THE LANGUAGE OF THE DOVES

 

I use to wonder what it’d be like to talk to the animals…those on the ground and those that soar so high above…to speak the language of the dolphins, the eagles the elephants and the doves…

I was in our backyard when I noticed a palm frond that had fallen still clinging to a tree..so I gave it a little tug with the hope of setting it free.

The frond stayed attached to the palm tree (as you might have guessed)

but my tugging on the tree dislodged a dove family from their nest.

I hadn’t noticed the doves tucked securely in the palm tree’s trunk

and when I heard the nest hit the ground…my heart immediately sunk.

The mother dove flew to our fence…the first spot she could find…

and immediately started yelling at me…giving me a piece of her angry dove mind.

I was apologizing profusely between her loud and angry tweets when I noticed her two babies on the ground beneath my feet.

One hopped once…then twice…then flapped her wings and breaking the suspense…

quickly flew right over and joined her mother on the fence.

Her other baby tried his best but could only hop around…he was not yet ready to fly and was stuck upon the ground.

After watching her baby hop to a safe place and hide…I turned to the mother and paused….once again as she yelled at me I apologized for the damage I had caused.

I left the two doves on the fence and the one hidden in the lawn and when I returned a little while later all three doves were gone.

I wasn’t sure what happened…what was my mistake’s final consequence 

until a few days later when I saw three doves sitting on my fence.

Had they returned to show me they survived…how the little one had finally flown…

Or had the mother brought her babies back to show them the man who destroyed their home.

By the mother’s tone I think it was the latter…

and again I apologized as I watched her family take off and soar into the sky above….

glad that despite my blunder they survived 

and glad, at least in this instance, 

I never learned 

to speak the language of the doves.

CHASING FIREFLIES

 On a morning walk as I watched a burst of lightning flash before my eyes…

a memory was awakened…of our children chasing fireflies.

It was in the evening…after dark…around a campfire in N.C.

when from a blended marriage we were still learning how to be a family.

I remember how our children were fascinated by fireflies…when a flash of light was all that they could see…I remember it was here they began to learn how beautiful nature could be.

I remember Deborah’s father smiling, knowing our children would be no match, as he told them he’d give them a nickel for every firefly they could catch.

As I look back at our children chasing fireflies…long before this poem was penned…

I remember at the time thinking to myself how I wished that moment would never end.

We never know when a sight, a sound, a taste, a touch…a smell…will awaken in us a memory from the place where memories dwell.

We never know when or how a memory…across our minds will leap…

to visit for a moment before returning to the place where memories sleep.

It’s funny how that moment…the one I wished would never end…still visits every now and then…like an old and treasured friend.

Of course that moment did end…but over the years I have come to understand why…why moments in our life flash like lightning across the sky.

Because moments of beauty are meant to be ephemeral…

so that every person…every child…every woman…every man…

can gather, in their lifetime, as many memories as they can…

So that…on a morning walk 

when they see a bursts of lightning flash across the skies…

a memory will awaken…

like watching their children chasing fireflies.

REGARDLESS

 

Don’t we all marvel at the moon…

regardless of our religion…our spirituality?

Regardless of our politics…

don’t we all find beauty in the tree?

Regardless of who we love…

doesn’t a sunrise bring us all joy…a sunset make us all grin?

Aren’t we all amazed at the life of a butterfly…

regardless the color of our skin?

Regardless of our size and shape…

aren’t we all enamored by a giraffe?

Regardless of if we’re wealthy or poor…

don’t we all smile when we hear a baby laugh?

Regardless of our nationality…

don’t we all find inspirations in the clouds floating above?

Regardless of who we are…

haven’t we all felt the kind and gentle hand of love?

Perhaps before we speak with hatred in our hearts…

we should stop and think about the words we’re about to choose….

about all there is to gain…

and all there is to lose…

Perhaps before we act too fast…

or go to war too soon…

we should gather all together…

hold hands…

and marvel at the moon.

MY TEACHER

 I was a teacher for 39 years and when I look back…in all honesty…I probably learned more from my students than they ever learned from me.

Each student was a unique individual which meant…I had a lot to learn.

It took a lot of time and effort…a lot of respect between us needed to be earned…

Each student had their own set of problems…some we had to accept…others we tried to quell…It was my job to help them to find the talents they possessed as well.

You like to think you were able to find a way to help…to make your words and actions blend…so all the time and effort you spent with each student was worth it in the end. 

You hope you have an impact on a student before it’s time for them to go…

but when it comes to most of the students you teach…the truth is…you never know.

You never know what will happen from the moment your time with a student begins…

With any lucky when they leave your classroom you’re both a better person than you were the moment they walked in.

Then, every now and then something wonderful happens that brings a smile to your face and warms your heart…like when an old student of mine messaged me to say she was in a musical and had a singing part!

She asked if Deborah and I were coming…

I said of course…the pleasure would be ours…

then with total innocence she added, 

“Thanks, Yerman, and don’t forget to bring me flowers.”

We watched her sing and dance and at the end of her musical play…we presented her with flowers….

my surprise came the next day.

On her Facebook page she wrote ‘I got flowers from my teacher Mr. Yerman…which brought me on the verge of tears…that she still thinks of me as her teacher…even after all these years.

It’s funny in all the time we spent together…both of us learning how to be…

I never taught her how to sing or dance…those were lessons she taught to me.

Which shows we never know the extent of the influence we have in the things we say and do…

I only hope Andrea, you who became my teacher…learned as much from me as I have learned from you.

LIKE BUTTERFLIES

 

The more I observe butterflies in our garden…the more about their beauty I’m in awe…because in every butterfly, if you look closely, you can find a flaw.

Examine them when they visit in the Summer…in the Spring…

you might see a faded color, a crooked foot…a broken wing.

Perhaps realizing their life span is so momentary…so transient…so brief…

they won’t let a little flaw deter them from flying leaf to leaf.

They know to live a happy life…they must challenge themselves…they must compete..

They know if they can reach the flower…they’re in for something sweet.

It occurs to me a little more and more as each day goes by

how much we have in common…with the common butterfly.

How each of us is beautiful…with a beauty to be awed…

and how, when you get close enough to see…each one of us is flawed.

But knowing we’re here for a short time…knowing our time is brief…

we won’t let our flaws deter us from flying leaf to leaf.

Yes, you find those of us whose colors have faded…who have a broken wing…

when given the opportunity have the ability to sing.

And those of us with crooked feet…when we’re given half a chance…

will amaze and will astound you with how beautifully we dance.

When we look past our flaws…we look to the sky

and with a little encouragement…and a little love

there is no limit to how high we’re going to fly.

A LADY

 I was poised to take a picture of a ladybug when she turned around and said, 

“Do you mind!  

It’s impolite to take a picture of a lady from behind!”

“I hope you know…” she reprimanded me for behavior she deemed shady…

“That although you may think of me only as a bug…I…am also a lady.”

No, I’m not insane…I wasn’t under the influence of any drink or drug…

but that morning I sat down and had a conversation with a bug.

I learned how ladybugs got their name…and here I’m pretty sure she was putting on airs…when she told me they were sent by the Virgin Mary as an answer to European farmers prayers.

“They called us ‘Beetles of Our Lady.” She said proudly…then with a disgruntled shrug…added, “over the years our names have been shortened to the more demeaning ladybug.”

She said as an aid to farmers across the world we beetles were dispersed…and to remember when it comes to our name…”you always say lady first”.

She said ladies are poised and graceful and confident…well-mannered, well-spoken…well dressed…she said a lady is always willing to help those in need and always tries to do her best.

She said every lady is beautiful…something she wished more people knew…

she said if you can’t find the beauty in the lady…the problem lies with you.

She said, “Because of the name we’ve been given…one belief I must curtail…for all this time we’ve spent together…you've been talking to a male”.

“So how can I tell a male and female ladybug apart.” I asked as he sat comfortably on his plant…

He smiled…a sly and knowing smile then answered simply…”you can’t!”

Again I was amazed at nature….how there are lessons around every turn…

at how much a ladybug can teach us…how much we humans have yet to learn

He was generous with his time…

he was wise and accepting and kind…

and as we said goodbye I promised never again 

to take his (or her) picture from behind.

REMEMBERING 9/11

 

It’s been 21 years since that unimaginable morning on the 11th of September…

and each year, on this date, we take a moment to remember.

Family members remember loved ones lost…permanently taken from their view…

The rest of us remember people we never knew.

Memories of their joy and laughter deliver some relief…

bringing with them a little comfort as they usher in our grief.

For it is precisely those memories of joy and laughter that spread out from each family member…

to those who were not born yet 

and those who were too young to remember.

Memories of an uncle, a brother, a sister, a father or a wife…

that takes a person they knew…

or never knew 

they lost…

and brings their spirit back to life.

“He was my best friend…I loved him.”

“She was smart and funny and wise.”

“You have your mother’s smile.”

“You have your father’s eyes.”

Perhaps it is each memory of a moment with a loved one shared 

that help us through the moments without them…

when we’re sad, lonely…or scared.

Perhaps it is each memory passed from me…to you…to you…

that can make a person remember and miss…

someone they never knew.

Perhaps that’s why we take a moment every 9/11

to remember a day in our lives so contemptible…

so unthinkable…

so misbegotten…

so the lives of those we lost that day…

will never be forgotten.