This weeks post, inspired by the 13th century Persian poet, Rumi. His poems amaze by feeling as relevant today as any contemporary poem.

Eternity

800 years ago, at 4 am

Someone wondering blank empty streets.

When asked, Why?

His reply:

If I knew, I’d have gone home hours ago.

And still we wonder, we search, we seek,

Stumble over glimpses and clues,

Comforted to know the search is eternal.

Nyborg 2017

This week’s poem, a painful one, like this whole long process that we are in the middle of. Chemotherapy – the hope we believe in, but also frightening and incomprehensible and the source of some suffering.

Chemotherapy

Waking from deepest depth to the screams of your adult son,

Eyes burning from the chemicals pumped into his veins.

To see his long, thin body, his smooth baby-bald head, bent in angles of pain,

Watering eyes, pink and light-scared, blood clots from his red-rimmed nose.

Watching bright colored chemicals drain from the bag

Into his veins, see his appetite shrink, weight falling from limbs,

Pills, vials, powders, needles, pale lips and lash-less eyes,

Gagging, groaning with aches, tied to pipes and long days on hospital wards.

Slow breaths of respite,

His naked head on the pillow,

His long pale body relaxed,

Slow-breathing in healing sleep.

Slow breaths of relief,

Trust in the treatment,

One drop at a time,

In the end he will be well again.

Odense 2017

A poem about a very little winter holiday enjoyed over the last few days,

Vinterferie

Yesterday, Amtoft was white ice and swans

Against swirling blue

Evening turned into an endless tunnel of red

And white lights

This morning, Nyborg is silver frost sparkles

On dark leaves and stone

Nyborg 2017

This week’s poem is a thank-you letter to all those people who donate blood and bone marrow. Every time I see a blood bag hanging from the stand next to my son’s hospital bed, I send a grateful thought to all those who donate blood. Within the past week the hospital has identified first one and then a second bone marrow donor as a match. I hope I get the chance to thank those kind people in person, but if not, this poem is for them most of all.

Donor

Everywhere, within bones in healthy bodies

Blood is being made.

Someone makes the decision to donate, takes the time and trouble,

Walks, drives, cycles to blood bus, blood drive, blood bank –

Looks the other way when the needle pricks, accepts a little dizziness

Rising from the chair, takes a moment to recover.

Somewhere out there someone makes the choice to tick a box,

Becomes a bone marrow donor, hardly knowing what it means

Takes the time and trouble, ignores a little fear, a tingle of anxiety in ilium bones,

Hopes, perhaps, to make a difference to someone, somewhere.

Right here, right now, I thank you,

You saved my son’s life.

Nyborg 2017

This week’s poem reflects the slow creep of optimism at a gloomy time. Contrasts make us see more clearly the world around us in all its aspects.

Gold in Grey

Bare, black trees against a world of grey

Foghorn’s ghostly message echoes the way.

While waves fade with tide,

We’re safe from cold and damp

In cinnamon-scented light of golden lamps,

It’s hygge inside.

Nyborg 2017

Fortunately most people live with a feeling that bad things will not happen to them. No good comes of being always afraid of what might happen and fortunately when bad things do strike we find the strength to deal with them, even though we never could have imagined how we would find the strength.

Uncommon things

Complacently we think it never happens to us,

Until that sunshiny day we’re hit by a bus.

Until the unthinkable happens.

It is true, I know, bad things happen to good folks.

“It isn’t always the neighbors,” she jokes,

I have to leave the room.

You say we will be fine. Probably true,

It’s just black flames of hell we have to pass through

To get to the other side.

Common things happen commonly,

Rare things are rare and occur infrequently,

But still lightning strikes.

Bad things happen for no good reason,

Cold hits harder when it’s out of season

And “Why?” has no reply.

Odense 2017

Right now, poem’s are not weekly, but I hope soon they will be. Writing is sometimes taking place, but not always the ability to share.

Acceptance

I’m learning new words. Words I never thought I’d need.

It’s our life now, can’t say I wouldn’t want to know these words,

But I would not wish their necessity on anyone.

Life is revealing new sides, assumptions are questioned.

I believe in learning and curiosity – wouldn’t want a lesser life,

But I would not wish these discoveries on anyone.

I’m observing changes, opportunities for transformation and growth.

Adversity as teacher and test of strength and courage,

But if given the chance, I would wish for milder trials.

Nyborg 2017

On the 23rd of November 2016, my son, Johannes Theis, was diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. I have not posted any poems since that day. He is undergoing chemotherapy treatment and after the first treatment is now home but going to hospital daily. Second treatment will start soon. I am grateful that we are all together in Denmark and for the hospitals and treatments he has access to.

Today I slowly start sharing poems again.

Lifeboats

Mornings are hardest: you wake,

remembering, but not believing,

painfully convincing yourself again and again

that the impossible really is true.

Then through the hours you build your lifeboats,

clinging to technical things, understanding details.

Persuading yourself that knowledge is good and useful,

that you have some control, some role.

Mornings are hardest: you wake

crying from nightmares not as bad as the reality

you have to believe again and again

really is real.

Then through the days you build your lifeboats,

studying medical terms and prognosis,

explaining the mysteries to yourself and others

as if you have some power, some role.

Morning are the hardest, you wake

with sadness weighing down your limbs

and bones convince brain again and again

that the preposterous is fact.

Then through the weeks you build your lifeboats

not looking far ahead or behind,

focusing on the hour, the day

as if not thinking too much will take it away.

Nyborg 2016

This week’s poem necessitated by a fantastic sister’s tour of Ireland, which was highly inspiring, but somehow failed to inspire poetically. So, having failed to produce anything more profound I now share a Limerick written about our visit to Limerick.

Limerick in Limerick

Three travelling sisters met up

In Limerick down by the pub

They ordered three beers

And shouted three cheers

We’ve conquered, survived and grown-up.

Limerick, Ireland 2016

This week’s poem inspired by some women I know, who always seem to do the right things at the right time, and a number of whom have other qualities and characteristics in common.

Efficiency

Efficient as middle-aged mothers of large broods;

instinctive organizers

who know it takes water, tea, coffee and food

to un-rattle nerves,

overcome chaos and lighten the mood.

Norway, 2016