Category: Uncategorized

And then there you are, 
here and now, 
in the fullness of the moment, 
all things possible, 
glorious freedom, 
no longer slaves, 
fully realized as children of God, 
nothing left to want, 
all to disregard, 
in this moment of freedom, 
newly given, 
to be taken. 

T. S. Deary 

6/25/25

(The Wild, Wild, East)

Ordinary people, 
watching and waiting, 
those who did nothing, 
unwilling or unable to listen to the tug of conscience, 
and the ones who forget, 
having seen enough, 
to say, 

"there is nothing I can do..." 

my actions won't matter, 
and all the books that have been burned, 
are just ashes and smoke, 
that have faded away forever, 
scattered by the wind and into the nostrils of ambivalent generations, 
who have failed to remember, 
to wrapped up in today, 
to even notice the slow walk to never again being now. 

"Besides in those days, in this region, everyone heard that Jewish persons and children were being shot, which also caused me to do what I did." 

This was the wild, wild East, 
everyone knew what we brought, 
there was no pretending, 
we believed what we were told, 
no one would bat an eye, 
this was our place now, 
this was our destiny, 
the now was taking over, 
the old world, 
the old ways, 
would just have to fade away. 

“I am unable to grasp at this time how in those days that I was in such a state as to conduct myself so brutally and reprehensible – shooting Jewish children. However, earlier (before arriving in Ukraine) I had been so conditioned to…the racial laws, which established a view toward the Jewish people. As was told to me, I had to destroy the Jews. It was from this mindset that I came to committ sucha brutal act.”   Erna Petri

I was unprepared for what I saw when you were dancing, 
where once a girl was making her way, 
now there was a woman.

Maturing grace, 
angelic face, 
feminine essence, 
womanly presence, 
daughter always, 
heart ablaze, 
gorwoing up to fast, 
memories of the past.

Watching you I realized, 
you have grown up, 
you have become someone new, 
a person I had not noticed, 
until I watched you dance. 

Held in my heart, 
fromt he very start, 
feminine grace, 
feminine face, 
new perspective, 
beautifully receptive, 
accepted realization, 
beautiful acclamation. 

I saw you taking in the applause of many people, 
smiling widely and deserving of all...

Then there was me, 
listening between the sounds and sights, 
giving thanks to God, 
for you, 
for all you are, 
and especially for what you have become.

All that time will allow, 
fromt hen to now, 
seeing you all new, 
feminine debut, 
I was unprepared, 
for the way you have declared, 
girl to woman, 
girl to woman. 

T. S. Deary 
6/7/25 

God has given them a place where they will be remebered. 

On us he has placed the mantle of witness, 
our voices are his voices. 

Silence perpetuates myth.
Myth perpetuates forgetting, 
Forgetting betrays those who were destroyed. 

Timothy S. Deary

6/5/25

There is this desert between us, 
that I would gladly walk, 
just to reach you, 
just to see your face, 
looking as it one did. 

All there is, is tension, 
in this dry place, 
shadows and crossed out faces, 
all is a dream, 
nothing seems real, 
pile soft unsent letters, 
collecting dust on the table, 
empty walls, 
barren soul.

Lost little girl, 
driven away, 
never intending to look again, 
into that kaleidoscope world, 
in that small house.

Church hymns and prayers, 
unheard and unheeded, 
lighted candles, 
and novenas, 
annointed with the oil of catechumens, 
so as to bring to God's attention, 
but still you walk away, 
you walk faster than me, 
I grow older, 
and can't keep up, 
all these barriers that do not need to be here, 
blackened windows, 
can't see in or out, 
closed up with doors locked tight, 
I scratch until my fingers bleed, 
and still it never opens up. 

There were days, 
long gone now, 
when much more than now made sense, 
when so much more than now, 
was already there, 
walking bckwards, 
through the fire, 
only to end up in this rain and fog, 
standing alone, 
waiting for the tide that never rises far enough, 
to reach me.

All the dreams I never thought to lose, 
all crammed into boxes in the back of the closet, 
how quiet and worn out they seem now, 
and how there is no presence of you to breath life into them now, 
you remain far away, 
on your own, 
self imposed exile, 
from all you know, 
except for the one you have come to love, 
and God help him if he ever lets you down, 
because you will hang him up in that gallery you guard so closely.

Look at the way we're living, 
look at the blood that's spilling, 
surrounded by hate and sin, 

A world of your own choosing, 
a place of pain and losing, 
a world of walls and cages, 
spending these mental wages. 

See how far away she is, 
come to believe this plot of showbiz, 
stand aside and believe she will, 
taken for granted, all this anger will kill.

There is nostalgia, 
mistakes that have been made and paid for, 
they have painted that room, 
now settled into its dark corners, 
of silence and fear, 
newly complemented grudges, 
not being able to find your way home, 
out there all on your own, 
ignoring the ringing phone, 
no way out, 
no way back, 
blinded by your own rage, 
never stopping to remember, 
or reaching the heavens, 
to understand all that you reject, 
behind those hoodies and frowning faces, 
that you use so well to get me to leave me you alone. 

T.S. Deary 
4/23/25

She likes him, 
you can see it on her face.
She likes him, 
her eyes follow him all over the place.

He likes her,
he tries to get her to laugh and smile.
He likes her, 
the way he watches her, lost for a little while.

That smile makes him happy and content,
brief interlude of response, 
transmitted intent, 
that back and forth between the both of them, 
all that adolsescent tension,
giggles and smiles, 
electric desire to touch and be touched,
unspoken but out in the open, 
midriff shirt, 
tight b;ue jeans, 
all that summer heat building on the horizon, 
now so near, 
still so far away, 
for now, 
felt in small interludes and small interactions from one to another. 

T.S. Deary 
4/30/25 

These days go slower and slower,
even though time never stops,
seasons change from one to another,
and then back again in a cycle,
that rounds itself out,
back to where it all began. 

All these travels,
to and fro,
moments wasted, 
scenes unnoticed,
as tides crash and take away more and more of what once was,
leaving behind what will be, 
even what it is,
even if it is something we can use,
anything to dull the relentless and barren passage of time.

I remember the clock on the wall,
keeping track of time,
I never seemed to notice it in the summer,
all those endless days,
it was not until the approach of autumn,
that I again began to notice the moving hands,
all around,
again and again, 
days growing shorter and shorter,
everything ending up frozen and dark,
then,
those nights by the fireplace imagining when the ice would melt off the pond,
and instead of walking across,
we would swim,
so long ago now,
forever in my mind, 
retold again and again,
once in a while,
told so well,
we would imagine we could do it again,
even now.

Today,
I don't know what these people look at,
only their phones,
and boxed up memories stored by pushing buttons,
never the anticipationn of conversation,
no real connection of memories,
only techno memory, sometimes erased,
as if it never happened for real.

We grow old,
disconnected,
from what has been,
from what will be.

We grew up,
they do not grow at all,
stunted little trees,
shrinking forest,
one they don't see,
always looking down.

Sometimes I can still hear his voice,
at the supper table and when I am walking on sunny days, 
in the still moments of memories,
in the sights and smells of the air all around me,
in seasons,
in the folded edges of old books,
waiting to be read on windy autumn nights.

T.S. Deary
4/23/25

It was Lent, 
that Sunday was rainy and windy, 
the preacher spoke about repentance and temptation, 
the wind blown rain was pounding on the windows, 
reminding us of our baptism, 

"In the name of the Father, of the Son and of the Holy Spirit..."

To wash away our sins, 
and that Lent is the time to step out of the comfort of our lives and into the desert, 
here the uncomfortable reality of temptation takes over, 
now we learn how much faith we have, 
or at least how much we are willing and able to believe when we are tempted beyond what we feel we can bear, 
when we are too hungry, 
too thirsty. 

T. S. Deary 
3/17/25

It was windy, 
bright and clear. 

I walked all the way down Bishop Street, 
then all the way up 2Oth, 
I noticed that house I always like to look at, 
I spoke briefly to the man raking leaves. Public information office

I let my mind wander freely, 
in all that wind, 
blue sky. 

I listened for stories from days gone by and the glad tidings from days to come. 
I am glad to have all I have, 
thankful for the things that I have discarded, 
things that once felt so important to me, 
they now occupy space outside of my line of sight, 
making room for things of greater value, 
more important abstract possessions. 

The day moved on and on, 
morning to afternoon, 
afternoon to evening, 
evening to night, 
dark but still full of light. 

T. S. Deary 
3/17/25
 

I saw you walking down the street, 
late in the afternoon, 
head down, lost in thought, 
as if you were in a hurry but did not know exactly where you were going.

So many of us are the same, 
not looking where we are going, 
heads down, 
not noticing those who notice us, 
as the days go by again and again.

Lonely streets in mid winter, 
on windy days, 
when friends are hard to find, 
no one to make the way easier, 
especailly the voices in your own mind. 

All of us suffer, 
most of all, 
in the confines of our own minds, 
where the lonely echoes bounce off the cadence of heartbeats and those missed glances from those we want to notice us, 
but we miss their looks our way, 
becasue we were to busy walking with our heads down. 

T. S. Deary 
2/5/25