let us turn round right

to see with 40/40 vision

What a concept!

to imagine life as a spiral

with soon-to-be 40 turnings,

each turn another year,

each self within you different,

yet also somehow the same,

the view changes,

but the eyes open into a continuity

who has a stubborn sureness of identity,

one who knows and judges

according to its sense of past, 

of present, of its possible futures,

we are made up of an assemblage of developmental selves

who increasingly can see from higher, broader, deeper perspectives,

yet also can forget how sure and deep our earlier selves got it

more than our newer versions might remember,

an 11 year old’s points about love

so sharp they cut true to my 71 year old values,

I hear touches of those revelations of truth

in the recounting of interview after interview,

somehow the multitudes within

combine into who we are, each 

needs to be remembered,

needs to be treasured,

needs to be heard so that we turn round right,

and act with gratitude and love for our moments

and for the self that lives them.

by Henry H. Walker

May 14, ‘19

Arts Eve at CFS

art, triumphant

art is when we rise out of the mundane,

when we add dimensions to the plane

upon which we feel ourselves to live,

it is art when we add

the personal

the creative

who can come within us

as if a muse and 

then can act upon the world,

art can let us see possibility,

the way a next moment can transcend the last moment,

the way imagination can spring full-blown from our head

as if Athena becomes real, and helps us become real,

then a story births itself,

a photograph, a painting, a performance,

I have heard of a sculptor 

who can actually hear the call

of the shape within the stone,

that’s how I see the photos

inherent within the possibilities

of the view before me,

a photo can call to me

and I can precipitate it within my lens,

art is the calling that pulls us out of the mundane

to live a time where the fantastic

begs to be born into story,

where the gifts of voice, 

and instrument, 

of the body kinesthetic,

will not be hidden,

tonight is Arts Eve, within which 

the dancers, singers, musicians, painters,

the artists, the shapers,

claim a night to shine, 

and they do,

triumphantly.

by Henry H. Walker

May 9, ‘19

the power of their words

13, going on wise

I have a class of seventh graders

who regularly overwhelm me

with the quality of their writing,

with the quality of the self within them

that will not be denied the floor upon which to speak,

it is the first of the ninth month of our being together,

and I challenge them to write an essay,

an essay on the meaning of life,

the purpose that we should follow

with the steps of our choosing,

the essay follows in-depth readings of stories

within which the authors develop possible answers,

the strengths and the pitfalls of choices,

the quality of the examined life each of my students lives

and puts into words proves to the doubter within me

the rightness of the believer within me,

the one who sees each student

as daring to be whole

when dissolution calls so strongly to them,

one student doubted: 

“I’m only 13.  What do I really know?”

I responded that I see them as “13 going on wise,”

and feared that they see themselves as “13 going on stupid,”

another student wrote that she knew

that each of them hated themselves,

while still finding wisdom and eloquence in her points and words,

their essays, dropped onto the scale of insight,

prove the amazing power that a young adult can feel and express,

if but given the opportunity and support to speak the truth

that the mountains they are climbing allow them to see.

by Henry H. Walker

May 3, ‘19

they come into their power

Into the Woods

on stage young people can reveal

how well they’re coming into their power,

tonight was of virtuoso performance:

actors using the vehicle of the musical,

the ideas, the acting, the singing, the movement,

the scenery and costuming and staging,

to present a wholeness within themselves

that crescendoes into a larger wholeness

as story and relationship captivate the audience,

and we swell toward rightness,

we are social beings who are also individual and unique,

on stage we can be true to the difference as to who we are

yet also to the commonality of who we can be,

when we partner with others in cast and crew, 

and then audience,

to rebuild toward a whole

that is who we are at the deepest and most real,

“Into the Woods” tonight was audacious and thrilling in its success,

as actors scurried to care for costume and self after the show,

I heard the director announce:

“no notes from tonight,”

that they had done so well

that he had no directions on what to fix,

how wonderful when revelation speaks clearly.

by Henry H. Walker

May 2, ‘19

students, and teaching, living

life as unscripted movie

every person’s life is an unscripted movie,

with the star challenged to find action and word

to get through each scene

before the next scene challenges anew,

as a teacher I am gifted

with a front row seat for some of the scenes,

I clearly see the actor

and revel in the quality of self revealed

in intent, in word, in action,

I can applaud with my own word and care

the quality before me,

then the movie shifts location, 

to be filmed away from me,

I often know little of how it turns out,

maybe an occasional review by someone who has seen later scenes,

sometimes the actor flashing back to a visit,

and my appreciation of the quality of the self living its story

reprises for a bit,

today I visited for a time with a former student

who will not be denied in her quest

to create a career with the songs her soul writes

and her voice and hands release to the world,

the meaning and music of her words

ethereal and grounded at the same time,

one song written to a mother fighting cancer

before and after the birth of her child,

Caitlin was asked for help,

and she writes a song,

and she performs a song,

and she shares a song,

mother and child make it through their scenes so far,

how wonderful that my former student knows her power

and uses it to help others

make it through their scenes,

the movie rolls on,

and we all can hope 

that the script we write with our lives

will be worth the screen time we use up.

by Henry H. Walker

April 27, ‘19

a brilliant mind, a committed heart

Jamie Hysjulien

I sat in on a senior seminar one time,

a brief period of asking questions of the student

who was venturing a take on truth,

based on what they’d been studying

and what the student ventured as thesis,

Jamie revealed himself then:

a brilliant mind, a committed heart,

a devoted teacher who joyed in the student’s

brilliant mind, committed heart, devotion to truth,

as I sit outside now, it’s a perfect day

of deep blue sky, of brilliant late afternoon light

reveling in the revealing of the oak tree above,

just coming fully into its power,

like the student in the senior seminar,

how strange it feels to have the world around me

not reeling from the loss of such a fine man:

a devoted partner, a devoted parent,

a doting grandparent,

a colleague who lifted more than his share 

of students toward the light, 

I imagine kid after kid becoming adult after adult,

each coming more fully into the power within them

that Jamie helped refine and release

into a world that needs brilliant minds and committed hearts,

who know how to become and be,

in no small part because Jamie

saw them, loved them, helped them,

may each honor Jamie with how well each

sees the world, sees themselves within that world,

and finds the ways to make a difference, for the better.

by Henry H. Walker

April 22, ‘19

birds, birds, birds

frenetic birds amidst the swell of spring

birds awake in early spring,

as if on speed:

before daybreak, they call as if to wake us all up,

two male bluebirds this morning blur in a frenzy on the ground,

some kind of dominance fight

with females flitting nearby,

maybe a challenge as to which couple 

gets the bluebird house for their eggs, and then young,

by dinner time, one male stands atop it,

and only barely tolerates me 25 feet away,

a tufted titmouse can’t figure me out

and comes closer and closer,

as I need to be dealt with,

two mourning doves write quick paths

from tree to tree across my view,

a hummingbird pauses on branches,

and then zings to our sugar water feeder,

our ginkgo and one of our oaks are early in their leafing,

the red maple halfway to full leaf,

as are most of the oaks around us,

last week’s pine pollen invasion

mostly washed away by a near foot of rain,

though our car still has edges stained gold,

in the garden I have trusted that

“the early bird gets the worm,”

so a dozen and a half tomatoes, 

ones I started from seed inside,

are rooting into the fertile soil,

held up by nestling leaves,

red potatoes and sugar snap peas are hard at work,

the buttercrunch lettuce and first basil

have been subdued by torrents of rain,

squash, bush beans, okra, and pumpkin await their time,

sour cherry and blueberry are setting:

the redbud has finished, the dogwood is full,

our grass needs cutting,
the columbine is triumphant:

the plant kingdom is like the early adolescents I teach,

swelling with the pride of becoming,

not yet into the full power that comes

before the long decline.

by Henry H. Walker

April 17, ‘19