an easy rightness, gone

 a wrench into sorrow

I just found tears welling out of me

as I came around the corner

and felt, again, the wrench into sorrow,

the calluses on my heart drop off,

the blinders on my eyes disappear, for a bit,

and I see the chasm beneath us all,

I see the moment when the easy rightness of the present

falls off, as if it were always illusion,

this morning the baby birds in the wren nest by the back door

were fine and just waiting for mom to give them breakfast,

30 minutes later, I came back,

the nest no longer on the cabinet,

now on the brick floor of the porch,

a squirrel must have found them,

eaten them with gusto,

made his future by denying them theirs,

sorrow is often the default position of the universe,

coming around a corner and finding sorrow

should not be a shock, 

but it is.

by Henry H. Walker

June 1, ‘26

now I finally understand "denouement"

 

a creature of story

we are very much creatures of story:

protagonist, antagonist, conflict,

we are drawn to tragedy, to comedy,

to immersing ourselves in others' stories,

while also wanting to tell the story of our lives,

of having it all make sense,

with us as protagonist,

shaping, and reshaping, the world

to fit our dreams for ourself,

now I am at a point

when I'm more a bit player, an extra,

living in that nebulous world of "happily ever after,"

retirement should be of being at the top of the mountain,

appreciating the view,

appreciating the memories of the journey up,

and holding each moment of the glories sunset reveals,

while accepting the reality of the day ending,

part of me wants to be back in the action,

I throw myself into books, into streaming shows,

vicariously, I am still in living stories

that keep me alive to fear, to worry,

to the exultation when rightness is regained,

I want to still matter,

to still be worth my salt,

the story maybe is mostly finished with me,

I hope to be worth a mention

as I live the denouement.

by Henry H. Walker

June 1, ‘26

belief in self

 

self-doubt, and caution

when I would work with seventh and eighth graders,

I would have them write of who they were,

I admonished them to write more of the positive

than came easily to them,

for in the depths of themselves,

they realized the siren call of hubris, of Narcissus,

of knowing they were partway

through the process of coming fully into themselves,

and too much self-congratulation

might make them miss the hard choices

that they knew were before them,

I still feel the residue of that incipient self-doubt

that can make me obsess

on the negatives of what might happen,

sadly, that caution can be excessive,

and blind me to seeing, enjoying, appreciating

what still comes at me,

I work to be more thankful than fearful.

by Henry H. Walker

May 30, ‘26

the creating of Carolina Friends School

 

how to define a school?

when Carolina Friends School started,

it was easy to define us as what we were not:

not segregated by race,

not hide-bound by antiquated routines,

not an assembly line that believed

in uniform input and uniform output,

not hierarchical with the teacher

all-knowing and all-in-charge,

not what many of us felt subjected to

in the 1950s and 1960s,

so instead we threw out the textbooks,

embraced the natural differences in student and staff alike,

and worked to empower whatever ways up the mountain worked,

we embraced a rapid evolution of the universe,

experimenting with this, experimenting with that,

discarding what didn't work, holding on to what did work,

aligning ourselves with the Society of Friends,

who, in their spiritual quests, viewed that God speaks,

and that anyone can open themselves to hearing the Word,

and that all of us can open ourselves

to acting upon the truth of what is revealed,

we were fortunate that most drawn to the school

lived a great gift from the universe:

the love for the student,

the love for the teacher,

the love for Truth revealed,

who possessed the energy and wisdom 

to find the ways forward

into building and maintaining a school

that works for the best within us,

that sees the person,

loves the person,

and does its best to empower us all.

by Henry H. Walker

May 30, ‘26

Mother's Gifts

 to laugh at one's self

Mother gave me many gifts:

life, love, how to cook, how to care for another,

how to build connection, relationship,

appreciation of the natural world,

right now I am feeling the great gift

of laughing at one's self,

of dismissing the moment's wrench into questioning despair,

of finding how to just laugh at it all,

understanding that the universe has the perverse about it,

and must be more endured than fought,

you cannot win the lottery,

so laugh when the odds are stacked against you,

and, once again, the results work to break your spirit,

the glitch stymies you,

no way forward gives itself to you,

so just laugh,

just give in and accept that what is

is beyond your control,

that irrationality of outcome is baked into the system,

whereas reaction to that perversity is within your control,

Mother had not been able to walk for half a year,

when she tried to get up, I told her

"Mother, you haven't walked in six months,"

she looked at me with incredulity, and announced:

"Either you're crazy, or I am,"

we are all crazy,

and do much better when we realize it,

and just laugh

when we have no control over the moment.

by Henry H. Walker

May 25, ‘26

head or heart?

 

what am I missing?

much of who I am is of the intellect,

the sorting of the world into understandable pattern,

living the logic that is math,

for 2 + 2 = 4,

and if you're missing a "2,"

you can find it,

a potential emptiness is then filled,

that concept of discrete, logical pattern

fits with how I think,

and lets me figure,

often till I figure it out,

and suddenly the answer is obvious,

I think of every day, every reality, every problem,

as a mystery on the surface,

that a little noodling

can find what is missing,

and all clicks into sense again,

yet much of who I am is also of emotion,

roiling currents within my attitude

that can lead to exultation or despair

making it hard to figure the rhyme or reason to it all,

no easy cause and effect,

no easy answer of a number that makes

all right again with the world,

instead I feel, rather than think,

fear, or joy, grabs me

and wraps me up into itself,

I appreciate its realty even though 

my heart is harder to understand than my head,

a tear, a laugh, a sigh, a sob,

might each be the right answer

to whatever question forces itself at me now,

I yearn for the easier mystery of the missing "2."

by Henry H. Walker

May 24, ‘26

we are always at the plate

 baseball and life

around 18-21, we're supposed to be adults,

but there is no magic in the transformation,

as if, all of a sudden, we "get it":

how to vote, how, or not, to drink,

how to commit to relationship

and maybe to serve partner and children with our choices,

but we are batters, life is like a pitcher,

and we have to deal with curve balls,

if we're lucky, we get a hit 30% of the time,

despite our best efforts, we often strike out,

our challenge is to still come to the plate

and do our best even with the odds against us.

by Henry H. Walker

May 18, ‘26