Awakening

by Michele Fry ©1966


Lay down your wooly head, my child
Lay down your head an’ dream . . . . .
     O’birds an’ bees an’ butterflies, an’ traipsing ‘cross the seas.



Dream o’ dream enough for two,

Enough for you an’ me . . . . .
     For I am growing up an’ face a stark reality.

Except that might tomorrow please me
More than did today . . . . .
     I’d stay wrapped up in my cocoon and dream my life away.

I’d picture me as livin’ in a
Cottage by the sea . . . . .
     My true love close beside me and children on my knee.

I’d play my flute and paint and write,
And gather friends about me.
     My tables laid with fruit and wine, and flowers in the window.

And we’d not want for anything,
We’d be so full contented . . . . .
     The world would lose its harshness and all that I’ve resented.

I’ve wiled away my youth in such
Utopian fantasy . . . . .
     Not knowing for a moment that these schemes could never be.

But now I am awakening,
These dreams, they have no stem . . . . .
     Are simply mounted to the sky with naught for holding them.

For children do get hungry,
And someone pays the rent,
     And friends have other things to do when all the wine is spent.

And moon glow stirs my pulses
In a manner heretofore unknown . . . . .
     With arms up-spread, I join the realm of Goddess, mother, crone.

It takes no energy to dream
Just free imagination . . . . .
     T’was easy to mistake as real a child’s hallucination.

To overlook tha’ surge of power
Which serious challenges can bring . . . . .
     Blessed are the realities that force the beating wing.



A Child's Love Is God's Glue

© 1994

Please don't take it personally, son,
when, not meaning to, I moan.
It's just you don't quite satisfy me
now that you are grown(compared to all those precious infant
hugs that I have known.)

I still can feel, through cotton gown,
the warmth of your soft skin.
You'd gaze into my eyes then snuggle
close under my chin,
then pat my cheek, and giggle and goo,
then do it all again.

You gave yourself so thoroughly,
I gave my life to you.
'Til your birth, I'd not known such love . . . .
it was completely new.
My heart at no time realized
you were just passing through.

So there you go, a man now.
Such a proud and handsome lad.
And everything goes well for you . . . . . . .
so how can I be sad?
Confused, I could not understand
why I should feel so bad . . . .

'Til yesterday, I saw your baby
snuggling up to you,
curling up into your chest
and you hugging him, too.
I knew then, knew with certainty —
a child's love is God's glue.

I'm proud of you.
You know it's true.
I positively glow.
As an equal, as a friend,
I admire and love you so.
But how can I pretend there's not some
emptiness in my soul?

There's something missing when we meet,
a lack of some alloy.
Those hugs that used to bind us tightly
serve now vaguely to annoy.

I realize what our problem is . . . . . . .
I miss my little boy.

A Tempered Sword

By Michele T. Fry, ã 1996

 

I thought myself ungainly as a child,

but my Mother, feeding fancies of her own

pasted labels on my unformed soul with oft-repeated phrases such as

     "Come to me, my precious ballerina."

 

So I grew up a cynic,

disbelieving any praise I got from her

as well as every disingenuous

remark that pierced my ear.

 

My strengths went undetected

but I managed, hanging on

to some nameless noun

I knew to be my SELF.

 

I read in classic literature

of heros who had risen like the Phoenix

from the ashes of their own annihilation.

I took heart, and I smiled

(with that Mona Lisa smile —

distant gaze, folded arms, cool resolve) . . . . . . .

and laid siege to the deafening defeat

which was roaring all around me day and night.

 

I was certain I was strong

and I knew I had power.

Something beautiful was stirring deep within me,

though it seemed no one else could see what I saw.

 

"You will metamorphosize in good time",

said my soul to my heart, and I believed it!

As an article of faith this became my religion

as I slogged through the slights and the nays

and the disapproving looks and the backstabbing ways

of my fellows towards their fellows.

Through the endless disappointments of my life,

I saw light through the darkness and myself in the light.

 

As a Samauri does,

I became what I am:

 

     Folded once. Folded thrice.

     Thrusted yet again into the fires of Life,

     then again, layer on layer,

     I was bent and beaten flat

     on the anvil of Strife

     'til the edge I could hold

     was undullable in conflict

     and the arc my blade could trace

     matched a ballerina's grace.

     and the handle fitted to me

     gleamed with polished usefulness.

 

Thus, I sprang from the Master's hand —

A Tempered Sword.

P.S. Mom, if you read this, it isn’t about you.  You never called me your precious ballerina.  It’s a poem about the damage done by all sorts of people  who place false (good or bad) labels on others, especially children, and about surviving such cruelty by being true to ourselves.

A Teacher's Manifesto

By Michele T. Fry, ã February 1991

An autobiographical poem: I owned, operated and taught in my own Montessori school for 27 years. 
This is the understanding I came to have of what I was teaching. 

 

This school is My Church,

and I am the Pastor of this holy place.

 

This is My Spot on Earth in which to be effective,

the only place on Earth over which I have Dominion.

 

Conceived in Love.

 

Whose Divine Purpose it is

to glorify the Human Spirit

and discipline the mind and body to it’s Will.

 

To be a Friend.

 

To Teach each of my Pupils

the Natural Laws that govern Every Thing;

to tune them in to the Diversity of Truth

and the Vastness of the Universe;

to free them from the Darkness of Superstition;

from Mistrust and Fear of fellow humans;

And to trust Themselves;

to teach the holy art of Gratitude

and celebrate with them the Blessings Of Our Age;

to cultivate that holy mix of

Humility, Personal Power, Empathy and Joy

which resurrects the soul

and frees the heart to feel Compassionate toward Self and Others.

 

To guide them to such discoveries

that they may reach whatever Heights they may aspire to;

take responsibility for the Depths that they explore;

add to the Beauty of this world;

reduce Suffering;

increase Pleasure;

triumph over Adversity and help others do the same;

see the Connectedness of all things;

accept Aloneness and the Great Unknown;

Forgive;

and wherever they are in the vast millieu of Life,

to dance in gratitude with a song on their lips

whose lyrics are simply, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

 

And in the end,

to have each of my pupils come to know

and to Enjoy

the God within Themselves,

and Everything,

and Everyone.