mellow.

Look little Eleanor,
The trees have turned bare,
There’s frost in the morning
And cold everywhere.

Look little Eleanor,
There’s buds on the trees,
Flowers are blossoming
And buzzing with bees.

Look little Eleanor,
In this blossoming blooming
The cycle of life
Is forever renewing.



11. Eleanor and Old Mother Goose

Old Mother Goose is a friendly old bird
And when her Pa takes  Eleanor for a walk
As they pass close by to the neighbour’s fence
Old Mother Goose comes over for a talk.

She’s white and waddles and is the only goose
In a scratchy, snatchy  flock of hens.
She’s old and she’s lame and in a race for food
The speedy hens beat her time and again..

Eleanor gives her some bread in a special place
Where the greedy hens can’t grab it and run,
Where it’s safe and secure and she’s left in peace,
So that she can enjoy every crumb.

For this little act of kindness and care
She's Eleanor's very best friend
And when Eleanor's gone for a little while
She’s delighted to see her again.

So dear little ones with minds young and fresh,
The lesson is nothing so new,
For everyone knows that doing kind things
Brings that same kindness straight back to you.


12. Looking at Books and Practising Words.

Eleanor Miette, with sparkling eyes,
Is looking at books and practising words
And because she is just twelve months old
Some people may scoff and say “Absurd!”

Her mother says she’s got more than thirty
And even Grandpa can understand a few.
He smiles and he knows that on every day
Eleanor Miette is finding something new.

Whenever she comes into the lounge
Eleanor Miette gives a sweet little growl.
It is the leopard’s picture on the wall
That makes her whisper her gentle “Miaow”.

But when it’s dark and time for bed
Though she can chatter, wave and say “Bye bye”,
Eleanor Miette, like so many babes
Can crumple her face and start to cry.


 
13. Goodnight, Eleanor.

Eleanor can now walk very well.
Soon she will begin to run.
She’ll play outdoors and go to parks.
A great big adventure has now begun.
But now it’s dark and she’s so tired.
She’s had her bath and she’s been fed.
She’s had a story and closed her eyes
And Eleanor Miette sleeps sweetly in bed.


14. Haiku on Mother and Child at Piano.

Light spills through the room
Where Prue sits at piano,
Eleanor on lap.

As the fingers touch
In light skilful patterns
Chords fluidly flow.

The sweet sound is as
Liquid, clear and delicate
As running water.

The baby gurgles
Her new, innocent delight
And waves her small arms.

What greater beauty
Than mother, baby, music
In this harmony.

Temple

The nave is fields of flowers,
the aisles are snow and forest trees,
the transept is rippling wind on grass,
the altar rivers, tides and seas,
the stairwells are mighty mountains
leading to the attic sky
and music effortlessly resounds
from wave, bird, storm and soft wind's sigh.
The floating dome is decorated
with endlessly changing hue
of billowing white, scudding grey,
or deep ethereal blue,
and fleetingly in east and west
comes a stained-glass blaze of light,
after which the dome transforms
into star-studded velvet night.

Meditations on Suffering. 2. War

Vastly beyond individual sorrow,
this nightmarish beast
opens its giant maw, flares it nostrils
and creakingly rumbles, seeking
fresh blood on which to feast,
venting as it goes a putrid, reeking stench
from flattened cities, widow's tears,
mud, barbed wire, crater holes, shells, gas, trench,
killing and crippling down the tangled, twisted years-
unceasingly rapacious, insatiable,
pitiless, blood soaked, impervious to pain,
destroying that which it seeks to gain,
always howling and lusting for more
is this insatiable monster, War

Unnoticed Come Inside.

When grim old Mr Sorrow
unsuspectingly comes to town,
his suitcase filled with pain and grief,
wearing his mournful, heavy frown,

rapping with his leaden stick
on the front door to come in,
then spilling all through house
his pain, sorrow and suffering,

there is no holding him back.
It is futile to bid him leave.
He must come in and the heart
must sorrow, lament or grieve.

Notice though how in thoughtless haste
he leaves the front door open wide
and Hope, Compassion and Empathy
silently and unnoticed come inside,

and sit in patience waiting
for old Sorrow to tire or depart,
so that they can begin to strengthen
the heavily laden, grieving heart,

and when Sorrow will not leave
they still remain quietly in the room,
growing the tender heart in the midst
of suffering's pain and gloom

and though hearts can surely break
or darkly distort in bitterness,
from pain and loss the heart can develop
its sweet, empathetic tenderness

and the heart that is too protected,
wrapped in too cloistered a cocoon,
is a heart denied the opportunity
for beautiful things to blossom and bloom.

There Came a Lilting Wind

Through the window on the wind
came a lilting voice
whispering sweetly through the room
to listen and rejoice.

I hear it murmur as I walk
in the dawn's soft pastel hue
and from the quivering grass
whisper in the fragile dew.

I hear it in the blue of day,
from the descending sun
and in the diamond points of stars
when day's mighty course is run.

I hear it whisper from the sea,
from the vast blue ocean's roar,
in and through the mighty rumble
of waves pounding upon the shore,

from the sea's deep canyons,
from inside the womb,
from the twisted helix of DNA
and rainforest's tangled gloom,

from birds that fly and sing,
from the springbok's speed and bound,
from ant and lion and dragonfly
I hear that self-same sound.

It's in the river, rain and cloud,
the wind and sun upon the sea,
whispering in a mighty voice
of one great sustained unity.

I hear the whisper murmur
earth is one vast intricate temple
in which in privileged wonder
I for a moment dwell,

not for digging holes,
or covetous greed and inequality,
nor the relentless brutality of war
or hardness against the refugee,

nor in the ignorance of pride,
or smug, self righteous vanity,
nor in oppression of the vulnerable
but desiring a unity

beyond our need for quantification
and cause, effect and explanation,
beyond the all too human horrors
of violence, greed and exploitation,

I listen to the whispering voice
in gentleness, praise and quiet devotion,
accepting that this temple time is
for love, peace and transformation.


 

Hymn of Praise

Within the hidden silence of the womb
the foetus quietly grows,
cells dividing to variously become
eyes, ears, fingers, nails, toes,
soft bone, beating heart, brain and lung,
one of many miracles on earth-
the bringing of sentient life to birth.

From the flower comes the seed
that drops upon the forest floor:
humble, small, dull of colour
but carrying in its tiny core
tales of roots, trunk, flowers and leaves
from which even the sequoia can soar.

The fresh rain that waters the earth
in storm, drizzle or gentle shower
the sun has lifted from the sea
and suspended by its mighty power
in vaporous air or condensing cloud
until, in ceaseless, cyclical motion,
in rivers it returns to the great salt ocean.

I sense a power behind the rain,
a hand drawing plants from the ground,
a mind behind the light of the womb
forming this earth where miracles abound,
and before this greatness I bow my knees
in gratitude for life, beauty and love
and in awed and silent wonder
lifting my eyes to the sky above,
request that this life of mine can raise
in acts of learning, love and thankfulness
my own small humble hymn of praise.