what to do with a vacuum

a drive toward order, a drive away

before, and then within,

there’s a drive to be that suffuses life, 

a drive to create order,

to hold against the light’s dying,

life is of the maker, the doer,

part of why I love science fiction

is the inherent optimism within it—

the belief that we can, and we will, move forward, upward,

seek to go out into the solar system, the galaxy, the universe,

and find answers to fill the vacuum of our ignorance,

I also love politics,

despite how much it seeks to prove 

that there is no limit to our stupidity,

that our ignorance can be a vacuum

sweeping all others before it.

by Henry H. Walker

April 24, ‘15

a chipmunk

a chipmunk and I

the chipmunk flits from under a rock

to a hole below a root,

then quickly from his underground world

through his outside world, as a blur,

then she freezes as if in pose,

till a quick shift to consider

my change in her world,

we stare at each other, neither moving

for about a minute,

then we both are off,

away from that intersection,

for her I was but a potential threat,

once gone from her presence,

gone from her thoughts,

whereas I still feel 

the enigmatic touch of her eyes

and the blur of her speed.

by Henry H. Walker

April 17, ‘15

CFS is 50!

how fare they?

as a teacher

I feel myself to be a companion,

for a time,

sometimes a guide,

sometimes as an optimistic mirror

that reflects back the best of the person before me,

another way I feel myself to be

is as a sower of seeds,

and I rarely know whether they fall on fertile ground,

and, even if they do,

I rarely know the fruition,

this evening I spent time 

with some of my earliest students,

and I joyed in the wholeness

of what they have grown with their lives,

I feel just as strongly the absence 

of those who were not here,

those whom I also care about,

I know that my role

should be to make myself dispensable,

and that I have done best

when I am no longer needed,

it still hurts, for I care and love unconditionally,

and I crave to know how fare those old companions.

by Henry H. Walker

April 24, ‘15

moments without

losses diminish

every loss is unique,

and every loss is also the same

for I am diminished

by each who is not here any more—

to talk with me,

to laugh with me,

to share a moment

that can then become a better moment,

I miss my father

who a heart attack abruptly erased

from my present, and thus my future,

I miss my brother

who cancer quickly carried away from me,

I miss my mother

who Alzheimer’s stole from me

piece by piece over a decade,

I miss my nephew

whose fall took him away from us,

I miss my wife’s sister

who cancer and heart loss stilled her grandmother’s joy,

I miss family and friends and former students

who have passed away,

and left me here, diminished by their absence,

and gifted by the presence of their memory

which still informs who I am,

I strive for loss to be a sculptor

who takes away from the block

and reveals a shape within that can be even more right,

I wonder also when I will crack

from the thinness left from all the carving.

by Henry H. Walker
April 11, ’15

darknesses blocking light

dice with my emotions

God may not play dice with the universe,

but God sure seems to play dice with my emotions,

each moment, each day,

my default wants to be optimism, joy, rightness,

but, when I check inside,

sometimes a vague anxiousness grabs at me,

clouds come in, I see the silver lining,

and then I find it’s tarnished,

I drop off into a fitful sleep

and awake 20 minutes later in nightmare,

I lie in bed and summon my fears to show themselves,

and, when they do, I am much better

for knowing the darknesses that block my light,

I am always afraid

of the price to be paid

for anything that seems too good for me,

too good to be true. 

by Henry H. Walker
April 8, ’15

exuberant flowers!

the kingdom of plants, celebrates

paths call to me:

a destination of a waterfall

and the wonderfully trying aerobics it will take to get there,

a price of effort, breath, and sweat

that my body

that my psyche

need to pay

so that I can keep being present,

today the waterfall and deep green pool were grand,

and I loved the effort to have gotten there,

I earned the cake, but I glory in the icing,

it’s early April and flower after flower

rushes to be true to itself and the future

and scatter themselves like jewels along the trail,

yellow trillium everywhere, and a few white trillium for contrast,

violets and chickweed, white phacelia like a young snow,

a few glorious dwarf iris as preview for the future,

a few bloodroot leaves to remind us of the recent past,

today, though, mostly magenta geranium and phacelia,

the sedate geranium we have known for years,

and phacelia with masses of purple flowers

loving to give us their all,

the next day the flowers are even more luxuriant,

particularly the wild ginger,

she of the velvet-smooth leaves, 

each round and light in their green,

while below, a maroon flower with tapering petals,

narrowing to a point,

surround a center that can be seen and appreciated

only as a supplicant on the ground before it,

I seek to hold it and remember it with my photos,

the phacelia today overwhelms me in its masses,

and overwhelms me when I take my camera close

and realize the lacy perfection of each individual petal,

as midday approaches swarms of other people

climb up the valley in pursuit of revelation freely given,

as the kingdom of plants and people celebrate together.

by Henry H. Walker

April 9, ’15

coming into her power

Rachel at Ten

coming into her power of self--

grounded, brilliant, beautiful,

and now making quantum leaps 

of understanding and action,

for the Passover Seder yesterday

she wrote a script about the plagues and freedom,

she was the playwright, the direction, the narrator,

till she brought in a grandmother to help,

the power of her adolescence is coming,

world, get ready for her tours de force.

by Henry H. Walker

April 5, ’15