Child Development through Poetry

 

the chaos of possibility

from the Source a child goes forth

on a journey of their own

with but hints from a confusing world to guide them,

each learns by doing,

venture after venture judged by result

with little conscious choice about it all,

their universe a chaos of possibility

with pattern of effect the only way to learn of cause,

those first days, months, years,

an early fog from which shapes appear

fitfully, then resolve toward clarity,

imagine the eyes of a baby and your eyes,

that time when the little one starts to notice you,

to see you there, to find your eyes as anchor,

to find your eyes as key to a self that can be known,

both one inside and one outside,

know then that a self awakens behind the eyes,

reprises the shock and wonder of being 

within a world that can be understood,

that can be a stage upon which to act,

a place within which the child can go forth

and develop with both commonality and uniqueness,

any of us who are gifted with witnessing the child going forth,

maybe with helping on the journey, should feel honored

as the new self births the best version of itself it can, 

and we are there.

by Henry H. Walker

November 19, ‘21

The above poem speaks to what pulled me to work on capturing the moments and stages of our children's and our grandchildren's development.  I have sought each time I am with them to understand them, to appreciate them, and then often to chronicle effort and result.  Next month my illustrated poetry book should be released through Amazon: 200 pages, hardback, a beautiful pen-and-ink illustration for each poem.  I have sought to chronicle the journey from birth onwards, finishing up with a poem of our granddaughter Izzi's bat mitzvah last June.  How to get a copy will be shared as that way opens.

the child develops

 

child development, head and heart

the scientist in me wants to understand

what actually happens as a child develops toward adult,

the progress that can occur

when a glitch does not intrude,

I lead with my head,

the parent, the grandparent, in me, 

leads with my heart,

the child develops as I am on the sidelines,

cheering, or fearing, with each decision

with each result, with each movement 

toward the uncertain future,

I want both head and heart to witness,

I hope to celebrate,

it is hard to imagine any value in my life more important 

than to help the trueness of the younger generations 

continue toward a future that sees them, that appreciates them,

that lets them keep discovering how they can be as extraordinary

as the greatness which parent and grandparent see them to own.

by Henry H. Walker

November 12, ‘21

holding both the subtraction and the addition

 avoidance

current America has perfected avoidance

of looking death in the eye,

of looking in the eye of those slipping away,

of looking at the lives of those we have lost

with both appreciation of their gifts,

and acknowledgement of their human frailties,

when we see someone who has lost a person close to them,

we sympathize and want to help,

so we say we’re “sorry” 

and can forget to ask how they are,

or to express how wrenched we are, too,

we sympathize and want to help,

to me the “I’m sorry”

sounds like they feel some responsibility for the loss,

and need to be reassured, 

a feeling that somehow the death could have been avoided

if we had but done something differently,

I need the focus to be on the loss,

after I posted this, a friend emailed me a suggestion I like:

"ask for something they treasure in the person they’ve lost,"

it is hard to see a future without the lost one in it, without us in it,

it is hard to see and feel the wrench that a death gives,

I know inside my heart that I will die,

and I avoid any real thinking about it,

that same avoidance of thinking about a future without us,

pushes us to skitter away from dealing with loss:

from feeling both the pain of subtraction from our lives,

and appreciating the addition each life gone has given us.

by Henry H. Walker

November 6, ‘21

Walisiyi, a.k.a. Mt. LeConte

 

the definition of a mountain

definition:

many mountains rise among and on top of each other,

one mountain, Walisiyi, a.k.a. Mt. LeConte,

rises abruptly from its base,

defining itself as unique,

brother and sister to its fellows, but standing out,

as if commanding the attention,

on top I feel it commands the view,

here on top, a homely lodge cradles on deep soil,

with great water and greater views,

unique again with such dependable water so close to the summit,

I sit here on the roofed porch of a 4 person cabin,

in a rocking chair gray and ageless as the clouds,

the valley below me as if in its plains truth,

clouds settle on the land below,

filling hollows like whipped cream spread as icing,

the gorgeous frasier fir before me

know how to live and thrive

through the biting cold of winter.

definition:

this mountain defines it.

by Henry H. Walker

November 3, ‘21

how wonderful to be!

 

as the sun sets

at sunset time

clouds rule the heavens

and increasingly swell from the valley floor,

while in-between views grab us through the clear air,

though the sun hides as do the colors it pulls from the sky,

the beauty of this sunset is spectacular

if we but have the eyes to see

each tree, each rock,

each patch of moss, of lichen,

which can center the world for us

as we acknowledge their gravity,

countless lives lived so the what is now could come to be,

the very rock we walk on, which holds us toward the sky,

has a story better than we can usually hear,

how wonderful it is for us to be, to hear.

by Henry H. Walker

November 3, ‘21

when our sun must go down

 

our sun will set

a Native American prayer I love,

and use in my meditations quite often,

faces the west, sunset,

with life parallel to a day when it’s over, 

the sunset often in a blaze of glory and color,

I love that metaphor

better than a slammed door,

a switch turned-off,

a sled gliding to a stop after the hill,

I like the idea of a play that’s run its course,

and the curtain call is celebratory,

the run was good,

and we made a difference,

we get to the mountains in early November,

the trees devastatingly beautiful

they drop the green of the living year

and reveal the yellows and reds,

the gold with them,

that celebrates the audacity and glory

that is who we are,

at least who we can be at our heart,

i love the fall that celebrates the year

and allows those trees of color

to release themselves to joy,

before it’s time to spiral to the ground

and lose individuality as all turn brown

and seek to be reunited with the Earth, now mother.

by Henry H. Walker

November 2, ‘21

still striving

 

to walk in beauty

every day we live is audacious,

entropy calls to us to let go,

the couch wants to swallow us in its lethargy,

foods murmur to us to just give in to them,

our screens are just as desired as our food

to capture our eyes, our time, our self,

tomorrow my wife and I hope to walk hard up a mountain,

even though the sunset and sunrise on top

might not get past the gray of the cloud,

even though ice might come at us,

even though snow might come at us,

rain might dampen our spirits,

as long as we are able, as long as we can,

we want to walk in beauty,

and find ourselves to be who we still are,

still striving.

by Henry H. Walker

November 2, ‘21

an overview of LeConte, up and down

 

the hike itself

our bodies and will work together

for over three hours of hard hiking

up the fourth highest mountain east of the Rockies,

the angle up, daunting,

hundreds of steps chiseled into the rock

and built with wood as if stairways,

the lower slopes strewn with golden leaves,

a goodly number of trees aflame with color along the trail,

higher up the mountain we look back and down,

and clouds fill the first third of the elevation gain,

other clouds are high enough to allow and frame vistas

that pull the eye and the soul

back into the wonder any walk in beauty should feel,

sunset is gorgeous but lacks color

as a front settles in on us,

through the night light snow falls for hours,

building up on the trees 

and on the roofs and steps of buildings around us,

yet the way back down the mountain was safe,

with no ice below our feet but for slushy snow,

fall not yet ready to give in to winter,

still winter visits in the morning

to foreshadow the coming truth,

mountain ash has readied itself, dropping its leaves,

and clustering its hope into what new years will bring,

the ash prominently display bright red berries

who stand out beautifully in the white snow,

which marries itself to the evergreens 

that continue to grow and thrive, even in the cold

when the sun’s energy is so rationed

that growth almost hibernates,

we hike down the mountain with care to our footing,

and with joy in each revelation of transformation,

the snow like magical frames

within which each view we have known before

finds itself transformed, and we feel both stranger, 

and welcomed, into this new land,

our steps down the mountain are every moment a cusp of choice,

our eyes and brains choose between multiple possibilities every step,

when memories grab my attention, I can miss what’s before, 

and misstep,

what a hard lesson walking down a mountain can teach us,

that we need to live in the moment,

while at the same time realizing

how choices now can impact how next we live,

we must do the best we can to find a good path forward

and avoid the stasis of fear as we realize

that the consequence of choice might be wrong,

we make it down the mountain,

we are tired, and fulfilled,

near the end my wife spots an unusual salamander,

we stop, marvel, photograph,

a lesson to us to allow spontaneous revelation to occur 

while we still take cautious steps in our journeys.

by Henry H. Walker

November 4, ‘21