Fear Eater

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Fear Eater

“Life gives us experiences, teaches us lessons, gifts us with 

wisdom that is not for us to hoard selfishly. Most people 

accomplish this this through parenting. I have no children, 

so I write.”--My Mystery Poet.

What some of us discover as we age

       and mellow a bit, blunting the rancor we once

                were so willing to share with the world at large,

                        as we find ourselves forming cyber-fellowships

                with other poets, begin reveling in the reality that

        poetic communities are peopled with wonderful

folks whose homes are dotted all over

this planet, & are privileged to share rich

experiences vicariously through them;

        their fabulous words,

        their world views,

        their personal faith,

                               preferences,

                               pets,

                               spouses,

                               neighborhoods, &

                               fantasies.

I do adore so many of my fellow poets,

feeling strongly that we all are extended

family.                         One of the poets          I truly admire

       is a woman with such a zest for life         it permeates

       everything she does, thinks & writes,      but this is not

just a prairie pollyanna--no, her pragmatism is legendary.

                                   She once wrote, 

      There is no joy without the care that comes with pain.

Shakespeare did indeed scribble--

”get thee to a nunnery”--

this is not something just every

young girl would be willing or able

to do,                  but this woman spent 23 years

                           serving her faith

                           and her heart; becoming a nurse

                           within the Order.

                                          Later in her eventful life, she was an 

                        RN, specializing in hospice care, giving comfort

         to the dying, smiling in the face of death, removing its

mask, sharing that beyond pain & fear

death can be a glowing door, as gentle

as taking a loved one’s hand, or a warm

breeze blowing in off the high desert in

July, that death, much maligned, can be

a lovely way station, a focus point for divine

transition.                  Her own mother, now quite frail & mostly

                                  unfocused, has made appearances in

                                  several of her poems:

Yes, Mom, all is well. You can move on when you’re ready.

                                   My own mother-in-law turned 90 last July,

                              and we drove down to Texas to celebrate it

                          with her. Three days after we left, she let go of

                     her pain & slipped away--so this is a scenario that

                 has become all too familiar to many of us. 

This lovely & loving poet faced death herself in 1996, and only

a kidney transplant allowed her to live & write on. I think she has

the creative flare of a Virginia O’Keefe, yet the joyous cowgirl’s

heart of a Dale Evans. May her poetry, short stories & novels

continue, for those of us who celebrate her wondrous words and

her compassionate heart, years & years yet to come.

She has two dogs in

the yard, & once lived in France,

but still wears underpants.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub "Poetics"