the frozen frame, and the movie

the pen and the shutter

my camera is like my pen,

a tool that allows me to record a bit

of how the world appears to me,

each snap of the shutter

like each scribble of words in a line,

a way to hold a thought, a moment,

to stop time,

and still know we live the movie,

not the frozen frame,

I like to look at word and picture snapshots

and remember moments, process,

I love to capture moments 

with otters, bears, herons, redwoods, vistas,

 

it’s easier to capture moments with flowers

for they wait for you.

by Henry H. Walker

April 16, ‘16

love should guide our steps

a gift I take from Mother

with her life

my mother taught that love

should guide our steps in this world,

her creed also demanded judgment of others,

yet a judgment weighted toward acceptance,

toward appreciation of attitude and effort,

toward whether the other is open to an enlarging sense of self,

for her, mountains lifted the soul,

and our cabin should endure as gateway

for grounding into nature

and grounding into the best of one’s self,

what a gift I took from her

to support connection wherever I can.

by Henry H. Walker

April 16, ‘16

why they're called "blinds"

blind after blind

we Americans live our lives in boxes:

rectangles are us,

even windows are rectangles,

for many of us, 

those rectangles can release our spirits

into air and wood and sky,

get us out of the cage,

out where birds and squirrels and revelation can open us,

I feel like Johnny Appleseed as to apples,

as I open blind after blind

so that my spirit can breathe,

many close them back again

for the comfort of control.

by Henry H. Walker

March 30, ‘16

a tangled mass

Grown-Up

as I walk along the piedmont creek in early spring,

I notice no tangled-growth of last summer,

all seems fresh and full of promise,

not grown-up at all,

how fitting that “grown-up”

describes both the adult

and a tangled green mass.

by Henry H. Walker

March 30, ‘16

how wondrous love can be

two can make a whole

how wondrous it can be

when one can find another,

an other with whom to make a whole,

there can be a sense of completeness,

of something missing, found,

of something needed, there,

of something hoped for, delivered,

of something even more whole than ever seemed possible,

for me, my wife is more me than I can feel I am,

the better self to which I aspire,

the one whose love for me gives me worth,

as time inexorably moves forward,

and the diminishment of aging beats at us,

I fear her loss to me, or my loss to her,

yesterday I felt a beauty in the words and eyes

of another who has lost his helpmate,

and who honored her with a beautiful ceremony

to celebrate her life, and thus also his,

in the partnership that love, marriage,

parenting, and grandparenting created,

The Lundsten Family at the Memorial Service

grace touched them,

how wondrous love can be.

by Henry H. Walker

April 2, ‘16

psyche exhausted

a spring tiredness

just like with the body,

the muscles in my psyche get exhausted,

I tire from connection,

from response after response,

from doing, and doing, and doing,

I feel a sadness rise behind my eyes,

a sense of loss more than of gain,

a sense of glitches in the system,

the more I indulge my self,

whether in pleasure or in effort,

the more I question prices to be paid,

I love my job,

I see the kids, I know them,

and I seek to be my best for them,

I see my colleagues, I can know their effort,

I see what we can be as a school

if we can but find and follow the right paths,

in the spring I often feel so tired

that the joy erupting around me

almost mocks me with how full

plants and animals feel their glasses to be now.

by Henry H. Walker

March 29, ‘16

a tribute to Kate Lundsten

Kathryn June Koebensky Lundsten

life had its challenges in the Iron Range of Minnesota,

and Kathryn June Koebensky lived life well there,

Polish, Finnish, and Swedish stock contributed their gifts to her,

Kate was a woman of strong intelligence with a love of music,

at Northland College she was a vocal music major,

and her singing in the college choir became an avenue

for her to meet Lorman Lundsten, the love of her life,

they always appreciated each other’s intellect and voice,

and loved it when one could make the other laugh,

her growing-up in Virginia, Minnesota, was a time

of not much money but a wealth of family,

her strong will always worked for her,

and sometimes against her,

she endured when physical challenges pulled hard at her self-assurance,

sapped her energy and her wherewithal

and led her to retire in her early fifties,

Kate was a woman of strong opinions

who always knew what she wanted,

when she heard a grandchild would arrive,

she announced: 

“God does answer the prayers of little old ladies,”

she loved antiques, 

particularly those marked as “Made In Occupied Japan”—

figurines, collectibles,

Betsy and Abby sent out to scout flea markets for items she might like,

her antique shop a love for as long as she could maintain it,

when Lorman was teaching in the late afternoon,

 sometimes Kate would drive home, honk the car for Abby,

and they’d go out for pizza, pizza which Lorman didn’t like,

Kate was generous, loving, and devoted 

to husband, children, and grandchildren,

she persevered through physical challenge after challenge,

and then mental challenges added their obstacles to her living life fully,

dementia a further insult to her wholeness,

we can all wish that life had been easier on her,

the best any of us can wish is to do as well as she did

with a good heart, a quick mind, and a love of the joy in a laugh.

by Henry H. Walker

March 25, ’16