A Lake Near My Home

I'd rather be a lake than an ocean.

I like boundaries I can see and shores of grassy earth to lap at.

A lake can count the swans, ducks and gulls that choose her company.

Trees dare to root close by, while they back off from the inhospitable sea.

A lake can whip up a stormy tantrum if it pleases,
but it seldom holds an engulfing grudge.

It can be still enough to grab and hold every color

around and show it as its own.

Mirrors are not so shallow when you think how they

double the beauties of the world.

Oceans reflect only their own dark depths,except when the moon sends

a search light down to show off pulsing surface.

Oh, I can hear you saying: "A lake is just a big puddle, here today,

dried up tomorrow, mushy, bland, dependent.

You should want to be powerful, passionate, full of

fury and fantasy, elemental and infinite."

Yes, I did want that once, but now I see my boundaries

and find a curious peace in practicing being very, very still.

(by Sally Whitman)

(picture by Magic Maura)

The Grandchildren in Hawaii

The earth is a fascinating place,

so very full of wonders.

God has given us paradise,

here on earth.

It is truly a garden,

so beautiful to see.

Yet we look away and search

for other, better worlds.

If only we could collectively realize

that we are the problem.

If we could be free

of seeking weath and power,

we could marvel at

and enjoy our own earth;

God's gift to us.

(Maura Madigan Kennedy)

The Old House

I have been writing a memoir of my childhood, many years of which were spend in this house in Lynbrook, Long Island. There's an Irish song that comes to mind now when I think of :

"The Old House"

Lonely I wander through scenes of my childhood,

Memory the happy days of yore brought back.

Gone now the old folk, the house stands deserted,

No light in the window, no welcome at the door.

Here's where the children played games on the heather,

That's where they paddled their boats on the barren.

Where are they now?

Some are dead, some have wandered.

No more to these homes will the children come.

Lonely the house now and lonely the moorland.

The children have vanished, the old folks are gone.

Why stand I here like a ghost and a shadow?

It's time I stopped crying, it's time I moved on.

My grandbaby knows a secret.

Linger awhile in quiet places.