Ode to a gnat...

There before me lies this blank page...is it crying for enrichment or just silent in the moment.

Does one leave their comfort zone in search of comfort...looking to the faces of the unknown as thought there be a return to the long-ago familiar sound of everyday.

Summer sounds of bouncing balls, shrieks of glee, from youth at play...win or lose, on a summer day...

Burgers, dogs & watermelon, sipping icy drinks & more...soda, water, showers too.

Crowds of people all around, conversations so profound...no one notices who's around.

Kites are soaring above the grass, while some still lying in the grass - but still great joy for those that try.

Little gnats all abound, swatting one does leave its note...but not in word...how do I say, never again will that little gnat bite...I've given end to it's very life.

Sneakers, sandals, running shoes, flip-flops adorned with little jewels...barefoot dancers lose their shoes.

Young and old and in between...no one minds what will be seen.

Scooters, bikes and hoola-hoops, picnic tables for those who cook.

It's sunny and hot...tall and leafy shaded trees welcome in the faintest breeze.

Flags are flying, none half-mast...glorious monuments of wars that passed.

These are the signs of living life...no tricks of cameras needed here...the planet holds her own so clear.

Mario Carazo and James Weis...inherit the universe On July 22, 2010...

And you Dotzie...reminding me this night of Mario...a son of someone...a dear friend of another...another young man with dreams larger then the living universe.

I am reminded of this young man...Mario Carazo...a cadet at Annapolis...blessed with the friendship of Sarah...who would take him and other young men into her home when home for them was far away. He was gracious and charming...and dared to show off his appreciation of Sarah by showing her visiting aging friends around the town. We laughed with him, we danced with him, we admired his determination...and when the evening was ended we bid Mario good-bye, thanking him for his time and wishing him the best of the best.

It's years later now...and Mario should be sharing with Sarah his tales of growing up...but that won't be. He has not another day to share his thoughts, concerns, good days, or even tough days. His story is only to be retold in memory by those whose life he touched...

Mario was sent to Afghanistan...it was there, on July 22, 2010, he was to hear the voice of God...calling him home...not to Springfield Ohio...not to the shores we all share...but to the warmth of eternity. God blessed Mario with the gift of remembrance by many...good memories of a young man with dreams larger then the universe...and, in particular, by a few aging friends of Sarah.

And, on that same day, another young man would hear his name whispered... James Weis...a son of the great state of New Jersey...a Jersey shore kid...he would no longer lounge on the edge of the surf...no longer inhale the scent of ocean breezes or the smell of Barnegat Bay. He will be remembered though...each and every time his name is mentioned...his memorabilia of youth passed touched or passed on for safe-keeping to someone dear...he thrives in eternity with all others that heard their name whispered and stopped the very breath they were to inhale and returned to the Father.

Bravery is not to be learned...it's simply a part of who a person is...not discovered till time calls upon them for exhibition...

Peace...to you, yours and mine,

Claire / OWW

Evolution...

Evolution...

Be not so smug of eternity

Evolution has it's own authority

Man being the proof positive.



Claire Greco c.08/30/02

Answering the call of creation...

The seed sleeps...till creation calls. Silently it implants itself. Thus, when the time comes and the sun discovers her existence...quietly, yet eagerly, she changes.

When the season of her is arrived she shall burst forth. Never again to be darkly silent...no longer concealing her delicate flower.

But, if mother nature shall call her home...she shall gratefully, and without question, lay her bloom to the earth...with great trust that she indeed will rise again, in another season...in a more glorious garden.

Claire Greco c.09/05/2000

Another symbol...

Another symbol...

Is it the ribbon? neatly crossed.
Or is it the color? pink
yellow
red
white
purple
and on,
and on,
and on.

Perhaps it's all about the delicate loop
easily undone...
intentionally...unintentionally.

Symbols

Symbols...why do we find such great strength in

them...is it not within us naturally?

View from my window...

Let the soul like a well placed window reflect one's appreciation of the wondrous gifts of creation.

Never...

Never...
is not forever....
it speaks only of what hasn't been.
claire greco c.02/18/09

Sailing

Sailing...typically

the art of moving

forward by means

of sail...traveling

on water...gliding

along like a ship in

full sail.







Now consider this. It be the sport of the curious...those who dare adventure out on the crest of Earth's deepest secret. Feeling challenged and lured to experience the awesomeness (first hand) of unbound power. Perhaps believing they secure an understanding with God, that respect and appreciation of that which is uncommonly common, shall indeed lead them closer to His own humility.

Claire Greco c.08/21/02

Roots

Roots...

Sequence of life...

The source of who we are

but not limiting.

Tended and cared for they multiply

thus strengthening and enhancing their blooms.




Claire Greco c.09/05/02

Tears....

Tears...

if it were only about the composition.
So simple it would be in explanation - exudation of watery droplets.
Oh, how uncomplicated it should be to conceal such sorrow...were it not so blurring and stinging.
Welling up till finally they gently begin their flow, over the delicate sill that sits below the window of ones' soul.
Till the numbness overwhelms, and thus begins the cascade over the warmed and blushed with fever cheeks.
Some reaching the trembling lips, impaling one's senses with that salty taste only the weeping heart does recognize.
Still, others shall sink further, streaking one's breast, seeking solace in the crevice that hides the pulse of they center.
Can there be a time when the soaking of oneself shall cease?
And, when it does, what shall be left?
Will the heart ever be whole again or does one learn to wrap the broken pieces...storing them in memory...not of love lost...but, of great possibility to be so touched again.

Claire Greco c. 09/11/02

Lucy...come forth

You must believe...the hangout.

Thought I would share a piece that I wrote when Jen's Aunt Lucy passed on...Aunt Lucy was like a mother to Jen and saying goodbye was not easy. When I heard of her passing I immediately wrote Jen a note...and dedicated these words to Aunt Lucy.

Lucy...come forth...

When the snow had ended...and the spring burst forth...she took the first step of her journey towards eternity...carefully each step would be measured...perhaps, sometimes skipping a few...like a child in play. But, this child was not in play...she was in transition...there would be no moves forward without the help of yesterday.

Present became too complicated...too muddled in details of what to do...or still had to be done. Slowly would she begin to remember the yesterdays like they were the breath before the last. She knew in her heart that this was a sign...that all would never be the same...that her tomorrow's had indeed changed.

There was quiet knowledge...amid her unspoken thoughts...that soon the last of the spring flowers would be put to seed...the new season of summer with all it's glorious color and warmth would be upon her...and that would become her season of goodbye.

Patiently...and yes, sometimes impatiently, she would seek her reality. So sure she was that time would be favorable, and it was...allowing her to glance back and breath freely the scents of seasons past...thus locking them forever in her soul...to be carried into a whole new season...that only those chosen, may enter.

and so it was...that in the early morning...before the sun had even kissed the new day...she was to hear her name called one last time. The voice would be so familiar...and yet, unlike any she had ever heard in her everyday of life as she knew it.

and He whispered...Lucy, come forth...your place is set...the feast of who you were is already begun. Come my daughter...fear not, cry not...your heavenly family is waiting.

and so, Lucy is now in the season of Eternity...and I do believe I hear her say...weep not for me my dear sweet gentle family, my friends...I go not to my death...but to my beginning.

Love to you Aunt Lucy...thank you for a glimpse into the heart of you.

Claire Greco c. 08/25/02

that pesty dandelion...

This is a little piece I did on the importance of the unimportant.

The dandelion, as common as me, is no less pretty or welcome to see, it's yesterday's flower that tempted me.

Oh, but to be that child again, where carefree and innocence all began, as I played in the meadows time and again.

We tumbled and danced without a care, while giggles and laughter filled the air, the weight of the world was not our care.

Let's gather the flowers my dear friend, for tomorrow might see their very end, now make a bouquet for your very best friend.

Remember these days when bias the row, prejudice kills all beauty that grows, and dandelions never do grow in a row.

As everyone knows, that knows me, even when I don't know myself...the garden is my point of reference when it comes to the everyday of life...

We are all dandelions in some fashion...

I wish you unending wonderful moments in time...

OWW/Claire

Journey...

Just as the tree, bidding the autumn goodbye, graciously accepts her journey of death into winter
may you too graciously accept this day in preparation of your journey into tomorrow.

May you emerge in the new season of today, stronger and more magnificent, unafraid of new tomorrows...aware that, those yesterdays delivered the person you are today.

Scarred and scared perhaps, but perfect nonetheless...for you were indeed created in the image of Holiness.

Claire V. Greco c. 2002 OWW/claire

The years they pass so quickly

The years they pass so quickly. Where did they go?
Where are all the flowers from so long ago.
I looked to the garden, and what did I see... another friend that sat by me. Not in the way you'd usually think... but more in the way the spirit is linked, to the very breath of who I be, to all those I loved...but, no longer see. My Lord is kind, my Father he, gifts me with years, most seldom see. I know that I have been here long, but not so long as heaven's song. My story is not yet complete. I have not finished, know not defeat. The years they pass so quickly...how many more to go. I'll plant some flowers in God's good garden... love is what I'll sow.

This poem was written for Jen's (Hangout Group) Aunt Lucy...a wonderful sweet woman that adored her niece. (as soon as Jen sends me Aunt Lucy's picture it will be posted)

And there in my dreams he comes...

And there in my dreams he comes. Taking my soul to another place. One where all the tears become the raindrops forming the rainbow. This is what He does for me when I am silent in my darkness.

Claire V. Greco c.1998
OWW/claire