Three Snow Poems

A celebration of snow on the brink of winter

I love snow. I’ve been praying for snow in Indiana--enough snow to sled and cross-country ski in our urban parks, enough to change gray winter days into heart-jogging experiences of delight. 

Here are three snow poems. The first is mine. The second two are by New England poet Robert Frost (hey, even his last name points to his love for flakes!).


HOPING FOR SNOW

I’m waiting on the snow
A hope to fulfill;
I’ll prepare my skis,
Anticipate the thrill.

A Midwestern winter
With its bleak, dark days
Needs a good snow storm
To hearten the soul’s way.

Mere cold stiffens the heart
And drives us inside,
But warmth and four walls
Alone cannot abide.

I’m like a child praying
The snow will be deep
Enough for sledding,
And, tired from it, to sleep.


STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


DUST OF SNOW

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part

Of a day I had rued. 

Thanksgiving

My poem for the Thanksgiving holiday

This holiday is for all that we
Take for granted,
Assume as a given,
Absent-mindedly overlook,
Claim as our God-given right.

This holiday if for all those we
Unnecessarily criticize,
Agitate with our demands,
Impatiently rush,
Regularly impose upon.

This holiday is for all that we
By-pass in our drivenness,
Go out of our way to avoid,
Carelessly forget,
Thoughtlessly leave out.

This holiday is for all things we
Receive as gracious gifts,
Share as common ground,
Express as transcendent grace,
Return in praise to God.



John Franklin Hay 
Indianapolis, Indiana, USA

www.johnfranklinhay.blogspot.com

@johnfranklinhay@threads.net

Instagram.com/johnfranklinhay

Veterans Day Revisited

It's a fine line between honoring those who served in war and glorifying war. It's oh, so critical.  

ARMISTICE DAY - 107 YEARS LATER. Today is the 107th anniversary of Armistice Day, the day Germany surrendered, ending "The Great War." We now observe November 11 as Veterans Day. At least 8,538,315 soldiers died in World War I; there were 37,508,686 total casualties, or 57.6% of all troops deployed by allied and axis forces.

FOR REMEMBRANCE. I've found numerous poems in tribute to those fallen in World War I, but choose the following, called "For Remembrance" by Basil Ebers, to post:

What is it, O dear Country of our pride,
We pledge anew that we will not forget?
To keep on Freedom's altar burning yet
The fires for which a myriad heroes died
Known and unknown, beyond the far sea's tide
That their great gift be no futility.

Faith with the Dead kept through our living faith;
In this alone the true remembrance lies,
The unfading garland for the sacrifice,
To prove their dream of Brotherhood no wraith,
No moment's hope--its birth-pang one with death--
but the fixed goal of our humanity.

HONOR THE WAR DEAD, NOT WAR. A fine line it is, but so critical that it be observed and guarded. The line--almost imperceptible when inflamed with hatred toward enemies, drunk with hard-fought victory, or intoxicated with exaggerated nationalism--will glorify or condemn us. It is the line between honoring the war dead, along with those who serve in the military today, and glorifying war itself.

NEVER DREAM OF ITS VIOLENCE. Honor with reverence those men and women who serve and die in harm's way. Weep and mourn for civilians cruelly caught in the strife. Give honor for Veterans who have served in harm's way in the name of freedom. But never glory in war. Never embrace its horrors. Never savor its torments. Never dream of its violence. Never drink to its return. Never gaze upon its power, lest its illusion seduce us. Lest war lust obsess us. Lest its siren sound lure us into its labyrinthine bowels and we swear allegiance to it, live for it, and our souls die even as we breathe.

NOT ALL WARS ARE EQUAL. Not all wars are equal. A vast majority are not really necessary. This is not a reflection on the troops who fought them as it is on those who chose and directed them. The war in Iraq was an example of a war begun with highly suspect justifications (now completely debunked) and carried along with ranging political rationalizations.

VETERAN DREAMS. I know some Veterans and they are people of integrity. Some fought in World War II, some in Korea, some served during the Vietnam conflict, and some in Iraq and Afghanistan. They tell different stories. All are glad to be alive. All grieve their lost comrades. All are relieved that their service is ended. None I know wish for their sons or daughters the opportunity to fight another war.

A NEW CROP OF HOMELESS VETERANS. I've worked with homeless vets for years. Just when we were getting most of the Vietnam-era Vets connected with counseling, housing, and the costly, life-long resources that are necessary for ones whose minds, emotions, bodies, and souls have been ravaged by war, America starts breeding a new crop soon-to-be homeless Vets. It doesn't take years for Vets returning from doing our government's dirty work to show up in soup lines and shelters; think in terms of months. It takes many years--and often a lifetime--however, to overcome what a few months in front-line action can do.

WAR FINDS A WAY. Militarism always seems to find some twisted way to justify the necessity and perpetuation of war. Each generation seems to have its share of blood lust. Military training, heavy investment in weaponry and the "defense industry," and constant  rehearsal for conflict seeks self-validation, self-justification. It doesn't take much of a provocation by one of the world's many tyrants or rogue regimes to pop the cork.  Once engaged, militarism plants its gruesome seed then argues for its rebirth in every generation. War is self-perpetuating; few generations can resist it.

ART'S PROMISE AND POWER. It has occurred to me (or at least resurfaced within me) that a way to reveal the hollow way of mammon and violence, and to simultaneously bring light to grace and peace, is through arts and literature. Case in point: the Czech Republic and the nonviolent Velvet Revolution. Political partisanship gets us nowhere. The evangelical church has largely lost its witness amid partisanship. But art--the written word, the dramatized situation, the lifted song, and the vision graphically cast--has more power to delegitimize war and cumber, and to bring the possibility of grace and peace into our lives than the currently prevailing methods of choice.

Photo: I snapped this photo during an early-morning visit to the Korean War Memorial in Washington, DC.

Halloween Draws Near

This holiday is not about cute. No! Get gory!

Halloween draws near.

Spooks prepare—

Fiends are giddy

For the haul they’ll make.

Cautious guardians

Tame the gore—

Go for cutesy

Over alarming.

What is Superman

To the lore

Of walking dead

And restless demons?

Why Wonder Woman

When vampires

Swoop low, lurk near,

Searching tender veins?

The evening calls for

Fright and fear

And ghastly tricks

Stemmed alone by treats.

Dare to scare each house.

Strike cold fear.

Intimidate.

Demand sweet payoff.

Do not Trick or Treat

With sweetness

In cute costumes.

No! Command ransom!

Let consequences

Threaten all

Who choose to hide

Behind darkened doors.

And let ghouls enjoy

Their bounty,

Sweets transforming

Gaunted into saints.

For another year

Evil’s tide

May be staved by

Happy Halloween!Tame the gore—

Go for cutesy

Over alarming.

What is Superman

To the lore

Of walking dead

And restless demons?

Why Wonder Woman

When vampires

Swoop low, lurk near,

Searching tender veins?

The evening calls for

Fright and fear

And ghastly tricks

Stemmed alone by treats.

Dare to scare each house.

Strike cold fear.

Intimidate.

Demand sweet payoff.

Do not Trick or Treat

With sweetness

In cute costumes.

No! Command ransom!

Let consequences

Threaten all

Who choose to hide

Behind darkened doors.

And let ghouls enjoy

Their bounty,

Sweets transforming

Gaunted into saints.

For another year

Evil’s tide

May be staved by

Happy Halloween!

John Franklin Hay

Indianapolis, Indiana, USA

How I Think Differently Since My Heart Attack

“How do you think differently since your heart attack?”

Someone recently asked me this. I wasn’t ready to respond immediately with anything intelligible. 

But I can now offer a few reflections.

First, I’m still somewhat in shock that I actually had a heart attack and now sport four stents and take daily heart medicine.

I am fit. I’ve eaten responsibly. No breads. Nothing fried. Few added sugars. No red meat. I maintain 145 lbs. I bicycle almost daily and completed a vigorous 6-day, 250-mile bike tour the day before my heart attack. How and why did this happen to me?

Such questions linger in spite of cardiologists in NYC and Indy telling me it was 100% genetic. Still puzzled, I live the question without necessarily having to have a resolution.

Second, I am more tuned in to my body’s functions and signals. I pay attention to core body aches, pains, and changes. Since I thought a heart attack was just indigestion, I am now alert to every minor blip. I am also working to let each one go and move on. “Noted,” I say to myself, “Now let it go.”

I also think about body parts and systems interacting and about what I can do to help it all continue to function well together as I age. If we are, in fact, “fearfully and wonderfully made,” why should I not cooperate with and promote that in every conscious, actionable way as long as I am able?

Third, I think more about the fragility and preciousness of life and about aging in relationship to loved ones, neighbors, community and legacy.

“Nothing promotes growth like the prospect of a deadline,” M. Scott Peck, MD, used to say. My heart attack brought the prospect of death near. Successful heart catheterizations and stents offer the prospect of time for resolutions, reconciliations, development, psychic growth, adventures, and breakthroughs.

I don’t know how much time I have—and neither do you! But this awakening event is helping me start to let go of trivialities and smallness and reach for things that matter most to me and to life.

Fourth, I have revisited my thinking about “eternity.” Contrary to what was pounded into me in church as a child and young adult, I do not obsess about where I will “spend eternity.” Whatever happens at death, today is what matters—and the people I’m given to know, interact with and impact here and now. 

You likely know I am a seminary-educated (M.Div., D.Min.), evangelically-oriented minister (not to be mistaken for the blasphemy of political Evangelicalism). Still, heaven, to me, begins here and now: it is acting responsibly now in creative stewardship of all I’ve been given—recognizing humanness, cultivating relationships, being a wounded healer, challenging systemic injustices, offering who I am and what I have. In contrast, hell's present tense is just serving myself and quelling my fears at others’ expense. 

If heaven and hell are a time and places, so be it. But today, here, now, these people and life-challenging situations (to borrow from Tolstoy)—with these life and the future hang in the balance.

With gratitude for good health prospects going forward and aware of life’s fragility and preciousness, the challenge of being a good neighbor draws me forward.

Post Heart Attack

Back Home Again in Indiana

One week removed from a heart attack in NYC, I’m glad to be back in the heartland.

I feel good! No pain. Riding my bike a bit. Attempting to move toward normal activity. But high energy yields almost immediately to “yeah, I need to slow down a bit, here.” Lots to do and catch up on with a low threshold of stamina for the time being. 

I continue to shake my head in disbelief that this happened. As fit and careful in eating as I am, why did this happen to me now? It’s still just sinking in that I’ll be addressing this little wrinkle in reality for the rest of my life. There's a bit of anger as I reckon with this. There's also quite a bit of gratitude and wonder.

Diet, physical exercise, lifestyle guardrails, and reasonable precautions are to be considered for a vigorous future. But I see creative work, more cycling adventures and my hope to run a marathon before age 70 as absolutely doable.

For now, though, I’ll settle to just walk and bike around our Near Eastside neighborhoods a bit.

Genetic footnote: the cardiologist at Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan attributes my heart attack mostly to genes. Given my physical condition, activity level, cholesterol counts, diet, and lack of other contributing factors, he encouraged me to fully explore family history and the role genetics is playing. So, that will be an interesting adventure in and of itself!

Don't write me off or discount my rehabbing capabilities. There's a lot more to come!

Sprung Out!

I’m out! Of Lenox Hill Hospital, that is.

After two heart catheterizations and sporting four cool stents in my heart, I walked out onto 77th Street on Thursday grateful to be alive and looking forward to a new lease on life.

I feel good. Weak, but good. Good enough to walk around a little near our Chelsea lodging Thursday evening.

I boldly desecrated Madison Square Garden with my Pacers’ “Why Not Indiana?” shirt. We ate the best tacos in NYC while listening to punk rock band Big Girl play outside MSG and Penn Station. It seemed like a fitting celebration.

I’m grateful for a timely intervention and caring staff at Lenox Hill Hospital. Lots of memorable encounters.

I’m grateful to Jodi for flying to Manhattan to support me. She’s now my “don’t you dare do that!” and “here’s what you need to eat instead” guide. Ha!

I’m grateful, also, for your kind comments, thoughts & prayers and encouragement. Thank you!

Here’s some of what I’m mulling over:

• Take nothing for granted.
• Don’t hesitate to ask for help.
• Cooperate with those who—believe it or not—know better than you about some things.
• Be kind to those who are sincerely trying to help you.
• Trust the process.
• Hope always.