MARY'S MEANDERINGS
POETRY AND PHOTOS BY MARY NEMETH
PUBLISHED POEMS
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What is Silence? -- Creative Voices, Olli Journal, 2017
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Too Powerful to Fall -- For A Better World, Center for Peace and Justice, 2018
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Solitary Trees, A Villanelle -- Pegasus, Kentucky State Poetry Society, Winter, Spring, 2018
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What Kind of Woman Are You? -- Women Writing For a Change, V Day, (Public Reading) 2019
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-- The Voices Project, Online Journal, April, 2019
-- For a Better World, Center for Peace and Justice, 2019
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Ghost Tree and Dandelions -- Mind Garden Exhibition, (Public Reading), May, 2019
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What is silence?
Silence is the rare double rainbow
after the thunderstorm.
And the tranquility of a lily pond
where tadpoles dwell.
Silence is the delicate blue dragonfly
as it swiftly alights on a cattail.
Or the serenity of the bright night sky
filled with billions of twinkling stars.
It's the dewy grass on early summer morns
that cools and playfully tickles bare feet.
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What is silence?
A book lies silent before you read it.
a song before you sing it,
a poem before you even write it.
A baby is silent too, when sound asleep
in the wee hours of the peaceful dawn.
When children are suddenly silent,
wise parents come running to see just what's up.
My cat is absolutely silent while watching
a ladybug crawl up the screendoor,
then, with haunches rhythmically thumping,
she pounces. Got it!
So too, the old grandfather clock,
long standing guard in the hallway,
is relatively silent just before its hourly chime.
What is silence?
The last red maple leaf as it releases its grip
and falls to the ground on the same still Autumn day
that sees the first delicate snowflake drift down.
It is the slow melting of snowdrifts
in the warmth of an early Spring day.
Silence observes the first crocus of the season
emerge from Winter's sheltering grasp.
What is silence?
Silence is the hush that falls over
the crowd when a tragedy occurs.
Opportunity is silent when it enters our lives.
How we handle each opportunity can make our lives
overpowering and vulgar,
or tragic and distressing,
or rich and fulfilling,
or gentle and sweet.
What is silence?
Silence is also the suppression of freedoms,
the muzzle of divergent voices,
by dictators around the world.
Silence is the loud roar of the many
when they stay home on election day.
Silence is the wrong done when
we close our eyes to the suffering among us.
Silence is often a lack
of noticing,
of seeing,
of caring,
of taking action
when we are aware of injustice.
What is Silence?
Too Powerful to Fall
Thousands of successful, powerful men,
waiting for the other shoe to fall,
are now shaking in their boots.
“Am I safe?”
“Would they tell?”
“Will I be next?”
They secretly ask themselves.
Watching the formerly mighty tumble
from atop their once secure perches
one by one, they quake, quiver and question:
“Would they destroy me like that?
They wouldn’t, would they?” they ask.
“It was mutual. They wanted it!” they insist
as these men try to convince themselves.
Afraid for their future, families, fame and fortune,
they hurriedly rummage for excuses,
others to blame, and denial, denial, denial.
“Who are all these women?”
“Why are they coming out now,
destroying respected, hardworking men?”
They nervously question themselves and others.
But sure they are too powerful to fall,
are respected and loved by one and all,
they can’t believe WOMEN could be their downfall.
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Solitary Trees, A Villanelle
Solitary trees stand guard in yonder fields.
Could they have known their fate long beforehand?
They provide shade for those who harvest yields.
Did early farmers just leave them as shields
When they first decided to tame that land?
Solitary trees stand guard in distant fields.
Are they lonely, those trees, their fate sealed,
Growing old, strong, rooted in clay or sand?
They provide shade for those who harvest yields.
Don't stand mute, with all your secrets concealed.
Is your life harder than you can withstand?
The solidarity trees stand guard in yonder fields.
Is it time those secrets are shared and revealed?
Trees serve as markers, hold nests in their hands.
They provide shade for those who harvest yields.
Sleet, snow, high winds that blow, yet you still wield
power to bend, for nature's at your command.
The solitary trees stand guard in yonder fields.
They provide shade for those who harvest yields.
Ghost Tree
What Kind of Woman are You?
What kind of woman are you?
I heard them say to me.
“I am a woman, whole, wholesome,
with a womb, but empty always,
my womb unused and wasted.
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I am a woman unfulfilled
in the duty of women: childless,
alone in this world of
couples, children, families.
I’ve learned well the lesson:
The woman’s place is in the home,
raising a family, never a mention
of the old maid, the childless.
Is my life less than the bountiful?
Am I selfish, as I have heard?
Motherhood is admired, rightfully.
But is there no room in this world for me?
Have I nothing to give to society?
Countless successful childless
women disprove that sentiment.
There are many ways to contribute.
So I answer, what kind of woman am I?
I am a friend, a mentor, a traveler,
a teacher, photographer, and poet.
I am every woman and no woman.
A woman-god, a god-woman
whose days are numbered
with much to do before I sleep.
Hallelujah!”
After ”What Kind of Person are You?" by Yehuda Amichai.
Oh, you majestic sycamore,
you are quite the quandary.
Your thirsty roots bind you
to our rivers, streams and lakes.
Your stark branches reach for the sky,
tower over the forest, and
beckoned our ancestors
to the water they sought.
Those round, brown button balls
that decorate your branches
look soft and fuzzy but
are actually hard and prickly,
a protector of your seeds.
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While your albino branches
roam the heavens for all to see,
that mottled lower bark of
yellow, brown, green and white,
peeling in layers from your trunk,
attempts to camouflage you.
Our early Native Americans
noted your startling pale limbs,
and called you the Ghost Tree,
an apt description.
Dandelions
Dandelions appear early each Spring,
displaying their butter yellow blooms,
scoffing at, frustrating and defeating
every homeowner’s yearly attempts to
finally eradicate them... for good, this time.
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But the dandelion's joyous, more playful face,
shown mostly to those under 6,
delighting little ones with their heads
of sunny florets which are quickly
picked and proudly presented
to moms and grandmas everywhere.
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Imagine, if those dandelions are able
to escape pursuing gardeners
and those eager little fingers,
a different fate awaits,
one in which wish puffers thrill
in huffing and puffing
and sending their many tiny seeds
into the breeze.
So, whether dandelions are viewed
as friend or foe,
merely depends upon age.