Blackie's Pasture
by Redwing Keyssar, RN, Poet Author
May 9, 2020
placid water
mt Tam rising
blustery wind
catching geese
on its tail
as it wags
across the powder blue background
of the pale grey clouds
While yarrow shine
their golden yellow
under the chins
of lavendar blossoms
while shocking pink-purple
iceplant lay low
bearing witness
The glare
of preciousness
of the moment
is blinding.
Where I walk is holy
I am walking
in a pandemic
making history
that someone else’s children
and their children
will hear about
and wonder...
what was it like
in the U.S.
B.C?
Before Covid
Where I sing is holy
In the shower
walking by water
waking from dreamland
sitting
or dancing
alone
with eyes half-closed
feeling the warmth
of the sun without wind
streaming through my
dirty city window
filling me with
light
filtered
by glass
Where I pray is holy
Alone
in water
on mountains
under Moonlight
and Sunlight
in Ceremony
in circles
of Healing
Where I work is holy
In the realm
of the invisible
using words
and color,...
Today's poem was written & read by Dr. Tom McNalley and was one of the award winning poems from the UCSF Department of Medicine Shelter-in-Poetry contest.
The Things We Bear Alone
Some things were not made to be borne alone:
the impossible dance of Anna’s hummingbird
returned to the nectar of the crimson snapdragon,
the surprise of the first scent of night jasmine,
the circle dance of the bluebird pair, side-looking,
honeybees chanting over new lavender,
sounding their Om resonant into the garden.
These things we were made to bear together:
to hold our gaze to the beauty that breaks our hearts
for even as it enters into us,
we cannot embrace it all.
Yesterday, Dr. Paul Lindenfeld read "Manzanita Before Winter" written by Pos Moua, and available in his collection of poems, Karst Mountains Will Bloom.
This week Judy revisited a grounding exercise for our resilience tip of the week:
Today's poem, read by David Bullard, PhD
Singularity (after Stephen Hawking) by Marie Howe
Au revoir April
By Gayle Kojimoto
May 1, 2020
For a minute, the corona cloud splits open
The sun shines through
I see a familiar face
A friend in the fog
Whose voice is beauty wrapped in love
By Susan J. Cohen,
Food for Thought participant
In San Francisco, more special events, such as the Northern California Cherry Blossom Festival, were cancelled, professional sports are still on hold, and schools are now providing distance learning. Shelter in Place (SIP) orders have been extended and now we must wear masks while shopping, waiting in lines, riding public transportation, or unable to physically distance ourselves.
Some days it’s hard to tune out the uncertainty, chaos, fear, and sadness, to not focus on the losses we’re experiencing. The loss of touch, the loss of normalcy, the loss of life. Days blend together and it’s hard to distinguish one from another. It’s hard to find motivation and to see the light. I’m calling it Coronavirus Fatigue and I’m sure others are feeling it too. Dr. Mike Rabow, our director, sent me a post for our blog, co-written by Dr. David Bullard, entitled “Invisible Losses: Secondary Trauma, Survivor’s Guilt and Moving Through the COVID-19 Crisis” and it...
