the spring sometimes with mud and rains, where we wore jackets and sweaters, walked the miles and sat a while upon the hill where a stone was stationed. overcast and windy, but, as it goes, change does the world well sometimes. then, warmth and the celebration of summer, its blooms and creatures and the clear blue sky, the petals just there and the feral ferns unwinding. see the verdancy of the woodlands whimsical, the paths and ways wondrous.

Autumn waits and then its own brand of beauty, hues red yellow-brown,- the treeline captures one’s eye there, calm, reminding somehow of all the autumns before. where is that sweater?-that jacket?- that book of poems or novel that used to be revisited in the fall months? what would Henry Miller say about?- he said he liked Jack Kerouac’s nature writing. he would have something to say about it, something positive, life affirming. the sagacity of seasons…everybody wants only the great sun and clarity,- but the cycles of time know what they are doing. winter,- cold and brooding, serious and often saturnine. bleak days, early dark, but sometimes the sun, the sparkles of snow upon branches near or wild. that is good, no?- the quiet meditative earth then, blanketed in nature’s newness and wisdom…

Now you know…

You wrote poems called “mother”,

“Father” is the only word in your heart.

I think you’re calling me “father”

You know the value of your father now.

Who is the person who did your thankless work,

Ayamai gave his love quietly.

If you don’t tell me that you gave me love,

You don’t appreciate your father.

You are jealous of someone else,

You are happy in your imagination.

You are in pain, not happiness.

You know the value of your father now.

Lost

Grass or hair

Very close

Sickle-covered hands

Cut by the clouds of the decks

Sailors’ souls or sailors’ corpses

In the ocean of time

In the ocean of the soul

A void stirred by the storm

A void moved by the wind

Catch me

Raw are matches

Keep me warm

Hands are broken

Anchors melted into cotton candy.

Sails soak up the screams and become heavy as metal

No one remembers but the seagulls

Death by ship

A ship that tasted death

No one knows where the corpses go

Ice beneath the feet of slipping death

Cast-iron milk of tastes and sunken eyes of noses

Nobody knows how to compose a proper serenade

Nobody knows how to die with rhyme

Nobody writes dead poetry

Nobody writes poetry for dead people

Nobody knows how to write and read

Strange seagulls look everywhere with their beaks

Michael’s Salvation:

I have come across some of my journals from 1979 and 1987.

Indeed, my cry to the Lord was genuine. I actually wanted to die. I cried out to the Lord over and over again for salvation and redemption. Still, I continued in turmoil. As I read my journals from those periods in my life and my writing in Synchronized Chaos since 2015, I’ve found my salvation and redemption here and now after 21 years yesterday in this apartment God has come and now lives in my Heart.❤️

I have peace beyond my understanding, as it says in the Bible. Finally, after years of darkness, there is light in my heart. Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that God promises a hope and a future, not to harm, but to prosper us. John 3:16 says that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son so that anyone who believes in
Him would have eternal life.

I accept Christ the salvation that Jesus Christ purchased for me. No more do I desire to die, but to live in Christ Jesus in the here and now and throughout eternity. My death was to my sinful nature because I’ve come to accept that while I once was a sinner. I’m now saved to live a life in Christ who is alive in the Father. Therefore, like the Apostle Paul says: Romans “Dead to sin, alive to God”

Romans 6:1-14: Dead to Sin
“What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?” – Romans 6:1-2 (NIV).
Amen and amen.

“You were born from the Rays of God’s Majesty when the stars were in their perfect place.”

                                                                                                 ~RUMI

God, I return to you in the lights of a star…shining bright with the light of love. Love from the beginning I return without darkness for I have seen the wonders of my soul. The hidden treasure of your spark within me. The world has not covered my soul in sin or emptiness leaving me without you in my heart. Your truth speaks in me in the wee hours of the morning as the world sleeps forever more. I find my soul among the stars circling the outer rim of Saturn’s moon. I’m that star to the right of your heart. O God, never to become dim for you created me to shine forever more.

“When you lose all sense of self the bonds of a thousand chains will vanish…”

                                                                                                           ~RUMI

Where can I go, O God where you do not exist? I have not traveled far enough to not feel your Holy presence within my soul. Delightful thoughts about the beginning of time together. Reaching for the clouds, as I lay in the fields of joy, wishing to see the skies once more. Before the clouds cover the moon and the sun fades into the distinct mountains of Vermont. Once we had a conversation, as I sat on the porch wondering about my life. It was a conversation about my beginning without end. My heart listened intently as you spoke of salvation and redemption. Christ the Messiah came alive within me. No more doubt nor sin to confuse my aching soul. For I had received the communion of life with these three words: You are forgiven.

7:41pm

10-20-2024

Dance the Dance Slowly: What a Dying Teen Can Teach Us about Living

[Excerpt from Fleury’s book: “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” originally published in Spare Change News] 

“Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round? /Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground? /Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight? /Or gazed at the sun into the fading night? /You better slow down. /Don’t dance so fast/Time is short/The music won’t last.” So begins the hopeful and emotional offering of an anonymous teenager dying of cancer in a New York hospital with an estimated six months to live.

We have all heard the clichéd phrases “Slow down, life is short” or “Take the time to look around and smell the roses”, but in this case the inherent meaning has been further enhanced by the unpredictable behavior of cancer and the non-committal allotment of time. I too have been exposed to this calamity imposed on humanity known as the “C” word.

Before re-discovering my pressing need to write as a profession, I worked as a health care professional for about ten years. Both fortunately and unfortunately, my last three years was working at the Chilton House, a hospice residence in Cambridge. I say fortunately, because it was my most meaningful learning experience and unfortunately because it was by far the hardest.

For those of you who do not know what a hospice is, it is a place for the terminally ill to make their final exit with peace, dignity and even harmony. But essentially, it is also much more than that. It is also a place for both families and patients respectively to find closure, forgiveness, joy (yes, even joy) and enlightenment.

There are five stages anyone who is dying or experiencing a major loss goes through according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, author of “On Death and Dying”. The Five Stages of Grief are:

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

It is written that “Kübler-Ross originally applied these stages to any form of catastrophic personal loss (job, income, freedom). This also includes the death of a loved one, divorce, drug addiction, or infertility. Kübler-Ross also claimed these steps do not necessarily come in the order noted above, nor are all steps experienced by all patients, though she stated a person will always experience at least two.”

The stage that the dying teen is most likely at the “acceptance” stage. By writing the poem, it is apparent to me that the dying teen is  making peace with her condition and is “preparing” for her untimely departure. But her message of hope goes beyond the grave.

I will print her poem in its entirety at the end of this article. But before I do, I am compelled to tell you what I learned in my years as a hospice nurse. The midnight hour had just landed, perched like a crow upon the hospice house comely garden (the crow is said to be a symbol of death).

One of my patients was dying. He was a white professor from Harvard University. Of all the people he knew, I was the only one there, a “black kid” as he said, holding his hands to the end.

And he turned to me and said: “Listen kid. In life, status, education and money are not what matters. What matters is what was true and truly felt and how we treated one another.” After which he died one hour later.

Consequently, this teenager’s compassionate legacy to humanity is the following poem, which makes me feel that we should be kind to each other while we still can because she is embracing us with kindness even as she anticipates taking her final breath. Just like her poem dictates, please read it not in haste, but slowly so that you may absorb its distinctive taste. Her poem is a gift meant to be opened slowly while the music is still playing and you’re still capable of dancing…

Slow Dance

By an anonymous teenager

“Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?

Or listened to the rain Slapping on

the Ground? Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?

Or gazed at the sun into the

fading night? You better slow down.

Don’t dance so fast. Time is short.

The music won’t last. Do you run through each day on the fly?

When you ask how are

you? Do You hear the reply?

When the day is done do you lie in your bed with the next

hundred chores Running through your head?

You’d better slow down, don’t dance so fast.

Time is short. The Music won’t last. Ever told your child 

‘We’ll do it tomorrow?’

And in your haste, Not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die cause you never had time to call And say hi?

You’d better slow down. Don’t dance so fast. Time is short.

The music won’t last. When you run so fast to get somewhere

You miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry through your day,

It is like an unopened gift thrown away.

Life is not a race. Do take it slower.

Hear the music

Before the song is over.”

Her dying wish is for you to pass this on to as many people as possible. Please help fulfill a last request. In this case, share as many copies of this book as you possibly can!

One woman wrote a letter to the editor thanking me for the article and for sharing this young woman’s poem. She said she slowed down long enough to read it on the train ride home during rush hour and it brought her to tears. She decided to go out dancing with friends that weekend!

Jacques Stanley Fleury is a Haitian-American Poet, Author and Educator. He holds an undergraduate degree in Liberal Arts and is currently pursuing graduate studies in the literary arts at Harvard University online. Once on the editing staff of The Watermark, a literary magazine at the University of Massachusetts, his first book Sparks in the Dark: A Lighter Shade of Blue, A Poetic Memoir was featured in and endorsed by the Boston Globe. His second book: It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories is a collection of short fictional stories dealing with the human condition as the characters navigate life’s foibles and was featured on Good Reads. His current book and hitherto magnum opus Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism, A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism explores social justice in America and his latest book, “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  along with all other previously mentioned titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, Porter Square Books, The Grolier Bookshop, Goodreads, bookshop, Amazon etc…  His CD A Lighter Shade of Blue as a lyrics writer in collaboration with the neo-folk musical group Sweet Wednesday is available on Amazon, iTunes & Spotify to benefit Haitian charity St. Boniface.
—

Whispers of Exile and War

In exile, the blue sky drifts on, like a sea breeze,

While sunrises and sunsets blur, making wishes hard to keep.

Looking out the window, walking empty streets,

The stars whisper to the moon, praying for a kiss that lingers deep.

As if the eyes rejoice, done weeping over corpses,

As if the ears have learned to hear the stillness of the universe.

But why are mouths forced to smile, to speak as if nothing happened,

While life retreats from death’s presence, leaving us to die in pain?

Lebanon, you are the chandelier that lights our yesterdays and tomorrows.

Palestine, you are the olive branch, the warm nest of greater times.

Iraq, you are the forgiving homeland, the loving parent of all people.

Syria, you are the gate that never closes, forever offering protection.

If you count the roses in your corners, that’s the number of civilians

Who died in war. Your footsteps still carry the blood of innocent children,

Slaughtered, unburied, while you unleashed your human rights,

Barking and devouring our children who never learned to breathe free.