Jeff McCallum

Welcome to the world little one! May you grow redwood straight and flower beautiful.

Kids today can be born into a world

Of peoples and places oblivious to their cries
Born into a world tending more and more
Exclusively to its own walled garden;
Not giving much,

If any,
Sustenance to these tiny miracles,
Alpha and Omega of our future.
In fact,
All but ignoring them.
How, I wonder, will your survive?

Many hearts and hands will hold you,
Call your name with love,
Carry you over rocks and thistles,
Allow you to grow,
Learn
Love
Until and as you take your first tenuous steps
Make your first mistake,

Stumble on the unforeseen or trip on the foretold
Experience pain, joy, life, love,
Create a new generation
Offering hope to this earth
Now and forever!
Dare to love, to live, to learn, to teach.

Because you were born in joy,

Of love,

Raised with hope and

Nurtured with truth your soul

Shall be the soul
Of three generations and beyond.
Nidus and native to our hearts.

Though all the mountains be shaken

and the hills be removed

yet my unfailing love for you

will not be shaken

Isaiah 54:10

Remission

The news?

The news is good!

Five years of quarterly examinations

and surgeries ruling my life as the moon

rules the waves;

crest and valley,

crest and valley,

swell after swell dwarfing the boat of me,

the constant crescendo exhausting.

Cancer looming and lurking,

glooming the day, haunting the night

as it toured my body,

spreading it’s blanket on the beach of my tranquility;

a trailer trash vacationer

leaving cans, bottles,

debris and dirty diapers

in all my secret places.

And now?

Now I will rest,

re-gather,

enjoy a breath or two of summit air,

clean up the place,

water the garden

return in six months to enjoy the view

or find something new

to whine about.

There are many who scoff at alternative healing, particularly energy healing. Of course I always ask them, “Wasn’t Christ the greatest energy healer of all time?”

The Newest Garden

Master Lin leads us,

looking older.

He has no Katrina tales,

only stories of heroes and heaven.

He tells of his time in Sichuan Province,

mediating in the caves,

the caves which collapsed,

swallowing his brothers.

Earth to universe in a manner unimagined;

devouring their brothers and sisters

as though hungry for souls.

Visualizing chaos,

souls trapped under soil and rock,

or between now and forever,

I see white light encased in dark, formless armor.

A bright half-moon replaces the left half of the Buddha’s face

as he mourns and offers hope,

weeping beside us in this newest garden of life and death.

As we chant,

dark shells crumble,

light escapes,

darts and soars

courses through the galaxies,

returning light to aid release of those

continuing on the journey.

I don’t know why I write these poems. I start thinking about my children, four men age twenty-two to twenty–nine, how much joy I wish them, and suddenly the world is there. I begin a Mother’s Day poem and my mind shifts to orphaned and abused children, wondering what that day holds for the not so fortunate.

Sometimes I have difficulty staying on task, but you know what they say, a father’s work is never done.

Water Water Everywhere

I

like you

dream for my children

not for simple things

like a home with a real roof

and running water

or a homeland

where I don’t pray I am first in line

for the relief trucks

with our ration of rice and water

not even for a place

where the mosquitoes don’t bring malaria

from fetid swampy water

or strangers don’t spray bombs and bullets

on their neighbours

until a priest is required to wash their war torn bodies clean

with Holy Water

I

like you

dream in America

not of it

of scholarships to lofty institutions

letters in athletics

the debate team

a home on the ocean

a cabin on a lake full of clear water

a good job

a good spouse

4^th of July barbeques

with steaks

fireworks and imported mineral water

you know

the good life

Isn’t that what dreams are all about

The Daily Grind is indeed true for all of us. If I have learned the value of life and thereby, I hope, the value of patience, I believe I have also learned to appreciate those, all of those, who care for human beings and the tired,  frightened, hungry for hope desperate creatures we can become when beset by poor health. I can never thank them enough, and regardless of my condition, try to  remember to do so at every opportunity.

A Busy Day for Life and Death

It was a busy day for life and death

two pages behind

one on the phone

the two of us in the tiny office

waiting

the beeper calling insistently

a monitor malfunctioning

Unusual

I thought

wondering if we should leave the room

wondering if this moment reminded my medical oncologist

of residency

wondering how much we should hear

There were snippets of strategy

tiny forebears of tragedy

medial static caking

something growing almost as rapidly as the Big Bang

a condition radiation would not help

a cut in chemo dosage

and then

then he turned

and gave us his full attention

Explained every nuance of the CT scan

each possibility for the future

it was as though the rest were behind him

or waiting

for me

Better to Give

Patients bring us gifts all the time

the RN in medical oncology remarked

I wish they wouldn’t

It is we who should be giving them gifts

You are

I said

Everyday