SO WE DECIDED TO GO DOWN TO TRY AND GET AUTOGRAPHS

Even from high in the bleachers

he looked mammoth.

Broad shoulders and legs
strong, churning, crushing.
Eight years old
and I was hanging close to my Dad's knee.
I knew the name. Cookie Gilchrist.
Before I knew all my prayers. Cookie Gilchrist.

Cookie ran for the Buffalo Bills
on this cold afternoon November of 64.
I sat riveted, watching my idol
steamroll over opposing linemen,
linebackers and the odd zebra or two.
Dad laughed as it was
"Cookie this", and "Cookie that"
He knew a boy needed his heroes.

The Bills could have won without him,
but Gilchrist made it special.
"Thanks Dad" I remember saying,
"He's my hero"
Dad smiled a smile
that continues to warm me to this day.
We grabbed our gear and headed out.

"This way, Sonny" he instructed.
And I followed in obedience.
Ramp, after tunnel, after stair
to a ramp. We found ourselves
in the lowest point in the "Rockpile".
A swarm of screaming kids blocked the way.
Standing above the throng...
Cookie Gilchrist.

Dad leaned in and whispered to me
and I nodded in compliance.
In my loud eight year old voice
I called, "Mr. Gilchrist?"
He stopped. And glancing our way, he smiled.
Cookie pressed past the crowd
to the place where my father and I stood.

This mountain of a man
reached for my program.
He smiled even more broadly
and he plied his signature
onto the glossy crisp page.
In awe I stammered,
"Thank you very much, Mr. Gilchrist!

One last smile graced his face.
"No son, thank you!"
I came to understand
his gratitude as the years passed.
For in a simple gesture,
my father taught me a great lesson.
I learned respect.

I had the opportunity to thank my father
before he had died.
"No Sonny, thank you!" he said.
With that the lesson was completed.
A boy has to have his hero.



Carlton "Cookie" Gilchrist died today from a recurrence of Cancer. He was 75.


Walt

MAUMEE MASKED MARAUDER

Masked intruder,

Prowler, looter --

Cute as cute can be.

On a lark

At Sidecut Park

Along the great Maumee.

Marie Elena

Photo by Keith R. Good

JANUARY SNOWS

First comes the thaw.
A heartless tease from a gentle breeze,
bringing showers and hours of warm.
No storm in site; just the right temperature
to make a nice White Christmas
a fond memory. Every sensory stimulus
is less provoking as I stand, choking back
my enthuiasm. A wide chasm between
reality and what I know to be an illusion.
It is this intrusion of this lake; unfrozen and
enabling, labeling these shores as
the snow capital of nowhere. Glancing to stare,
aware that the forecast calls for resurgent flurries.
You scurry to catch a quick glimpse of the skies
and there before your eyes you realize.
The snow machine is well in tune.
I hope it ends before we hit June!


Walt

BEGINNING ANEW

Starting from here;
going on from now.
A fresh start is at the heart
of all that is to come.
A brand new year
comes to call, and all
that transpires grows
from the seeds planted
in the twelve month prior.
That fire in your belly
spurs you on, a prodding
giving the nod to better things.
A fresh start is at the heart
of perfecting your art.
It all up to you
to begin anew.

Walt

HAIKU

Twenty Ten has scraped

like fingernails on chalkboard.

Time for a clean slate.

Marie Elena

MEET ME

Meet me where memory encounters moment,

dream melds with certainty,

and loss is rendered impotent.

Marie Elena

OF LOSS AND REMEMBRANCE AT CHRISTMASTIME

Years pass.
Christmas never changes.
In the exchange of gifts and greeting
there is a meeting of hearts and it starts.
Thoughts of voices that have been silenced
and smiles that have faded into misty memory.
Melancholy peeks through the windows
of a heart broken soul; a token show of
love for loved ones long vacant.
At some point you anoint these recollections;
a status of legend and immortality takes hold.
We remember Christmases of long ago as if
they are visions of a changeable future.
It nurtures us and give our sorrow rest.
The tomorrows are the best when our steps
are guided and propelled by the lessons learned.
Through our losses, we remember the wonder of love
and we will be healed by it; the gift of Christmas.


Walt

ABANDONED GLORY

Abandoned glory for virgin’s womb.
For his birth, there was no room.
Embraced His fate, though death did loom,
Crucified; then laid in tomb.

Conquered sin and death outright,
My Redeemer won the fight.
Sacrificed for sin’s dark blight;
Light and Life of Silent Night.

Marie Elena (2009)

ACCEPTING CHRISTMAS LOVE IN A GATHERING OF HEARTS

                                        A
                                    <       >
                                      V V
                                        A
                                     week
                                   remains.
                               All the prep-
                               arations are
                          nearly completed.
                      The house is clean and
                   dressed up. Boughs of green-
                        ery hang in sweeping
                   arcs, bringing symmetry to a
              celebration well planned. Every boy,
           girl woman and man, join hands in bowed
                 prayer for a day molded on peace
             and love; above all else, the birth of a
        child brought to the world to sacrifice in order
              to make a nice life rife with meaning.
              And taking time to share in that spirit,
          aside from the hustle and bustle of hurried
        desperation seems to get lost in the shuffle.
     But, when evening comes to call and all will gather
  in heart, near hearth or around the tree, a communion
                                     of love lights
                                     every happy
                                     face brightly.


Walt

THE GIFT

                                                                    Silent                                                                                        

                                                                  and still,

                                                                 the way a

                                                                night like this

                                                               should be. All have

                                                            retired, they surely look-

                                                            ed tired and worn. They’ll

                                                           be better in the morning, they

                                                        have earned their rest.   They did

                                                            their best. I’d be resting too, but

                                                                it’s just that I’ve still too much to do.

                                                 There’s   that list; a new quick check for updates,

                                                reprieves from me in a stretch.   A call to the stable,

          assuring                           this latest chapter of the fable goes off without a hitch.

       The        suit                        is pressed. The boots shine next to the white fur, setting

     the    brig       ht                     crimson ablaze; a staple for the Holidays. Am I crazy, or has

      De   cember   co                 me more rapid than eagles? It feels like it to me. Time flies

      wh   en I’m hav ing     fun.        I scan under the tree with a twinkled eye, spying the

   presents displayed. Every          brightly wrapped package becomes the best prize, never

    taking away from the next, at        best joining each box in wonder and richness. But,

   there is one gift that draws my attention. Did I ever mention my total love of Christmas?  It

     is in that spirit that I take up this Gift so incons       picuous, yet so utterly necessary   for

     this day. For in my hands, I hold perfection. At    closer inspection, I am certain. No giftof 

Christmas was ever so right; so accepted. So loved.   Remembering the verse, “…and the
greatest of these, is Love”, my heart swells, a telling    sign that Christmas lives within me.
 This                            Gift      so needed, fills my hands with its girth, and makes my heart
    wor                        thy                through all that it espouses. It houses purity, and sanct-
         ity.                It                       represents love. The Truest of All Love. And so it is
             with      this                   First Gift of Christmas.              I bow my head; a silent
                 prayer                         prepares me for my jour           ney. “God so       loved
              the       wor                      ld that he gave his only            son…”              and
          I ret             urn           The Babe to His manger, the love of Christmas fills me. I raise
       from                     my      knee, coming to stand near the tree. I am Santa Claus, chosen to be an icon of the season. I am humbled to receive “The Gift” I represent Who gives it a reason.          Walking in silence and reverent thought, to a waiting sleigh and a day of love.

Walt

SEVENLING (WE'RE RUNNING AWAY)

“We’re running away,” said The Twins.

Mom packed their bags.

Mom packed their lunch.

Mom hugged their necks.

Mom kissed their cheeks.

Mom cautioned,

“Remember, you are not allowed to cross any streets.”

Marie Elena
Based on a true story.

CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

Christmas lights.
Blinking, twinkling.
Red, yellow, blue.
Green and white; burns all night, bright.
Beacons of light in a mid-December snowfall.
Offering a brilliance not seen since early fall.
Silent, accenting vignettes of serenity.
A Christmas amenity:
strung and hung,
eclectic and electric.
Blinking, twinkling.
Red, yellow, blue.
Green and white, burns all night. Bright
Christmas lights.



Walt

ATTENTION DEFICIT CHRISTMAS (To the tune of Jingle Bells)

Dashing through the thoughts

Of an A.D.D.-fraught head.

Presents to be bought;

Writing this instead.

Pretty snow outside

Calling me to play

“Ought to/want to” soon collide

Now, which will win today?

Hey!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

Hey!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

Dashing through the mall

In a state of frenzied fear.

Busy! Aren’t we all?

It’s that time of year!

Who did I forget?

Did I check my list out twice?

Then I break into a sweat

For paying retail price!

Oh!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

Hey!

Cards to write! Sweets to bake!

Stockings to be hung!

Presents to be bought and wrapped, and carols to be sung!

As I sit and write

And I work to make this rhyme,

Joy creeps in despite

I’m running out of time

To do the things I must

Like write my Christmas cards.

Instead I sit and look nonplussed –

Give judgment my regards.

Oh!

Things to do! Things to do!

Running out of time!

Cannot pull myself away from working on this rhyme.

Hey!

Things to do! Things to do!

But I’m not uptight.

Oh what fun it was to write a Christmas poem tonight!

Hey!

Marie Elena

BEHIND EVERY GOOD MAN

This season tries his stamina and might,
And puts his disposition to the test.
Still, dimples bare, and eyes twinkle with light;
He carries on with energy and zest.

Though people think his work is child’s play,
I’m one who understands just what it takes.
Commitment is his motto ev’ry day
He works the whole year through, for goodness’ sakes.

I never miss an opportunity
To feed him well, or rub his weary feet.
He gives his all to each community;
I give my all to make his life complete.

Devoted both to him and to the cause,
I’ll always be – for I am Mrs. Claus.

Marie Elena

POPSICLE TOES REVISITED

It comes and goes
when the west wind blows
and we're in the throes
of lake effect snows.
Jack Frost, the leader of my foes,
is drowning out my Ho, Ho, Ho's.
These ten little guys have surely froze;
the way it goes with popsicle toes.


Walt