A Poem for Memorial Day

The following poem was written in 2003 near the beginning of the war in Iraq.  I feel it is apropos to post it here on Memorial Day. God bless all our military men and women. The image below makes a profound statement: America is the home of the free, because of the brave... 

Image credit: spanishdict.com

MY ADOPTED SOLDIER

For Cpl. R. J. Roberts, USMC

America At War In Iraq – March, 2003

The message on my computer screen

said click on The Presidential Prayer Team –

the Adopt Our Troops link

and be given a soldier to pray for

until the end of the war

I didn't know any soldiers

stationed in Iraq, personally

soldiers who startled us with Shock & Awe

soldiers who endured stinging sand

blazing days and shivery desert nights

Didn't know any who engaged in combat

manned planes, 'copters and tanks

or risked biological warfare

during that arduous trek to Baghdad

Didn't know any at all

so I clicked on the website

…but was unable to access the link

When the morning paper arrived

the front page held a full-color photo

of a British medic

examining a newborn Iraqi baby

cradled in a cardboard box

with the flaps torn off

I placed my hand upon the soldier

Jesus, bring him home, whole

laid my hand upon the infant

O Lord, please have him grow up

safe and strong

in a land free of terror…

At work, later that morning

a co-worker approached my counter

softly singing a hymn

How lovely to hear singing

in times like these, I remarked

My son left Tuesday, she said

Our eyes locked

mother to mother

I'd like to adopt your son, I told her

I'll pray for him every day

until he comes home

He is a Marine, she said

serving in the air delivery platoon

Cpl. R. J. Roberts

He'll be on the ground

distributing supplies in Iraq

I know he'll return

Our pastor prophesied

a few years ago

that R. J. will become a preacher

He's not a preacher yet…

though I suppose

there's a very good chance

he may be preaching right now

When I got home

I fastened a yellow ribbon

to my front porch railing

Maude Carolan

The Irises are In Bloom

After church, today, Bob and I went to the Presby Memorial Iris Garden, Upper Mountain Avenue in Montclair, NJ. We walked along the iris rainbows and enjoyed the beautiful displays. We also sat a while on the lawn to listen to a jazz concert. The irises will continue in bloom for the next few weeks.

Presby Memorial Iris Garden, Montclair, NJ

THE IRIS GARDEN

I delightedly strolled

along an iris rainbow

one effulgent Sunday in May

while would-be VanGoghs

painted under sunbrellas.

God could’ve made irises gray,

but He’s as lavish with color

as He is with love.

Maude Carolan

Maude at the Presby Iris Garden

Presby Iris Garden, Montclair, NJ

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"Women on Retreat"

Image credit: forestgardenblog.wordpress.com

WOMEN ON RETREAT

Three women

meet at a lodge

in the Pocono Mountains

They are strangers—

but that soon changes

One, freshly wounded

two, a decade older

had been healed

years before

of the same sorrow

The two

instinctively soothe

the younger sister

with the balm

of compassion

listen

speak soft words

of experience

touch

At apricot sunset

they walk a wooded path

along the edge

of Tamiment Lake

Coming upon

a crude table

and benches

they stop, sit

join hands

and beseech God

as a million tree frogs

chirp crickety crescendos

from shadows

of tall leafy boughs

and deer graze

in their midst

As twilight wanes

they arise to go

then keep

one another

from stumbling

along the rocky path

Maude Carolan

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My Beautiful Mother

Frances Longo Walsh  1915-1966

SHE WOULD’VE

In memory of Frances Longo Walsh

Aunt Carol said

she could picture my mother

with grandchildren on her lap

She was a grand mother

so it stands to reason

she would’ve been

a grand grandma

an aproned, house-dressed

simple stay-at-home grandma

without fussy hair

a rock-a-bye

buxom, ample lapped grandma

with strong cradling arms

and plenty of time

a soup simmering, sauce stirring

let’s-eat-in-the-kitchen grandma

who would’ve gone down on the floor

to build wooden block towers

in primary colors

for her grandkids to topple

who would’ve comforted their cries

changed a thousand diapers

wiped a bunch of noses

given a million kisses

who would’ve read Mother Goose

sang Twinkle, Twinkle

offered Lorna Doones

She almost was—

She was counting the days

but died

while her two daughters

were expecting

Maude Carolan Pych

Elyas Joud - Born May 7, 2016

Congratulations to my step-granddaughter, Natalie Carolan Joud and her husband, Rado, on the birth of their son, Elyas, in Germany, May 7, 2016. God bless the three of them!

God bless all of you beautiful mothers!

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The Circumcision of the Heart

Image credit: blueboatblogs.uua.org

THE CIRCUMCISED HEART

There was no mohel

no Bris Milah 
on my eighth day

no drop of blood

from my cloven heart

So, when and how it happened

cannot be pinpointed

Perhaps it occurred

when I read Moses’ face shone

after he was in the presence

of the Lord, on the mountain

or that David danced

uninhibitedly before the Ark

out of impassioned love for God

or perhaps when I heard Boaz

put his covering

over the gentile Ruth

and became her kinsman redeemer

Oh, it might have been

when I made aliyah in ’86 or ‘87

or again in 2006

each time praying                                  

at the Wall and the Tomb

or it may have happened

upon becoming utterly awestruck

at the Little Cupula of the Tablets

or possibly the night we sang

every carol we knew

in the shepherd field of Bethlehem

It could even have been

when I drank water from

the ancient Jacob's Well

or experienced sunrise over the Dead Sea

dreaming of the Great Day

when fish will thrive

and vegetation bloom, miraculously

in its healed waters

It may well have been

the sight and smell of the land

as I walked in the footsteps

of my Jewish Savior

or when my heart

caught fire while reading

the melodious Psalms

or Solomon's Song of Songs

or as I poured over the account

of Peter's prison praise

Actually, it probably was when

I received blessed assurance

that I am eternally saved

by the Blood of the Lamb…

All I know is

some way, somehow

something happened

to spiritually circumcise

this gentile heart

making it echad^[1]

with the Heart of the God

of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob

and I haven’t for a moment

been the same

since—

Hallelujah!

Maude Carolan Pych

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[1] one

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