Red Lilies

It has been a very long time since I’ve read this poem that I love, Red Lilies, by Richard Speakes.  When I got out the old December 1994 edition of Poetry and reread it, I thought I’d share the beauty…

Red Lilies

by Richard Speakes

For Joan Didion

We tame with explanations any red, provide

meanings into which we dive, the human

foxhole where the mind finds protection.

It’s fabulous out there, and one clump

of red lilies beside the house could be

the bullet that rips through the body of

all those connotations, our symbols,

the stories that make sense of our world.

Red Riding Hood and Christ’s wounds, mother’s

blood,

and the color the sun must be as one’s death

gives sunset its purpose, its passion at closure.

And then, rising, the moon punctuates the sentence

one’s life made, its last word that somehow rhymes

with all the words preceding, love and work

and sex.  One’s death is by nature that moment,

all the meanings folded into the bundle

one carries, tied to a stick of bone,

as one goes forth into eternity.

That exquisite nonsense is the world

the mind makes from the world it didn’t,

with words that are themselves blossoms

of the invisible, the world as we see it.

As a side note, it’s interesting to think that I read this, and loved it, long before I knew of Richard Speakes and Joan Didion.  I was in high school at the time, fancying myself a writer, and here I am today, fifteen years later, having gotten cozy with Didion’s writing last semester, and still loving that poem.

Dreams Deferred

(with apologies to Langston Hughes for stealing and altering his famous title)

Dreams can change throughout your lifetime.  Some dreams from earlier days are no longer appealing and wouldn’t serve you to hold onto.  (I once told my aunt that I wanted to be the first female president of the United States—hardly a position I would consider today)  I’m interested in the dreams that continue to burn in your heart.  The ones you know you could go for if you just let yourself be a bit courageous.

What are your dreams for today and for the future?  Which ones have you forgotten?

For me, I’ve been passionate about going to Africa for as long as I can remember.  I so badly wanted to see Kenya—to meet the people face to face, to be surrounded by that culture and to help out in their overwhelming circumstances in whatever way I could.  Fast forward to today:  I have visited Kenya twice and then lived there for six months.  That dream for me is not finished—I still long to return.  And I will.

Another dream I had from even earlier was to be published.  I vividly recall getting wrapped up in the stories of Little House on the Prairie and other children’s books.  I wanted to be able to tell stories like that, to publish something that might move another to a state of joy or sadness, ultimately to a state of connection that a reader feels with a well-written character.  This dream too will soon become a reality.

The people I know who live to pursue their dreams are those that are most alive.

I know a woman who sews quilts by hand.  It had been her dream to learn how to do this.  For her, it was a link to her ancestors who created gorgeous family treasures, and passed them down through the centuries.

I know a man who recently signed up for improv classes.  He is 68 and told me, “I don’t know why I waited this long.”  He had been pushing aside his dream to be on stage for decades.  Now he’s chosen to make the time to follow the calling he had always ignored.

What are your dreams?  Which ones have been left on the backburner for too long now?

A dream deferred is one yet pursued.  Take time today to think about what your dreams are.  Which ones have changed and are not important anymore?  Which ones still ignite a spark within?  Make a list, write them down as a proclamation to the universe.  “This is what I want!”  What next step can you take in the pursuit of that dream?