Long Arboretum Poems
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BEYOND DESCRIPTION
If you took all the words in all the dictionaries.
The words of all the books in all the world’s libraries,
You’d still not have enough to tell of all God’s love
Or describe the glorious mansions that He made above.
If you took all the art in all the world’s museums,
And every flower and plant in every arboretum,
You’d still not have a picture that clearly would portray
The beauty of the Savior whom many love today.
You could take all of the notes from every song that’s written,
The song of every bird, the purr of every kitten,
You still could not describe all the music in that place
Where saints of all the ages rejoice about God’s grace.
You could take all of the things by which we weigh and measure,
The wealth of every mine, the value of all treasures,
And still the love of God is greater, yes, by far,
Than all the hosts of heaven and all the countless stars.
You could take all calculators and put all nines upon them,
And count the grains of sand and put a number on them,
And yet the long, long ages of eternity are more
In the life of glorious bliss upon the golden shore.
God’s love and God’s salvation and His great home on high
Are so beyond description of mind or human eye,
And yet it is so simple a child can understand;
He didn’t make it difficult or a complicated plan.
It’s man who tries to make it confused and so unclear
With so much of religion, its rituals he holds dear.
But all the world’s religion, its rituals and rites
Will never buy one heaven, make one sinless in God’s sight.
For He wrapped all His riches so infinite and wide
In the Person He called Jesus, who on Mount Calvary died.
And He said if you will trust Him, turn from your sinful way,
You can be saved forever and see His home some day.
So it doesn’t take a dictionary, a library, or art,
The flowers, the birds, the riches to make a brand new heart.
It doesn’t take the music, the wealth of every mine,
The deeds or the religions, or whatever else you find.
It only takes that simple faith, just like a little child
To claim your soul’s salvation from all your sin so vile.
Though it’s beyond description, this love, this home above,
You still can know and have it by trusting in His love.
Memorial service ~10:00 A.M. October 21st, 2020...
at Cherry Hill, New Jersey Unitarian Fellowship
Boyce Brandon Harris cremains
(approximately one fourth entire contents)
offered, interred, and eulogized
within ‘Tristan’s Pollinator Garden,'
which constitutes minute arboretum
bore witness to immediate family of said deceased
yours truly plus eldest and youngest sister
each of us communicated solemn words
to recall admirable, inimitable,
and unfathomable father,
whose passing (evident previous six months,
whereby his declining physical health)
unfettered, presaged, and indicated imminent death
now his invisible spirit
dwells amidst the spiritual abodes
encompassing three offspring,
he and the late Harriet Harris begat,
whose lives analogous
to quasi orphaned grown children
all adults with independent lives of their own.
We (progeny of our father and mother,
the latter deceased
approximately fifteen and a half years)
convened at above mentioned site
see fourth line of poem
to consecrate, designate, and generate
extemporaneous heartfelt sentiments
honoring his wishes,
mixing joys and sorrows,
regaling poignant occasions
before shoveling soil
punctuated silent benediction
courtesy Reverend Margret A. O'Neall,
Developmental Minister eloquently enunciated
reassuring, healing, and comforting words
to small congregating crowd
comprising half dozen plus people.
Come spring two thousand twenty one
a hearty shrub or tree,
(yet to be decided upon)
will be planted within sanctioned
space, whereby Mother Earth
will allow, enable, and provide
nondescript ashes to mingle
subterranean flora and fauna,
whence roots of former will help filtrate
cremated body once housing
Boyce Brandon Harris.
He who helped bring us
(meaning Amélie, Matthew and Shari)
into existence forever spirited into the future
linkedin by actions
genetically, indirectly and knowingly
hashtagged, kickstarted and tweeted
said son and daughters
who possess his corporeal heritage.
The other day I heard two lovers having a quarrel. They were sitting on a park bench at the arboretum near my home. I though to myself, "I wonder what the big fuss is all about?" I mean who knows when the biggest situation of your life comes along and then you wont be able to tell that person how much you love them? What if a car accident took their life suddenly, or they happened to suffer from a life threatening condition?
It is not a good thing to waste a beautiful sun shiny day on bickering. If I were them I would go hiking and make up a silly song along the way. I would take all of the cards that my true love sent to me and read them to him over a picnic lunch. I would even try to guess what his favorite movies were and imitate some of the lines. Life is way too precious to waste our God-given time.
Someone asked me to marry him just the other day. I said, "No way!" "Do you know how difficult of a person that I can be?" I come with an instruction manual and a very strict set of rules! I even get overly emotional over the silliest things, like at the end of a great love story. I told him "You need to pray and ask the Lord to send you the perfect one because I am already taken." I was taken before I was already born. I am just waiting on him to come along.
You see there is someone perfect for every single person upon this planet. We just have to wait on the Lord's perfect timing. His timing and our timing are not the same. When His perfect timing arrives, that special someone will catapult to the scene and then you will see all the fingerprints of God upon the relationship. It will be undeniable that this person was the one that the Lord sent. Then you won't waste a single sun shiny day bickering on a park bench!
Gwendolen Rix
2-28-16
Land of Graves
A land of graves makes for quiet neighbors.
He who blessed or cursed extant thereupon remains
Shall suffer little disturbance at the will of his resting countrymen.
The deep silence of an irrevocable sleep pervades his surrounds.
His own sleep mimics that of his departed brethren
But that kin to living rest is a far colder, everlasting condition.
Lest it be by the appearance of some revenant,
His nights will be those of uninterrupted stillness.
The surface of this vast earthen sarcophagus is adorned with faltering monuments-
The souls of their corresponding constituency have long-since dispersed in nihilum-
Leaving playing children and Springtime Sunday-afternoon-passersby
To speculate on their origins and exits, lives and times.
But make no mistake this is not a wholly moribund environment.
There is life in this soil yet. There is an irrepressible profusion reclaiming
This tomb from its own looming finality. The tomb is rendered womb by its power.
The tomb-womb is green. It is a garden, a park, a yard and an arboretum.
It is a charnel conservatory of the deceased, yes, but this sepulchered meadow
Exists as much if not more for those with air in their lungs and blood
In their veins as it does for those buried beneath its grassy lawns.
Though in little more than a generation even the freshest entries into its
Assembly will receive only sparing or incidental visitation.
The ancestry hobbyist and the armchair genealogist will pay their homage.
The digger of graves and the mower of lawns will be more frequent still.
Is maintenance in the face of inevitability an exercise in courage or folly?
Perhaps it is just necessary for life to go on.
We piled into the car
Caleb and Mom in front, me in the back
We weren't planning to go far
A nearby arboretum off the beaten track.
We went north, there were many cars each way
Saw a motorcycle downed, someone’s luck had failed
Amidst the empty southbound lane, there it lay
A journey interrupted, a life derailed
There was a police car, yellow tape and debris
Turned out the driver was badly hurt, but not dead
Still, I couldn't shake the vision when we walked among the trees
Of his narrowed future in a hospital bed
I read up on him later, a harried man in much debt
How it all happened, nobody quite knows
They've cleaned it all up, how soon we forget
How in an instant, so many doors can close
We walked the boardwalk through maples and pines
My family smiled; Mom was proud she could do it all
I couldn't shake the subtext between the lines.
So many differences before and after that fall.
Twenty walkers a day died last year; a fate not deserved
The drivers must feel guilt that can’t be shed
My brother’s friend tried a U-turn but another car swerved
His fiancé was hit, said “Goodbye “and was dead.
Too many have departed on the roads we travel through
Last year 6000 motorcyclists lives abruptly ended
42000 car drivers met their last rendezvous
And as we all know, death can’t be mended.
I visited the parents of a Christian friend
They impressed me as warm and kind
Then I heard that while driving they met their end
He was too old; he didn’t react in time.
I hope human innovation can solve the problems it creates
Perhaps the answer is the self-driving car
It's hard to give up control, but sudden danger waits
We don't need more reminders of how fragile we are.
When I was young I didn’t think
In terms of accomplishment
I guess my ego wasn’t developed enough
To have the perspective and appreciation
To consider it all worthwhile, but
I also think those childhood achievements
Pleased my parents more than myself.
By the time I was done with school
What I accomplished were the simply things
I did just living a life
And following my own path.
For a while there I was inordinately proud
Of the house and home I built,
Then the arduous spiritual practices
Which took ages to accomplish
And replaced ordinary pride
With the sublime pride of the Deity.
Then eventually and thankfully
Came a family to raise
And career to pursue,
All of which seemed
Like a worthwhile accomplishment
Then and now.
Then came retirement
And the creation and accumulation,
If not accomplishment, of ten thousand things
Climbing routes, paintings and poems,
Gardens, orchards and long hikes;
The culmination of a gentlemanly life of leisure.
Now when much of that too
Has lost its charm
Accomplishments are measured more simply
Daily and immediately,
By the feeding of dogs on schedule
And the scooping of their poop,
By watching the arboretum thrive and grow,
Keeping it watered and mowed.
Eventually I know there will come a time
When the charms of even these simple pleasures
Will lose their hold
And I will be left with just accomplishing
Another morning
Another day
Another night
Another breath…
Until even the karma
Of that bit of accomplishment
Is exhausted
And I will have at last
Achieved the goal of this life;
To go in peace, without a trace.
(4/22/25)
("Zero Point of Creation", 2018, original encaustic)
In Praise of Mindlessness
I’ve sought and found mindlessness in a variety of ways
From dancing to climbing, meditating and painting,
but in retirement I find it easiest mowing the arboretum.
As I weave in and out of the randomly placed trees and shrubs
and regularly spaced irrigation pipes
I seek the novel and fresh at every turn.
It’s best when I find it
unexpectedly zipping off in a new direction
exploring new paths, carving new patterns.
In these moments there is a rush
as the spontaneous surprises me, creativity takes hold,
and I can’t help but ride the moment.
I’ve spent years aiming for this moment on a cushion
and find poetic justice
in the fact it is at last as easy as pie in retirement.
Of course it’s not true mindlessness
after that initial spontaneous instant.
I have to make sure I don’t drive over anything.
But the random is always an option, and eagerly seeking it
leads me to fall, or in this case, drive
into spontaneous mindlessness again, and again.
.
The joy that accompanies the mindless
is what interests me most.
It’s a self-contained joy that feeds on and for itself.
The German word, ‘funktionslust’ describes it best.
The joy an animal gets doing what it’s meant to do
which of course means it just gets better at doing it.
This is how birds learn to fly and primates climb,
how yogis become accomplished doing nothing and going nowhere,
and how lazy old men get the lawn mowed, with effortless joy.
(9/2/23)
Airy Wells and Emmett Street were working class kids,
Just shy of a high school diploma.
Airy’s mom had a habit of drinking too much.
Emmett’s father was fighting lymphoma.
Airy and Emmett had jobs after school,
And mostly just kept out of trouble.
While Airy stocked shelves at the dollar store,
Emmett worked with a pick and a shovel.
Airy and Emmett had always been friends.
And liked spending weekends together.
With summer vacation a few days away,
They were feeling as hot as the weather.
Airy and Emmett walked into the woods,
Not a pocket of breadcrumbs between them.
When Airy got pregnant and started to show,
They were lost in a vast arboretum.
Airy and Emmett were nervous and scared,
But promised to trust in each other.
They knew they were faced with the obvious choice,
Or with Airy becoming a mother.
Airy and Emmett were both underage,
And kept their decision discrete.
When Airy gave birth to identical twins,
Named them Amy and Emily Street.
Airy and Emmett were wedded that winter
By a shill with a cheap bag of tricks.
Their good fairy godmother granted their wish,
And they both got their overdose fix.
Airy and Emmett lost everything fast.
They lived and they died in the margins.
Now Amy and Emily struggle to be,
Like a couple of weeds in the garden.
I bowed before the Lord.
Like a little brook, His Spirit flowed.
As I went lower, the Bestower
Poured more into my soul.
A whole refreshing, a mighty blessing
Like a fragrant arboretum flowed.
As praise I raised, heaven heaved
And more began to flow O’r me.
From prostrate now to hands uplifted:
Yes, more and more upon me rolled.
My mouth became a spout of shouts,
Still greater His glory poured.
The stronger my worship of His Sonship
New Heights came and a wonderful “oneship”
And the glory poured more and more!
Until fully abandoned, all constraint reprimanded
The fullness of God rained upon me.
A resplendent outpouring, a fountain of diamonds;
A Niagara of refining, no sun could outshine it.
A light with refractions: a trillion gems
That exclaimed a glory no writer could pen!
Oh, the magnificence of His presence!
When self truly died and on Him, I relied
This vision of blessing appeared.
The light and the bliss, no words tell the story
Of the grandeur and height of His glory.
The Pinnacle outpouring, comes only from showing
When self is slain and His Spirit reigns.
Come Holy outpouring! Come joy beyond knowing!
Open the flood gates, great glory awaits!
Within a lush verdant meadow, meanders a lazy river
Where wildflowers bloom beneath the warm breath of the sun
They sway upon a gypsy wind on this early morning in June
Stems of purple heather rise above the carpeted earth,
Emerald green as any Irish hillside or garden near the shore
Their saccharine scented plumes attract the pollen seekers
Bursts of color can be seen in shades of scarlet and white
For growing on the river's bank is a plethora of anemone
Not the variety that resides in the depths of a sea
Yellow iris mingle with daisies in this alfresco arboretum
Untouched by the hand of man, it's an immaculate bouquet
Resplendent in perfumed glory and pristine perfection
There's the mellifluous sound of a cascading waterfall
singing a soft melody as it spills from crevices of granite rock
Nourishing the serpentine river flowing through the glade
This haven appears as an Elysian Field, as Eden must have been
A sanctuary to remain inviolate and reverenced by the gods
Perceived to be hallowed ground, too sublime for mortal man
September 29, 2021
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