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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:28 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

2010



Don't Forget

You speak with your eyes, your touch,
They make me know the caress of words
Don't forget
To say I love you, when you fly away
Don't forget
to say I love you, when you come back
For always I think about you,
where-ever you go, when-ever you are not with me.
For always I wonder,
How can you love me? How can you know
how much I love you? My heart is no longer mine.
I have given it to you and it beats to the words
I love you.
Don't forget
to say I love you before you leave my sight,
Or in the times spent close to my side.
It has never changed,
From seeing the care given by my mother,
From morsels of food passed from my father,
The love which came through
To be the true source of my strength
To teach me the power of
I love you.
And now, together with you,
my life becomes complete,
my being has meaning as we pass that love on
to those soon to share our nest
but it continues to challenge me,
and I need to hear those words.
Don't forget to say
I love you
It puts wings on my heart
to send it flying


Anticipation

Anticipation knows no doubts at the onset of expectation, for the new born will be perfect.
No thought is given to having to feed and nurture as the joy of greeting the young overwhelms the senses and the world is beautiful.
No concern for the many morsels to be found and fed to eager, screeching voices. That comes later.
The nest has been cared for, strengthened, re-arranged by both parents with consultation together and an individual stick movement privately made, hoping the other will not notice the change or if noticed, will leave it alone.
Each knows the best way for it to be prepared but willing in love to give the other the right to make a change and to adopt the change as if it was their own.
The shared anticipation brings peace to the two. It is another year, they have done it before, and they are so proud of the ones who have flown away into a future foreign to those who now await the arrival of a new challenge, willing to give their time, their love, their patience, their efforts to raise to the sky a beautiful work of art which is both their joy and heart ache.
Forgotten is the hard good-bye of the months ago, but remembered is the pride of the first bite, first steps, first flight.
The past is dim and gone, while today, the future is bright, the sun is lighting the egg, carefully turned by gentle nudging to insure success, and a joyful tear rolls off the beak to christen the coming birth, marking it with the love awaiting the peep of hello from the voice coming out of a broken shell into the warmth of adoration.
They know it will be strong and grow into a magnificent monarch of the sky. Yes, Anticipation knows no doubts.
It is nature's love of life and a gift to the future.


The Wind

The wind bends the tree to its wishes, moving the tired limbs into strain
But the strength is still there and the nest holds firm,
though the Parent, matters not which one, is stoic in the midst of turmoil
Confident that home will survive as it has since they
Carried the first small stick skyward, leaving the ground
To become a new earth for the life soon to be thrust upon the
Sticks which will have been formed, in hours of labor,
from a pile of scattered unlessness, into a unity of strength to become
A home where young would first greet the sky, to see
Their destiny from the very first moment of life, above
The scampering of earth bound creatures, to see the
Sky as home and watch the earth become foreign.
A place for short visits, to be left, as their true place lies above the nest.
Where the wind is a true friend, rising currents are helping hands,
And miles will glide below their wandering, wondering eyes.
But today, that life lies ahead, guarded by the warmth of love,
shielding them from the cold of snow, the pounding of the rain,
And standing guard against the predators which would take from the nest
The beginning of life as a prize for their labors, but are denied
By the strength of parents, proven in other years, strong enough
To change an egg into an eagle, to guide its development until
It too, as those who came before, flies away with the parentís heart,
Which heals through the winter to meet the challenge, once again,
Of the wind blowing the tree while love holds tight to the swaying nest.




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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:47 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

The Moment

It comes to fulfill the waiting, the desire
which filled the heart and grew into love
for the one to come and give body to a
thought, a dream, a wish, a future.
The stirring before birth a harbinger of
emerging youth which soon will be
unceasing in its demands on the time of
parents, asking for love signified by
the attention to needs that over-ride
thoughts of rest. Quiet will be gone,
until the gape of hungry mouths is
satisfied, to be replaced by nestled down
pulsating feather balls seeking warmth
for their sleep, their growth racing to
find its way into strangeness and
wonder. The waiting will be fulfilled
with the first tiny sound of the beak
beating against the isolation of shell,
seeking freedom from confinement
to find contentment with the parents
glowing internally at the moment of
birth, the moment of joy.



The Loss

Life swirls around us, constantly moving, changing, leaving in disarray our desires, our wishes or hopes.
In their place are put events over which we have no control but can only stand aside to watch
both impressive magnificence or utter disaster.
Given to us are the colors of an ephemeral rainbow, the auburn golden sunset,
the waterfalls cascading down a hillside through bright sunshine sparkling like gems,
quiet glades in copses spread across miles of flowing green fields and
multitudinous other wonders always visible to the searching eye.
Yet, in the blink of the lid, the scene can shift to an earth split asunder,
strewing behind it broken hearts wondering what might have been if events
had not gone astray from our thoughts of a future, demanding the recognition
that the future is not ours to demand, the present a gift, and the past just memory
which can either hurt or elate, and that we can control.
We may, if we chose, stop time in our mind, refusing to live with what is and
try to make hope reality and drown the future in tears, but how much better
would be the bitter acceptance of past fate for a short time, feeling the pain,
then fully moving forward into endeavors which may make our lives better than the past gave us.
Let the actions of the mother show us the way
for when she saw the terrible absence of half her labors she screamed to the heavens, venting her anger,
then surveyed what was true in that moment. and once again, nestled the egg
to give that life the best chance within her power to do so. Not forgetting what was but living for what can be,
Can we do less than what mother did in the eagle's nest?


Wonder

Wonder is all around us. We can see the
warmth of the rising sun which causes the fog,
obscuring our vision, to become invisible itself,
We pause in walking across hills covered with spring's bloom
in an avalanche of colors, too many to describe, the magnificence
of a distant storm cloud, readying itself to pour out the moisture
which will fill the streams, feed the dry seeds lying in wait
for the water's call to awaken, and build us a rainbow across
the panorama of a world, pointing us to the pot of gold which
is earth itself, if we would but pause to enjoy it.
The wonder of a plant, springing from the earth to twist and turn
in growth before bursting into glorious blossoms or giving of itself
to feed the mouths of the animals wandering along the way
of a mountain side glowing in the evening sun, reflecting a beauty
in golden hues upon a picnic celebrating the ending of a another day.
Wonders without end, no beginning for they are there before us,
no ending for they will be here after we are gone, just waiting
for a new appreciation by an observer who pauses to bask in the wonder
of life.
Life, for that is the biggest wonder of all. The first view seen by a newborn,
the beginning of the wonder which will fill the new life and lead it into
unknown experiences, the wonder that will fill the parents
at what they have wrought and the desire to help that tiny being
to become its own destiny. With tenderness, unimaginable of
parents who so greatly magnify the smallness of the new birth, they
will wonder what drives them to feed and tend to the needs so different
from their own. They await the wonder of growth and maturity which
gives wing to the one now so tiny. The wonder of life.


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:49 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

The Comfort of Home


Comfort lies around the area, holding close the needy,
too young to be alone, without the ability
to find food but feeling the pangs of hunger,
without the strength to walk away from danger,
uncovered to the elements which assault
the tenderness of early life, and comes from the warmth
of parent's tenderness.
The soft encouragement of tucked talons where
harm is hidden from a careless rambunctious youth
with no awareness of the danger which straddles
their resting spot, so carefully crafted, before
they even were, to cosset them as life rushed
to envelope them with both danger and joy.
The danger is learned with time and that
only after they have felt and come to know the comfort
of a nest to hold them, a parent to feed them, a wing to
keep them dry from pounding rain, the close snuggle
with feathered breast shielding from the wind, and the
nightly peace knowing they are protected until
once again the morning sun brings a new day.
The comfort builds, day by day, to form a bond
which in later days will hold them until their true
life, their destiny, pulls them from comfort into
the future. But for now, they snuggle, together with
mom and dad, and sleep, in wonderful comfort.


Storms of Life

The storms of life rush forwards, implacable
in their path onwards, not swayed or diverted
moving without malice but carrying destruction inside,
to be distributed in random lots, some close together,
some wide apart showing no regard for any
obstacle in their paths as we wait for the presence
of the rain or hail or snow or wind or combinations
of their contents strewn across our lives.
Yet, how easy to laugh in the rain, stomp in puddles,
and breathe the freshness of a sky scrubbed clean
by the wind and rain, bringing a new smell, a new
day into life for us to savor.
The lighting from some declares their presence and loudly
tells you how far away they are, to put peace in mind
as flashes of brilliance show the beauty hidden in
the dark clouds when the flash explodes inside the
columns of water laden mountain sized masses resisting
the pull of gravity to stay aloft and move on, away.
Then comes the quiet, made more vivid by the storms
just gone and a ray of light pierces down to splash into
a golden display across the earth and breaks into
a rainbow showing all the colors imaginable.
Life, once again is livable, wonderful, rich with joy.
For storms will always be with us, but so too, shall be peace.


When

When did the baby leave?
It was here just moments ago. So little,
helpless without my protection, my comforting.
and now, gone. Gone when I looked away. I looked back
And there was no need for me to keep close so
the tiny mouth could reach the small bits of food I offered.,
No need for the cover of feathers to shield from sun
which made the needed sleep stay away from tired eyes
that drooped with weariness, no need to stay each moment
with a size attractive to foragers forever prowling
in search of unprotected food which is the loved
youth of absent parent and for a moment left alone.
Now, the need is still here, but how it has changed.
The bites of food larger and pursued wherever I
land in the nest or move to eat. The room has been rearranged.
The brooding hole is gone, filled in for more space
to hold the two side by side.

So short a time to nestle to my breast, hold, and be overcome
with the joy shared by all new parents. The look
of budding youth, the tiny features drawing love
from both ma and pa. The completeness of life.
The baby is gone and a new development period
begins where growth gives daily new challenges
to feed, guide, protect one who faces dangers of
walls low enough to fall over, dangers not evident to youth
but looming large in the experienced eyes of adults
dangers of eagerness to fly away before wings are ready.
We hope we are ready


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:50 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

Thanks, Ma

It's too early to leave the warmth of your covering feathers
That through the dark of the night have been my comfort,
holding me next to your breast where I could feel
the beat of your heart in rhythm with mine, telling me
I was loved, I was protected, and I could sleep in peace,
for I could feel, pouring from you across my nervous
moments, the love that said with your life you would
protect mine, and I sensed the strength behind the promise
that each day, with the rising sun I could come into a new gift,
a sunrise bringing the wide world you promise me into view.
I was nothing and you gave me tenderness before you knew me,
you gave me a home, made for my needs and abilities,
which have changed so fast my head can hardly understand but
you have been, and still are, beside me with guidance, care,
forgiveness, and totally overflowing with love.
Ma, I was nothing without you, and now, with you, I wonder
what would I do without you? You are my life and it grows
from within you to make me an eagle. Love is so easy to say
but you make me feel speechless to tell you how wonderful
it is to call you, "Ma."
Today seems to be made for you, and I love you too.


Midlife comes

The parents can hardly wait for the young to mature and that feeling is coupled with the intense desire of the young to be like the parent while at the same time each does not want what the change demands.
The beautiful helplessness of the new birth instills in the adult a feeling of joy and apprehension. The pleasure of seeing the adoration in the eyes first glimpse of a world made up only of the one caring for them, to forever make the parent into their image of a god while the parent sees a precious being entrusted to their feeble efforts to guide the young into a responsible adult capable of being what its destiny needs. Communication exists only by actions and learning occurs only by the adult guiding by example to watch the young discover from those actions what it must do to advance.
The advance is inevitable, the progress noticeable, both regretted and praised. Neither wants to lose what they have, the closeness of parent and child mixed together with a yearning to part and be separate beings, each free of restraints. No adult feelings can replace the moments welding together young and old from the first moment of life, nor can the strength of that bond hold back the time which breaks apart the bond to replace it with the desire to be as they each know to be their own life where they carry memories of the past, which will then seem so short but wonderful as forgotten are the moments of stress and fear that have been replaced by views of the future and the urge to go into that future, whatever it might be.
But now, they are in the middle of transition, neither free nor restrained, still bound by mutual drive to feed and be fed, to nurture and step aside, neither begging for food and hunting for prey, to practice with ineffective wings and soaring aloft. Each eager to go forward but filled with joy in the moment of nestling next to each other at days end, to share a nest, a place of rest, warmth and contentment but only for a time which seems to vary instantaneously from too long to a regretted quickness.
Middle life is not old, it is that time when both young and old want the time to both stand still and hurry forward,. for now together and tomorrow apart, both desired, both regretted, flight feathers mix with childhood fluff, neither ready to be the only thing but clinging for the time together. Life has to be lived in the moment, neither in the past or the possible future, for the future can not be known just anticipated and the past cannot be changed.
And observers are just that, removed from contact but concerned and caring, hoping that magnificence awaits the youth maturing before their watching eyes, unable to do anything other than watch and silently tell the observed, " I love you" even when knowing their voice is not heard but still the feeling is there. then night falls and the view
is lost. Then we wait for the morrow to blossom into a new beauty and a new view of two that know not of our existence while they carry our hearts with then for just a little while longer and they leave youth behind to climb into their sky, to find their destiny.



Only

An only eaglet has a difficult beginning
for there is no one else to compare themselves with.
No other to try something first and let the younger learn
by the mistakes of rushing in where age is not ready
to lift up the dreams to a higher plane, where strength
is not capable of achieving what the mind can envision
and judgment too immature to have learned when to
exercise caution and step only so far as safety will
keep the life from being lost.
An only one compares its progress to the adult
and decides to immolate a parent whose strength and
life has given movements still denied the weakness
of undeveloped feathers, muscle tone not familiar
with the demands of a wing beat, or endurance
to return to a place higher than where they might land.
The screams of frustration are converted into demands
for food and care, demands to a parent to help and
make the development moves faster.
The helpless parent tries to lead by example and must
control the urge to push for the same development before
time has prepared the young to become an eagle. Youth
must be contained until maturity has molded the parts
all together and a complete project of transformation
is seen to take the first leap into the future and fly.
An only must go by their own pace and no other
for all the ones around them cannot give them
the knowledge that they are ready, it must come from within,
when it is time for them to soar and hear the roar of the wind
across their head and know it is real
and not what they have dreamed when looking up
to a parent holding a bit of food to build for that day.
Born alone to rise to a lonely life, until someday they are two.




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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:52 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

Graduation

Graduation day is coming, faster than possible.
Only yesterday a shell still sheltered Solo.
Time seemed to drag on and on, ever so slowly,
til one morning came the first peep from a head
so unsteady it could not stay upright but a moment
until it collapsed into the comfort of the familiar,
the nest which the parents had prepared and which
now held the precious newborn. How weak, how
needful of attentive care. The warmth of bare breast,
to better give heat to hasten the development and then,
the days of frequent feeding, the tiny bites growing into
fragments, into whole chunks, shielded from the parent
who in numerous flights brought the food and now,
was happy to see the progress, the growth, but not
ready for graduation.
Time moves at its own pace and the change
from having to be fed to wanting to feed alone is the diploma,
marking the first big step of independence, now comes
individual work to exercise in readiness for flight.
How has time moved that fast,
Ten million things have been done and the time which
loomed large has become so small it seems impossible,
that all to be done has been and now departure day
will soon follow graduation. How times flies away, carrying
love with it that holds our heart and our wishes,
our sorrow at the absence and joy in the pride
of our success and our future which leaves us behind.
No diploma carries as much significance as our hope
that with our loss comes a new generation in time, which,
using the lessons we taught, gives flight to the future,
again and again.

Solo was only one and now the pilot's view of "solo',
indicating flight alone, without an instructor, lies soon in front
of the young eaglet. Go solo Solo and be mighty.


Beauty of the future

We dream of an unseen future, a time when where we are
going, as well as where we are at that moment. We dream
of what might be happening ahead of us, that we will reach,
what happens beside us, that we will join with what stranger will
enter our hidden future. We look but find no answer, today
is our only known, regardless of how hard we try, the future
is always just out of sight, hidden behind a veil of possibilities,
which causes concern for the worried and creates anticipation
in the adventuresome who look for the golden rays which hurl
themselves down through the clouds to bring a golden beauty
to those who have been awaiting their return.
Yet, to the spirited, as well as the chest-fallen, the future
is still not visible. We are permitted to see only portions,
like bright stripes of color coming from a prism to splatter
against the lens of our understanding of what lies ahead.
Where we might see brilliant blue of beauty, another sees the blue of sadness,
the red evoking a rose and its aroma, or the blood of sorry pouring
out the life of a loved one. The colors, each so individual, so
different, yet if we look closely and think of going the opposite way,
the colors can flow back into the prism as small pieces to erupt
from the face of the prism as one bright beam illuminating
our life, but we can only see the colors, tomorrow holds the light.
As we wish to see through the obstruction to our vision and know
what Solo is doing, does Solo look back at us and wonder where the future
is leading that life. Both groups, the viewers and the viewed see so very little,
while wishing it was otherwise for a moment, then realizing
the beauty of the future is its promise.

And our strength is in being ready
for the gift we receive in the next moment of our life.
Solo, we wish you growth and a future fit for an eagle. Our dreams
go with you to carry you high and for us to hear, someday, your eagle's cry.
The cry which echoes from the canyon walls and tells of the joy contained
in the freedom to drift in flight, from today into the promised tomorrow,
where, just as today, we cannot see and therein lies the beauty.


Continue the Journey

It is so easy to quit when nothing can be seen
leading toward a desired, and sought for, goal which
now lies hidden behind more problems than
imagination ever devised or prepared for.
Life is expected to travel along a well laid path
as a train runs over rails leading to a known, not
an unknown door to open into a mystery where
preparations are left behind, for such have years
proven the satisfaction found from reaching the
mountain top of achievement where the journey
is strewn behind, showing the course and pointing
out the labors of the accomplishment.
But what do we do when the pathway leads through
impenetrable forests to emerge at some later point
and we can only hope that when the endeavors
are completed the result will be as all those having
been waiting outside the obscuring trees expect
and tragedy does not befall the one making the
solo effort.
We wait, that is all that is apportioned for us, to observe
and desire a clearing of the interfering growth preventing
our observation as we wish for an end to wonder
to change into a wonderful end as we can watch
an eagle soar, even if we did not see each step, but stayed
with trust that it was not our eyes which make the miracle
but rather the love of parents feeding the explosion of change
to give flight to a fledgling, and throw an eagle into the sky.
If we wonder about the hours we watch,
we see, and now know why.




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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:53 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

A Permanent Change

A permanent change is just that. Once the change happens it can not be undone.
Imagine trying to unbeat an egg and put it back into the shell, separate orange paint back into the cans of yellow and red, or getting every one at a football game to get back in the same seat after they have left the stadium. Two permanent changes will occur this year in the lives of the eagle parents.
One has gone past and is almost forgotten until we force it back into our thoughts. The recent storms brings it to the forefront again as we hear the thunder, see the wind and the rain. An suddenly we can see clearly how the old nest clung to the tree for a long time , then in a brief moment, when our eyes were elsewhere, the nest started moving sideways, still hanging on but unable to resist the pull of gravity being helped by raindrops impacts combined with howling winds. And the home for years of fledgling days dropped from our sight. The memory of the nest and its occupants have not been forgotten but we accept the demise of what has been and look closer at the new nest, the new life without the old. A permanent change.
Now, the time nears for the second change. One we hope for, have waited for but wish it did not have to happen. A few days delay to extend our time with the new life. For we know the change will be permanent. Today youth is served by age, but that will be as distinctive as a bolt of lightning when the youth, who has been practicing for the day, succeeds. Let us not forget how many failures happened, how many times flight was just a foot-long hop, soaring was only across the nest as wings would not sustain unlimited free movement. Quitting was never considered, for the future promised more and the only way to travel into the future was to try again, and again, and again until a slight advance in performance encouraged even more and harder efforts. A failure was just a way to try harder.
Soon, our view of the fledgling, will become a view of an eagle, and then the permanent change as the eagle fades into the distance and leaving us with only our memories. Then we can take heart in learning the lesson this little feathered ball has demonstrated by going for the impossible with no dismay but eagerness to improve, making each day better than yesterday. For in that mind was the thought that the sky's the limit and into the sky it will go. Wish you all, either at the nest or around the world connected by the cameras, can see the future lift off, right before your eyes.

Then, wait 'til next year.



Close in the Heart

Distance is not always measured in meters
for it so many times is a function of thought.
The young may be close to the warmth of mothers breast
while their thoughts are lost in the vastness of unknown
places yet to even be more than imaged destinations
lying far away from the nest which holds them and
at the same time the parent wishes to be drifting
over sun drenched hills with their lifting breezes where
just gliding along the shore clawing its way into the sea
causes white capped waves to eternally push back and
the eagle is neither involved or affected by that struggle.
And a mere movement by either in the nest can instantly
re-unite them to the nearness of the other where the love
of young to parent causes a snuggle to draw closer and the
response of parent to tuck, by a nudging beak, a loved one
into their protection.
And too soon it seems in the instant that bond is broken
and separation becomes not just thought
but the reality of independent life never to be reduced
to the closeness of early life again, except in remembrance.
Standing now on separate limbs, next to a nest filled
not by their presence but with their absence, each says
good-bye even though they are there together. They will stay
close while yet far, far apart by distance but not by heart.
The parent suffers the tearing feeling of loss while knowing
it must be so, the young must grow , the young must find
what lies ahead for them, leaving behind the proud
but sorrowing parent who soars for the joy of their fledgling
entering a maturity long awaited, now wished to be delayed,
for just one more minute, must you go, so soon. And the
answering cry, with pathetic wavering tells of the love
being split asunder when the sky calls and must be obeyed.
Eagles are meant to fly, to leave behind a home which
is no longer theirs, to leave it for preparation of the future
while they find their future in the freedom of flight, where
the distance from home depends not on geography but
the heart, which can make them close again, when ever
they wish. We send them off with our wish that they, someday
sometime will repeat this story with their own family.Yet,
for just a few more moments they stand close to the nest
Will this moment be the last until with a strong thrust
of flapping wings it becomes the past. and distance becomes.


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By: jkr (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 10:27 PM EDT  
jkr

Thank You 4voyager, these are absolutely wonderful. I'll definitely be reading them again and again.

Velma, thank you for posting them. love


~Judy~


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By: Woodlands Bleu (offline) on Sunday, July 11 2010 @ 05:35 PM EDT  
Woodlands Bleu

Judy and PEB......

I posted a number of poems that I wrote, but they disappeared in the server change. I tried! If they reappear they will be here, if not, I guess they were not meant to be.

Thanks for all y'all do!
carolyn


eta......reposted as requested.


Choose joy.......
Since Sept 2009.
carolyn


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