Month: July 2023

This poem was written in the the middle of a sleepless night filled with anxiety. To dispel the mood I stepped out onto the deck and was greeted by the darkness interspersed with the lights of multiple stars. This simple poem sprang from the joy of the sight of the night sky on January 3rd 2023. Even if my poems may not be worthy of becoming known beyond my journal and perhaps this blog, they are, I believe, especially gifted to me. When considering periods when poems filled pages of my journal opposed to periods when they were absent, I noticed giving time to silence and seeking answers seemed to open the door to The mystery of some bit of truth Flowing from the mind of Truth itself To an unworthy poet… * (From the poem, The Gift by DJ Pasternak )

First Poem of 2023: How Beautiful is the Night

How beautiful is the night! Cold clear winter sky Aglow in darkness Do we gaze upon a world beyond in awe Silent, serene awaiting souls Thrust into the forever of beauty unknown A world of truth to behold Given as gold to those Yet wanting to know what awaits In the lighted heavens Seeking arms to hold, to love Creator Comforter How beautiful is the night!

Two other poems gathered in the Poetry of Silence:

One Page, One Hour

The day unfolds, the darkness lifts as the page of yesterday turns, revealing the light of today Not a chapter, just one page, one line at a time Sometimes glorious as the sunrise of colors: reds, yellows and violet Other times a preparation for something more As in the writing of a book

Pay attention, to stillness on waking, breaking the quiet Turning a dial listening to meaningless chatter Drawn to satisfy the senses Sight of sunrise, chill of January, warmth of fire, chatter, coffee, toast and peanut butter One fragrant pink carnation

The working of the mind awakening the spirit, noticing In the midst of clutter collected on the coffee table One forgotten slip of paper with a quote from Saint Ambose : Let no word escape your lips or be uttered without depth of meaning.

Or might I, a writer, change the word of lips to words of pen Poured out upon the page just turned To end the first hour of today

DJ Pasternak January 17, 2023

Three in One Love

May our heart forever be entwined And God with us in our love For in every truth and good I know His presence surely does reside Within the marriage vows we pledged Forever one together bound.

DJ Pasternak May 29, 2023

We pass a certain home of an acquaintance on our way to and from Church. He usually has a printed sign at the entrance to his driveway. We noticed a new one on Sunday. It is something many people are saying and many more are thinking. It is indeed a sad one and unfortunately valid at this moment in our country’s history.

Everything we have grown to love in the USA is being attacked and not only here but in the western world and other places. Good is bad and bad is good. “Don’t say this and don’t write that. Freedom is the name they give it but it is the opposite. The weather reflects the time we live in and terror seeks to stifle all that is good.

I had to write this down and hope no one cancels it in this cancel culture as they say. I am reading a book about Pope John Paul the Great and can’t help but cling to His words said so often beginning with his inauguration as Pope. Do not be afraid! And now to the sign: Stop the insanity! and add the words of JP 2 echoing those said some 2000 years ago during a raging storm on the Sea of Galilee. And the insanity of the storm ceased and the sea was calm. An ever present help in troubled times.

I’ve written several blogs about encounters with ‘feathered friends’ of mine: turkeys, little birds, chickens, even one vulture. I had never realized the trend here and something else came to mind a few days ago. When we were building our home from the ground up, actually the first and only house we ever owned, we heard a winsome sound in the early morning hours of work on our two acre lot.

I called it the song of the morning dove. It wasn’t until many years later I realized it was called a mourning dove. A day or two ago I also realized that my yet to be published first novel titled Daybreak from on High began and ended with a dove. In fact the first title I used was Doves in the Temple. Although most people think the sound is mournful, I associate the song of the dove with morning, a joyful time of day for me.

In fact I often say aloud a bible verse while sitting on my eastern deck at daybreak: The favors of the lord are renewed each morning, so great is His faithfulness. My husband put together a small fountain birdbath featuring two cement love birds. Frequently two living doves visit there to enjoy the cool waters. My novel includes both the mourning of Jesus passion and the joy of the morning of His resurrection. The dove is a symbol and reminder that like the olive branch carried in the beak of a dove, peace will eventually prevail. After the flood’s engulfing waters, solid ground will appear.

After the first baby bird fell to the ground I could hear the mother bird chirping before finally coming back to the nest, She was trying to get another baby to leave the comfort of its mossy home. Standing on the deck railing, she flew to the nest and chirped away. Then flew to a branch of a nearby tree encouraging the little one to do the same but this one would have no part in leaving its home.

So back and forth mama bird flew frantically trying to show her offspring how great it would be to fly. The sound of her chattering went on and on and I couldn’t stand there the rest of the day. I looked in on the progress once in a while and I can imagine how frustrated that mother was. Later I was in the kitchen and looked out the front window and two little brown fluffy birds scampered toward a large bush and disappeared under the thick branches.

The mama kept up the chirpy song scolding the stubborn ‘kids’. I went back to my cooking and wondered if those two renegades would ever take flight. When my husband came in for supper he told me the funniest thing happened while he was working in his garage Two baby birds came in together through the open garage door and he was able to shew them back outside.

I could not help but think of my own children: how one of them would still be home if a pretty girl hadn’t lured him out of the nest and the other one who was only too eager to wander off. I also understand the frantic mama birdie trying to watch over the flight of her offspring. The good thing is that my two children both return to the nest at least now and then. And I believe the mama bird and I hold our little ones tightly in our hearts.

One night as I was thinking about my writing, something I had not realized before about the subject matter I chose in poems and short reflections occurred to me. Events with my encounters with animals were exclusively those with feathers. Several incidents are recorded in various blog posts: robins, blue birds, chickens, turkeys and even one about a vulture.

Perhaps it all began with a young banty rooster, my pet when I lived on my grandparents farm when I was only three. I am not really a confirmed animal lover at all but a number of fowl came into my life and I found meanings in each encounter with them. In fact, one of those incidents happened a day or two ago when a small brown bird made a nest of moss in the glorious shocking pink hanging geranium plant visible through the sliding glass door to my back deck

I dread to admit I wanted to protect my plant (I am a plant lover) by removing the nest but my husband, a much more sensitive person toward bugs, birds etc., evoked a sense of guilt in me and I let it be. Every time I opened the door the little mommy or daddy bird would fly back and forth and sing frantically until I closed the door and hid myself from the parent birdie.

It was only two or three weeks later that I heard a rather perturbed song coming from the mother bird on my deck railing. She ( sorry about the pronoun but it had to be the mother) was telling one of her brood to leave the nest. She must have been exhausted with the care and feeding of the little ones.

I certainly understand that feeling especially with my daughter who kept us up literally every hour of the night for her first year of life. She wanted to nurse and her crying forced us to get up and then after nursing she would cry again and throw up. You can figure that out, but we were oblivious to why at the time. Her little tummy was too full. Finally I stopped nursing after one year and she slept all night,

Well now back to the poor mother exerting every effort even going in and flying out of the nest trying to teach the ‘kid’ to fly. I would check on the delema now and then and happened to see a tiny fluffy little thing tumble out and reach the ground after a wobbly flight.

To be continued!