The River of Song
THE RIVER OF SONG
I believe in you,
the heart and soul of you,
the river running through you
from the beginning of time to now,
the healing waters
washing clean the stones of suffering
lodged deep in your being,
removing damage done in the course
of burdened travels.
I believe in you,
the love and song of you,
the notes playing through you
from the beginning of time to now,
the healing symphony
soothing the chords of suffering
lodged deep in your being,
allowing new songs,
the songs of the universe
to soar free.
I believe in you,
and the river of song
running through you.
From Dawn to Hopeful Dawn
From Dawn to Hopeful Dawn
There’s a grotto where an angel stands,
her hands in silent prayer,
she doesn’t flinch as stones are tossed
and bullets fill the air,
she knows full well of human strife
and bombs and war that fill the night,
she knows the scourge of homelessness,
and the plight of those
who must take flight
to reach a safer land,
yet, still, she prays unceasingly
from dawn to hopeful dawn,
doing all she can, it seems, to counteract
the endless stream
of hateful words
and harmful deeds
that seem to fill our world,
so, let us add our prayers to hers,
then act with God’s true grace
to walk our path and leave a trace
of only light and love,
we have a chance this Christmas to
move toward Peace on Earth
by all we say and do and live
from dawn to hopeful dawn.
National Poetry Month
There once was a poem, oh, so fine,
it was like an expensive red wine,
with hints of aged oak,
and hickory smoke,
it seduced with each full-bodied line.
Is it too Late to Find our Way Back Home?
IS IT TOO LATE TO FIND OUR WAY BACK HOME?
“Get out of my country,” he said,
as if he owned the place,
as if he decided who could stay or go,
as if a man’s life was worth less
based on his origins,
a man died,
an engineer who spent his days
helping us find our way,
helping us navigate our lives
with a device that tells us
where and when to turn,
getting us where we need to go each day,
maybe to meet a friend,
take care of an aging mother,
find a restaurant,
locate a hospital,
coming to our country where such
an opportunity allowed him to use all
of his genius,
only to be shot by a man who’d lost his way,
misguided by hatred,
encouraged by rhetoric,
emboldened to act,
feeling he had done something good,
but, in truth, he’d shot a hole in all of us,
before long we will be
riddled with holes.
Is it too late to
find our way back home?
My Yellow Springs Retreat
MY YELLOW SPRINGS RETREAT
Some people go to Florida for a retreat from the northern climes. I traveled one hour by car from Columbus and spent four days in Yellow Springs, Ohio. I had stumbled upon the new Park Mill Hotel when doing a Google search and was intrigued. When they later offered an upgrade at no extra cost, I became certain my visit was karmically destined. I had no plan other than to read, write, relax and explore. Here’s a bit of the joys I found.
A delicious cup of coffee at The Emporium on my first morning was a great start to my retreat. I had some time to write and was inspired by a great book of poetry from their shelves. I took a walk to Antioch College and checked out the fantastic and important Divided States exhibit at the Herndon Gallery. Jennifer Wenker, one of the curators, spent time explaining the exhibit and sharing her enthusiasm for art and for Antioch. Later that day, I drove to the Raptor Center at Glen Helen Nature Preserve and admired the majestic birds being housed and helped there. I was the only one there on an icy January morning which made it all the more enjoyable. That evening included a restorative yoga class at The House of Aum followed by a fantastic South of the Border salad from Williams’ Eatery.
I visited a ton of stores and loved browsing, buying and chatting with the owners. I even overheard a discussion about smudging which was quite illuminating. Some of my favorite shops were Heaven on Earth, Oats, Asanda Imports, Bonadies Glass Studio, Sam and Eddies Open Books, Tibet Bazaar, Urban Handmade, Dark Star Books (I even met Mr. Eko, the cat) and Glen Helen Nature Shop. My favorites were Village Artisans Cooperative Gallery (I bought a lot there and wanted even more) and Earth Rose International Imports. Ed Oxley and I had a really great conversation at Earth Rose that segued into Snowdrop Flowers. He shared photos from his yard and offered to send me some bulbs. They arrived this week and are planted in my yard. Who knew such a flower existed and who knew someone like Ed would actually follow through on sending the flowers – such an incredibly kind and generous man.
Other highlights of my retreat included a movie at the Little Art Theatre, breakfast one morning at the Sunrise Café (probably the best breakfast sandwich I’ve ever had) and a concert on my final night at the Glen Helen Institute. It was part of the Cello Springs Festival and was a memorable conclusion to my visit. I was entranced by the soaring sounds combined with poetry readings and visual art. While the rain pattered on the windows, the cellos stirred the souls of those present.
My soul was replenished by my visit to Yellow Springs. I will be back. Thanks to everyone who shared a kind word or a warm conversation. You have quite a city!
This is a Letter to the Editor that was published in the Yellow Springs News, Yellow Springs, Ohio, the week of February 5th, 2017
Photo and essay by Rita Bourland – rbourland53@gmail.com
I Hope She Prays for All of Us
I stop beside a silent wood
to breathe in frosted air,
to feel the mossy forest floor
and sense the creatures there,
to see the glory laid before
my eyes this Christmas night,
and wonder at the majesty
created by God’s might,
I marvel at the universe
so beautiful and vast,
that also has such deep divides
that seem to ever last,
I, then, behold a wondrous site,
an angel bathed in light,
her head bowed low in silent prayer,
what does she ask this night?
I hope she prays for peace and love,
acceptance, truth and trust,
and adds to that a special prayer
for all that’s fair and just,
I hope she prays for all of us
spread across this land,
so we can live in harmony
a loving, gentle band
of folks who know that love is love
despite our race or creed
who know that people everywhere
deserve to live their dreams.
The Statue Must Go
“Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
‘That’s the problem, the people shout,
that message, that statue must go,
she urges every single soul
to journey to our shores.’
But others cry and gnash their teeth
and moan at such a thought,
they love their statue and the folks
whom others have forgot.
The highest court in all the land
will soon decide her fate
the Statue of Liberty might be axed,
despite the fierce debate.
The crowds all gather near the steps,
they chant the pros and cons,
they march beneath their handmade signs
demanding right be done.
The justices hear opposing sides
for many days on end,
they listen to impassioned pleas
and weigh the good and bad.
‘The statue is a symbol
of our complex, quilted land,
such beauty, culture, music, art,
from sea to desert sand.’
‘And each new stranger wants a piece
of all the promise here
They’ve come to find a better life
and share what we hold dear.’
‘We worry for our children
and for our future too,
we need our jobs, we need safe homes,
please tell us what to do.’
‘But freedom isn’t one man’s right,
it’s every human’s right,
who are we to cast the dice
and toss these folks aside.’
And so it goes for weeks on end
in all our nation’s towns,
until the ruling comes at last,
the statue must come down.
The wrecking ball begins its work,
folks shudder in dismay,
crashing pieces fall to earth
like broken, ashen rain.
By five o’clock the deed is done,
the lady’s torch is out,
there is no court to bring her back
there is no time for doubt.
Years from now we still will talk
Of all we felt that day,
but for now as nighttime falls,
we stop and look away.
Several weeks ago, I asked friends on facebook for their thoughts about America (both what they love and what they worry about). It took a long time to consider their thoughts and how I would incorporate them into a poem. I’m using the removal of the Statue of Liberty as a vehicle to show all the emotions that come to the fore when we discuss our country. I began this poem several weeks ago and then a few days ago, an editorial cartoonist for the Columbus Dispatch ran a cartoon with the image of the Statue of Liberty being carried away. I bring that up only to let my readers know that I did not plagiarize the idea.
We, the Gravity Bound
WE, THE GRAVITY BOUND
Bird songs in spring,
a symphony of sound,
floating above we,
the gravity bound,
their songs subtly
sync with our lives,
we mow and plant,
we picnic and play,
and the birds have their say
all through the day,
so busy are we that their
songs fail to pierce
our fierce determination
to move, do and make,
yet, once in a while,
in the quiet of morn,
their songs will succeed
in supplanting our need
to achieve,
and in that moment,
we, the gravity bound,
will soar.
Christmas 2015
A colorful gift, wrapped with care, sat at the end of the hall; its golden bow, tied just right, tempted kitty’s paws. The child asked if she could be the one to look inside. Of course, her mother answered back, of course, please look inside. A quiet calm cast forth a spell, for unbeknownst to them, the same gift sat in every house across the world’s vast lands. And at that moment, near and far, each box was opened wide and therein was a single note that rose and flew from sight. Then every note from every box combined in joyous song, a song so pure the stars joined in and twinkled all night long. The people heard and sang along, they sang with one accord, they sang a song for all mankind so hope might be restored. The notes hung in the air that night and stayed for many more; it seemed the music kept the peace where hearts and souls were torn. So, if you hear a song tonight, make sure you sing along. The song’s a gift for all of us, so sing out loud and strong.
Come Walk with Me
Come walk with me
and we will see what speaks to thee,
the skittering leaves fall from the trees,
tumbling to the ground,
unbound from their wooden branching home,
sounds surround our forest walk,
we seldom talk,
while chirping birds,
chattering squirrels
and swirling wisps of wind sting our skin,
reminding that more cold will follow soon,
but not before the Harvest Moon sings campfire songs,
making us long for days like this to never end.
Is that how fall speaks to thee?
Come take a walk and we will see.
Just Poetry and Prose 
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