“A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Leaving for a While


My very dear friends,
I take a leave of absence
so I can renew.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

What a Difference a Friend Makes


A dear friend stopped by.
Healing laughter, tears, and joy
flowed mutually.

We should all be blessed
to have at least one person
who opens one's heart.

The act of sharing
nurses what wounds might linger.
It lifts our spirits.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Survival and Renewal


After scorching fire,
green tendrils emerge from ash,
a new growth cycle.

Fire does not stop life.
What endures may be stronger.
First, it must survive.

After survival,
easing the path to thriving
becomes then the goal.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Open Letter to My Body -- When It and Hope Fail Me

 You have betrayed me.
I regret feeling this way.
It is a fact though.

I lament knowing
I cannot depend on you
to ease me through life.

I grieve at being placed
in a Me versus You stance.
Divided we fall.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

This I Believe*


I do not know how
I will manage to endure,
but I trust I shall.

I tap into roots
spiritual and grounded.
My center will hold.

Faith in renewal
anchors my spirit in hope
my life will be blessed.


Wednesday, July 8, 2015



Did you ever ask,
why did it happen to me?
Why oh why oh why?

Did you find answers?
Or none at all though you tried
lifting every stone?

Did you stop asking?
Acknowledging there may be
no answers at all.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Amazing Grace

In tragedy's wake,
grace visited us again,
sharing love's mercy.

Through the embrace of
compassion and forgiveness,
grace found expression.

What infinite love
can bestow on humankind
occasions wonder.

Adding prose to my weekly poem is a departure for me. However, after the families of those slaughtered in a Charleston church said they forgave the killer, I have reflected a great deal about what forgiveness means. And, it turns out that the issue of forgiveness has a great deal to do with coming to terms with MS.

First, let me address the Charleston event. For the South Carolina victim families, the heavy lifting required just to voice, "I forgive you," surely must have been overwhelmingly hard. Yet, that's what many did, leaving the rest of the world in awe of their graciousness; thereby, encouraging us to examine the nature of forgiveness and grace in our lives.

Inspired by the remarkable example of the families, I was led to ask myself, where have I failed to exercise forgiveness? The answer landed me squarely on MS' lap. We MSers struggle in varying ways while coming to terms with how MS has altered our lives. One's body seems to turn on itself destructively, which can feel like a vicious, random, and senseless attack. The impact may alter so comprehensively the person one used to be, some might say that person died.

But, who or what can we blame for that? Understandably, we turn MS into a villain toward which we direct our anger, resentment, and fear. Yet, as Robert Parker reminds us, MS does not exist as an entity.

The irony is we end up becoming both victim and victimizer. Certainly, one loses and likely grieves for the person one used to be. However, MS could be viewed, too, as the killer who also might need forgiveness. Because how do I separate MS from who I am physically? Am I making my emotional and perhaps physical healing more difficult by viewing MS with anger and loathing? Do I then end up hating and loathing my body? If MS can assume a separate existence at all, shouldn't it be integrated affirmatively into whatever characterization I hold of my physical body? Is it necessarily a matter of It versus Me? Is there an act of forgiveness I can embrace that will limit self-destructive behavior?

In saying, "We have no room for hate. We have to forgive," what can the South Carolina families teach me? If they were able to respond so magnanimously to an act of such horror, how can I embrace their forgiving nature with respect to my MS?

I say that, thinking that following their example surely seems laudable. Yet, in a practical sense, what difference does it make for me to forgive the "entity" which destroyed my life as I knew it? What real impact does forgiving MS or the process of MS or simply my body's physical breakdown have on my life? This is especially challenging since MS will likely cause a never-ending cascade of losses and grieving. How can I forgive and move on if the process of loss seems endless?

Or is the act of forgiveness encapsulated in the following haiku, which I removed from the above poem because I wasn't sure I wholly accepted its meaning?

Remaining open
to grace's bountiful gifts
ensures renewal.

I would like to rise to such a noble sentiment. Yet, in a practical sense, I am not sure what it means. I want to avoid the hazards of what some have called "cheap grace." I am assuming those commentators were alluding to the need to keep forgiveness from being an empty act, and that forgiveness can, and perhaps should, require emotional, spiritual, and psychological hard work.

Yet, again, I am led back to the question, what does that mean for me in a practical sense?

I'm hoping you will illuminate me.


I sought your counsel, and you did not disappoint. Your comments have illuminated me. Forgiving MS is a slippery concept, both in understanding it and in applying it. Several among you have said they could not forgive MS. Some have said that through their anger they gain strength in their ability to live with MS. Others have said that perhaps it is peace we seek, rather than forgiveness. Some believed that it is really the human condition we need to forgive, that condition which opens us to experiencing both joy and pain.

I'm afraid that figuring this out may be above my pay grade. Perhaps some noticed that out of my post's 42 sentences, more than a third were questions. Even after your input, I still have mostly questions. I remain, though, grateful for the deep reflection this issue has generated for me and for others. I suspect for me it will remain an open question, generating ongoing thought.

The issue, though, perhaps boils down to, who is in control? It may seem laughable to some that I invoke control in dealing with MS. Isn't MS, after all, an illness over which we currently have little control other than delaying the process of decline? True, but we have ways of finessing that lack of control; indeed, of wresting total control from MS or any similarly dire circumstance.

I have been fond of citing Holocaust aurvivor Viktor Frankl's concept of the ultimate freedom, which is the ability to choose one's attitude regardless of circumstance. Since he developed this concept in light of the Holocaust, I feel safe in assuming that he thought the concept applied even in extreme circumstances, where one's life is at stake.

In the particular case of the Charleston families, someone shared with me an unusual take on how forgiveness possibly applied in that circumstance. He suggested that with their apparently noble act of forgiveness, the families (unwittingly perhaps) acted with passive-aggressive hostility in saying to the killer that they forgave him. That is, by expressing their forgiveness so publicly, the families essentially neutered the killer's intention to create public pain and mayhem. Whether their forgiveness was a passive-aggressive act or not, the point is that the families took control of their story. They took away his power to control their lives any more. They decided how they were going to feel, what their attitude would be. It was their choice, not the killer's.

So the issue of MS and forgiveness may boil down to, how does one take control of one's story? Would forgiveness do that? Would anger? Depression maybe? Even, as several friends have done, ending one's life? It could be all of the above. Or none. Forgiveness, for example, could be dismissed in favor of seeking peace or some other goal. My belief, though, is that each person can choose freely what the attitudinal response will be.

Wednesday, June 24, 2015



Daily life requires
a miracle a minute
to do anything.

Miracles mostly
dodge my power and control.
Randomness may rule.

While my world shudders,
shaken and destabilized,
I feel overwhelmed.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015



A lily emerged
from its somnolent slumber,
opening fully.

The world too awoke,
welcoming daylight's entry.
Renewal prevailed.

Hope's lasting promise
joined the chorus of rebirth.
Or was it a tease?

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

On My Journey


Facing stiff headwinds,
I tack and then tack again
but keep losing ground.

The losses pile on.
New normals replace old ones,
scarce time to adjust.

To find peace I pray,
"teach me how to live like this"  *
and to do it well.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Getting Things Done


It used to serve me.
Push, push, push, and keep going
to finish a job.

I still complete tasks,
pressing on through exhaustion
until I collapse.

Dogged willpower
stubbornly commands and rules.
Not always for good.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015



Orchid petals waft
from their airy loft in trees,
drifting down to grass.

My falls rarely glide
to a cushioning surface,
brain and bones at risk.

Lacking orchid grace,
my last fall injured a rib.
It hurt when I moved.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

When It Comes Early

Whenever it comes,
MS is always costly.
In youth it's tragic.

Deprived of choices,
family and employment
take a heavy hit.

Youth should be allowed
full testing of potential,
not blocked by limits.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Truths and Metaphors


tornado wipe out
roofs, walls, foundations, and hope
falling in a heap

earthquake upheaval
most solid footing shredded
wounds needing healing

survivors stumbling
arms stretched out and seeking help
walking in a daze

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Lightening the Journey


Companions gather
from all corners of the globe
on the internet.

Veteran or new,
each knows MS's terrors.
No need to explain.

Compassion abounds
among fellow travelers.
The journey is shared.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

What's It All About?


Please don't look to me.
I am humbled by my dearth
of true certainty.

While we reside here,
we excel, fail, and just are.
We may find love's source.

In our finite time,
all seems really important.
Precious few things are.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

I Deplore …


becoming housebound
my friendship circle dwindling
social life a bust

peeing all the time
being unable to work
money running short

not knowing how much
MS can take credit for
life's seeming shortfalls

Wednesday, April 15, 2015



On dewy Spring morns,
narcissus petals unfold
gossamer beauty.

Within the arbor,
interwoven tree branches
shelter loveliness.

Fed by reflections
on the winding water course,
fantasy takes flight.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Week from Hell and Good News


Like an invasion,
fever, coughing, and aching
took over my life.

As bad as I felt,
even worse was wondering
what MS would do.

What is the good news?
The flu has taken its leave.
The Beast seems quiet.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015



A leisurely walk
on surf-gentled sandy shores,
my feet sinking in.

A sprint up the stairs
with excitement in my voice
to share my good news.

A last-minute run
to the theater with friends
to watch a great film.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015



Acceptance may lag
the clear evidence of loss.
Adjustment takes time.

Unwilling to cope,
resisting recognition
becomes an M.O.

When I am ready,
I will feel my way through it.
A work in progress.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Best Intentions


I took my heels out,
intending to donate them.
I was not ready.

Ten years have gone by.
Someone could put them to use.
I know that but still ….

My heels remain here
where I can touch and see them
until I let go.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Is Hope Always Viable?


What accounts for hope,
for one's faith in renewal
though gloom may prevail?

History may say
the odds favor sorrow's wail,
not joy's healing hand.

Those who struggle with
an incurable disease
may question hope's worth.

Is hope logical?
The facts may point us elsewhere.
Why insist on hope?

When odds are awful,
does hope no longer make sense?
I resist that thought.

I may be foolish,
perhaps tilting at windmills,
yet I affirm hope.

for creating new meaning
will always exist.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

What MS Happily Wrought - Finding My Passion


Wrest from normalcy,
unchained from the world's demands,
my heart found its voice.

With a new passion
for poetry and fiction,
I let my heart sing.

Transformed happily,
I quench my sorrow at loss,
welcoming new joys.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

What MS Also Wrought - Finding Inner Strength


Through acceptance of
failings, fears, angers and hurts,
I find compassion.

I don't force fit life
into a tight straightjacket
of sheer perfection.

I will acknowledge
humanity's shortcomings.
They come regardless.

While recognizing
life's misfortunes and trials,
I seek solutions.

If I feel despair,
I do not deny its truth,
but find a way out.

For within me lies
finding my own source of strength,
a powerful gift.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

What MS Wrought ... The Up and Down Cycle


Sadly compromised
physical capacity
renders life quite hard.

I flounder about
in some rather dark moments,
not my hopeful self.

My family hopes
badly wrenched, stretched, and pummeled
had to be reshaped.

Compared to my goals,
my career accomplishments
turned out to fall short.

Where am I going?
My objectives were thwarted.
What is my purpose?

... still ...

remaining within my reach
are there to be tapped.

New ways of being
may manifest before me
if I am willing.

I remind myself
I can find joy and meaning.
This is no small thing.

... however, maybe ...

I accommodate
to my new circumstances
much too easily.

Is it possible
I am not angry enough
for what was stolen?

Maybe I should be
rip roaring mad and screaming,
this is so unfair!

... stay tuned ... 

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

You See Me …


Emerge from the fog
seemingly capable of
resuming my life.

With my game face on,
I stumble forward across
the vanishing mist.

Unbeknown to me,
another front approaches.
And so it goes on.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Finding Balance


When does misfortune
become crutch or excuse for
low expectations?

How does one balance
a stark assessment of loss
with inspiring hope?

Where does it begin ̶
one's responsibility
for life's wellbeing?