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On the afternoon of January 22, 2020 at 2:30 in the afternoon my father, John T. Deary, passed away. This came as no surprise since he has been unwell for the last couple of years. When I heard the news I was immediately relieved that he was finally at peace and no longer having to live in pain, and with the increasing loss of his values and precious dignity. For all of us who have witnessed his physical and cognitive decline over time it has been very painful. 

Any attempt to describe his impact on my life is impossible since its totality is so expansive.He was one of the most intelligent people I have ever known and he had a very.strong  and well developed sense of discernment. I think I made him proud  by becoming a teacher since he valued education so much. One of the things I will miss most is calling him for his opinion on a number of subjects and the newspaper clippings he would periodically send me that spoke on a number of issues especially politics and religion. I still have all of them and I will always cherish them. 

To my children he was Poppa. He told them great stories and was exceptionally good at dealing with their behavior. They all easily related to him and talked about him often. It is now up to me to keep his memory alive to them. It is a responsibility I do not shun or take lightly. His memory will never die. 

Finally, I thank him. His life was a testament to hard work, faith, fidelity and moral character. Every opportunity I have ever had came from him and the groundwork he laid. I have often said to others that my childhood was not one where I had everything I ever wanted but it is as one where I had everything I ever needed. That is true because he was who he was. That is his legacy and I can only hope it will be mine. 
T.S. Deary 

2/16/2020

The State of Disunion 

Hail to the chief as he enters the chamber,

this narcissistic march, pompous,

strutting as if to collect a favour.

Then there is the lady behind him,

marionette on a string,

pulled not by genuine emotion,

but by a desire to cause a commotion. 

These are our leaders,

the ones entrusted with this carefully balanced Republic,

those balanced scales resting on delicate egos,

holding trials and making speeches,

pretending to care about issues.

They seek power for powers sake,

these egos rise and fall like the sun and moon,

all the while the city burns,

those fragile bonds of nation and citizen strain and break. 

There are no oaths to sworn and kept,

only hollow words and allegiance to only a few,

the republic is burning and all the while they have slept. 

He refused a customary handshake,

she ripped up his speech,

To many people preaching politics,

both all coiled up like a snake,

out of sight, out of his reach,

both busy throwing stones and sticks. 

Why do they sit so high up there?

Surveying the world and for us no care.

The ways and means of this happenstance,

is only separated by the thinnest of circumstance.

These mad men and women have left reason behind.

Each side opposing the other,

always talking past each other.

All the prestige of that mighty house,

sunken and now stained as if covered by a black velvet blouse.

T.S. Deary

2/16/2020

This poem was inspired by a photograph on display at the Museum of Modern Art in Deland Florida. The photo was taken by Stephen Althouse, 2017. The title of the photo is “Door with Flames.” The photo by itself is mesmerizing. I imagined it on the house of a character from a Tolkein novel. What really caught my attention was how Althouse digitally imposed a script on the door which I use in the poem. Those words are not mine but they inspired me so I used them. I was immediately captivated by the image of the door, the flames, the words and the possibilities of all of them. 
Pentecost

They remembered he had spoken of what was to come and since everything else he had come to pass they had no reason to doubt him. 

After all they had seen, his bloody death, his appearances, they remained afraid and were now locked behind the door, locked and uninviting. 

(The door with flames carved into it) 

He had already appeared among them and most of them believed even if they had not seen for themselves, still afraid they were greatly overjoyed to see him and they begged him to.stay, he left again but they knew he was alive, really alive. 

Peter had spoken of fire, tongues of fire and of wind, even though the door was shut up tight. 

(As if they were called to open the door and to reenter the world after all the terrible things they had seen.)

Then they spoke in other tongues  – “temo les seves flames pero les meves prequentes em demanem que l’orbi…”

 Then they opened the door despite their fear – they believed it is what he wanted them to do.

T.S. Deary 

2/16/2020

Veni, Veni, Emanuel

O come to us o long awaited lord,

from sin and death do.save us all,

upon us let his spirit fall down as the rain is poured.I

Veni, O Jesse Virgula

O come to us the shoot of Jesse’s tree,

make us one and all into children of God,

from sin and death to ransom is all,

so that we will be forever set free.

Veni, Veni, O Oriens

O come, O come to us first light from on high,

light this world and banish darkness now,

and send your welcome to all of heavens sky.

Veni, Veni, Clavis Davidica

O come the key of David come,

and pay the massive ransom sum.

O come and open lock and key,

make satan lose his grip and flee.

Veni, Veni, Adonai

Bring us back to you enthrojed on high,

into lowly birth and humanness and in God you trust,

you hear our prayers and end all of our lonely sighs.

Veni, Veni, Rex Gentium,

O come to us O king of nations,

move us along this constant changing continuum,

 unite is all to one and all,

return us to the state we had before the tragic fall.

T.S. Deary 

In the mountains the evergreens hold their color even in the darkest days of winter.

In autumn all of those maples are ablaze with color,

picture perfect paintings.

Only the birches decorate those mountains at night,

only the white or the birches can be seen in the darkness.

Those birches stand in contrast to those maples and evergreens.

Their white and peeling bark makes them look like paintings, blended into those mountain scenes.

Gorgeous in the summer sun and glistening in winter with their covering of frost!

It is the moonlight,

especially the white full moon,

(reflected light)

against the white bark,

it is then the birches stand tallest,

tall enough to decorate the mountains,

surrounding the evergreens,

illuminated by the full moon.

T.S.Deary 

I.

All day a headache began to settle into my skull,

wrapping around and then pounding in my temples.

(home was calling me back and I longed to be there.)

I thought about the dog,

standing by the window,

watching us leave,

tail wagging,

ears folded back,

slight, quiet, whimpering.

So foggy this morning, the road shrouded in mist and the radio warning of coming storms.

Storms or not the dog will be waiting for me in the same spot as soon as I get home.

(Happy, animated, excited and welcoming.)

II.

I have.always loved the contrast between atmospheric violence and the welcome of home, dry and warm inside and wet, loud and swirling outside.

(the leaves blowing across the lawn.)

The cats are intrigued by the rain that falls down the window glass.

(I wonder if the would chase the leaves across the lawn if they had the chance?)

III.

He called around six pm and I could tell that he was lonely and confused, he forgets my name but I continue to listen because I cannot forget his. 

He  repeats himself and we end up talking about the weather.

(He says it is cold and that he waits for Spring!)

I wonder if Spring will come? 

(I remember the day and how predictable the dog’s reactions are when I get home.) 

I still carry the scars of those summer interactions as June turned into July and then August.)

Now comes Christmas and Advent and the house up there is empty of voices but still full of all those memories from other times.

Good and bad they all get rearranged and disassembled time after time, lost in confusion and in the fading of a once sharp memory.

I.V.

I decided to call her later in the evening.

She was pleasant and alert and said she had just returned from dinner.

She asked about the kids and how they were behaving?

She remarked about the cold weather and asked if I would be visiting soon?

I promised I would see her in February.

The dog sat beside my chair the rest of the night and eventually fell asleep. 

T.S. Deary 

P.A.F.M.

I slept well last night,

only waking up when the phone rang and her familiar voice brought me back to reality – “did I wake you up?”

 (I miss her, my home and my kids….) 

I keep the calendar tucked under my pillow. 

After Breakfast I sat out back on the porch studying the fence along the side yard.

(All those broken slats!)

I remember when the fence was new,

then I was a child and he had red hair and a booming voice.

He came out to pass the time with me and he complained about the broken slats and how he can’t remember who to call to have them fixed. 

Then he sits in his black chair,

white hair contrasted against it,

a kind of throne,

an homage to his sense of self that is always close.

The growing gap between them and now,

but in the chair that gap is not as wide,

it is closer, 

the way the water sometimes seems to the far horizon.

Later,

I walked around town for a while down by the river,

summer time in full bloom,

tired and missing home,

I thought of jumping into the river and letting it take me home. 

T.S. Deary