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- Two-sided Coin, Dogged Disappointment
- The Grudge that Won’t Budge, Mortality Kicks In
- Nasty as He Wants to Be, Little Digs
- Got it all Together—Not!
- When the Unthinkable , post 9-11-01
- More Trouble than She’s Worth, postscript
- Old Pain, Unpotable
- Sledge-hammer Subtlety
- War of the Unspoken
- Rubber-tipped Arrows
- A Well-tended Grudge ,Strawberries out of Season, What a lovely Sunset
- Mouse-Heart
- He Forgot about the Pie
- Quiet Enough, Brick by Brick
- People-Pleasing Impostor
- Feel Free to Disagree
-
I have dogmatic tendencies, rather strong dogmatic tendencies.
How difficult it is for me to see anyone's viewpoint other than my own.
Two-sided Coin
I see heads;
You see tails.
And neither of us
will admit that
we could both be
looking at
the same coin.
I won’t come over
to see things
from your side;
I’d lose my head.
You won’t check out
my vantage point;
You’d lose your tail.
And so we argue:
"That’s George Washington,
are you blind?"
–"It’s an eagle, plain as day!"
Stubborn stalemate.
Someone ought to
give that quarter a spin.
Lori Fiechter
12-10-01
Dogged Disappointment
I had thought…
I had hoped…
But, no;
Disappointment
dogs my steps
on every path I tread;
Disappointment
trots along,
A stray I cannot shed.
I cannot hide my
expectations low enough
beneath the ground;
Disappointment
digs them up and
wags his joy:
"Look what I’ve found!"
Yes, disappointment
dogs my steps;
He’s a persistent hound.
Lori Fiechter
12-6-01
The Grudge that Won’t Budge
First, I hold a grudge,
and then it holds me;
so tightly, I can’t shake it off:
Manacled to my memory,
Ball-and-chained to my mind,
Dragging me,
Dragging me,
Dragging me down.
Why did I feed this grudge?
Why can’t I lose it?
Oh, for a hacksaw
and the courage
to use it!
Lori Fiechter
November 9, 2001
Mortality Kicks In
First, it taps.
Then it nudges,
Then it kicks like a mule.
We have reached the age
where it finally sinks in:
death is not the exception,
but the rule.
Lori Fiechter
November 9, 2001
I heard this week about a certain
hypercritical house guest and wondered,
"Why is he so nasty? Where are his manners?"
Nasty as He Wants to Be
He’s as nasty as he wants to be--
A parasite who
must nourish his ego
on the scraps of your soul.
Dicing you into mincemeat
so that he can have pie.
Tearing you down to get bricks
to build himself up.
But he is only as nasty
as he wants to be
And doesn’t think himself
nasty at all.
He thinks himself frank,
an honest appraiser,
And of course,
he’s only trying to help.
Plus, it’s more ego-soothing
to despise what you do
Than to admit
he despises himself.
Lori Fiechter
November 9, 2001
Little Digs
He doesn’t use a shovel,
just a very small spoon:
small, but sufficient,
simple, yet efficient;
Caustic teaspoons of sarcasm
for his "little digs".
I can’t fling that drek
back full in his face
(What a lack of panache,
what a lack of good grace!)
So I put on my Teflon,
my bile-proof slicker,
I smile and reset that button "Ignore"
and watch those snide spoonfuls
slide down to the floor.
Lori Fiechter
November 10, 2001
Got it all Together—Not!
She asked me for advice:
"You seem to have it all together"
All together?
I’m a better actress
than I’d dreamed.
All together?
No, barely held together,
with bobby pins and
gray duct tape,
shimmed and propped and jerry-rigged.
Sure, I can give advice,
that’s the easy part.
I just dig out my resource
books and spout.
But advice goes
right through me
like minnows through
a tuna net.
Skinny minnows.
Lori Fiechter
August 26, 2001
When the Unthinkable , post 9-11-01
When the unthinkable occurs,
nothing ever seems
unthinkable again.
Shoes come in pairs
and only one has dropped;
We wait for that other shoe.
We fret over vague warnings
with renewable expiration dates.
Uneasy uncertainty makes
paranoiacs of us all.
Cries of "Wolf!" echo from all quarters,
And the wolf has attacked once.
But vigilance--eternal vigilance-- is wearying.
Lori Fiechter
November 9, 2001
I asked an erstwhile friend, "Why don’t you send me e-mails anymore?" His answer: "Because you’re more trouble than you’re worth." I laughed, agreed, and got the idea for this poem.
More Trouble than She’s Worth
I’ve been told that I’m trouble,
not just once, several times.
Stirring things up that
ought not be stirred;
Lip-flapping
when I should be
Lip-zipping.
Trouble, yes.
But thankful that
God thinks I’m worth it.
He bothered to save me,
bothers to keep me,
Makes me worthy
by giving me worth.
Lori Fiechter
November 13, 2001
Out of the blue, I received an e-mail from the person who said he'd send me no more. (RE: the poem "More Trouble than She's Worth) He apologized, saying it had been a long day, and he had been too "brisk". (I suggested he meant "brusque", which shows you why I was considered "trouble" in the first place.) Anyway, here is the poem about the apology:
"More Trouble" postscript
I deserved the mild rebuke,
the blunt appraisal;
it was fitting, it was apt.
I did not deserve
the apology;
it was unexpected
and unsought.
Why should the blue jay
with the loudest
and most raucous call
be invited back to sing?
(And why wouldn't she
accept the invitation, graciously?)
Lori Fiechter
December 1, 2001
She told me, "I thought I was over that pain; I thought I’d
dealt with that."
Yet old feelings resurface--of loss or heartache, of disapprobation or bitterness--and the
pain is fresh again.
Old Pain
I’d moved on,
Lived that chapter,
considered it closed.
Why does the page
flutter open again?
Why does the old pain
draw fresh blood?
When will I be "over it" for good?
When will all the deep scars be healed,
all the dead bones buried,
all the sludge pumped out?
When will the flash-backs cease?
Why is the old pain
a Phoenix?
Lori Fiechter
November 13, 2001
Unpotable
(Jeremiah 2:13)
Stagnant; needs stirring
Scummy; needs skimming
Murky; needs filtering
fetid; needs purifying.
Even then, it’s barely
fit to drink.
I pour myself another cup
of broken cistern vintage,
with my back toward
the crystal spring.
Lori Fiechter
November 13, 2001
I thought of these when reading a review of Frank Peretti’s book Wounded Spirits. There are bullies who do not realize who they are and there are overbearing souls who consider themselves "hearty" and think you are a bad sport if you cannot take their ribbing.
Sledge-hammer Subtlety
She has the subtlety
of a sledgehammer,
the finesse
of a wrecking ball.
She does not step,
she stomps.
See the trail of wounded spirits
in her wake,
The trail of trampled psyches,
of browbeaten, fragile souls.
But she never looks behind her,
never thinks to look behind her
as she blithely blunders on.
Lori Fiechter
November 6, 2001
Whether it involves friend to friend, husband to wife, mother to son, this situation described by C.S. Lewis is all too common: (from C.S. Lewis’s "The Screwtape letters):
"Your patient must demand that all his own utterances are to be taken at their face value and judged simply on the actual words, while at the same time judging all his mother's utterances with the fullest and most oversensitive interpretation of the tone and context and the suspected intention. She must be encouraged to do the same to him. Hence from every quarrel they can both go away convinced, or very nearly convinced, that they are quite innocent."
War of the Unspoken
My best days, I consider
"the real me".
My best days, he considers
a fluke.
I make allowances for myself
when I’m tired or stressed;
Is that too much to ask him to do?
My bad moods
"emanate from the core of your being"
my good moods
are but surface veneer.
Every careless remark cloaks
a deep, hidden meaning;
A long-pondered reply
can’t be sincere.
It’s just "air";
seems unfair.
So put up your defenses,
put on your shield,
it’s the war of the nuance,
the war of past grudges,
the war of the unspoken word.
Lori Fiechter
October 30, 2001
Matthew 12:36 "But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment."
Rubber-tipped Arrows
Careless words, I sling
like arrows.
I think them rubber-tipped
and harmless.
Others find them razor sharp.
I am amazed that they
can bleed from
my rubber-tipped arrows.
But my hand will not stay,
my tongue will not obey.
Watch out for
my rubber-tipped arrows.
Lori Fiechter
October 30, 2001
The following three poems are nasty,
negative, and caked with sarcasm.
Perhaps I ought not write on an empty stomach.
A Well-tended Grudge
I really can’t stay
a minute longer;
I must go home
and nurse my grudge.
It has not been so healthy of late.
I must spoon-feed it with
past injuries,
coddle it with justified resentments,
and wrap it in remembered slights
until my grudge is
back on its feet again.
For there is nothing more rewarding than
a well-fed, well-tended grudge;
It will last you a lifetime,
and then some.
Lori Fiechter
10-30-01
Strawberries out of Season
She only appreciates strawberries
out of season, scoffing,
"Anyone can get
good strawberries in June."
Although the oranges are nice
right now,
she wants only the unattainable:
Yesterday’s minutes,
yesterday’s waistline,
yesterday’s pleasures.
"Strawberries don’t taste
as good as they used to."
True; they were not always
marinated in the gall
of unrealistic nostalgia.
Lori Fiechter
October 30-01
What a lovely Sunset
"What a lovely sunset", I
say.
She replies:
It will not last; they never do;
they only lead to dark.
"Yes, dark—look at the velvet sky,
embedded with jeweled stars."
Clear, eh? That means its going
to be a cold one;
that’ll finish off the rest of my roses.
She has the knack
of dampening every pleasure,
defusing every joy,
ruining every euphoric mood.
There is no "joy forever"
because she sees no
"thing of beauty."
Lori Fiechter
November 1, 2001
My favorite character in C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia series is the mouse, Reepicheep. He indeed was a mouse with the heart of a lion.
Mouse-Heart
Timidly foraging,
timidly gnawing;
timidly scurrying,
avoiding the light.
Dragging your mane
through the dust
and the shadows;
Surviving on crumbs,
scattered crumbs
in the shadows.
How much better to be
a valiant rodent:
a nondescript mouse
with the heart of a lion;
Than to live as a lion,
a cowardly lion,
a large, languid lion
with the heart of a mouse.
Lori Fiechter
October 25, 2001
I love pie, just not sugar cream. My favorites are pumpkin, ground cherry, black- raspberry custard and lemon. My husband claims to like sugar cream (and pecan) although he really doesn't get excited about any dessert at all. Not even chocolate!
He Forgot about the Pie
I made it for him;
I don’t like sugar cream.
He ate one slice,
then promptly forgot it.
He forgot about the pie,
though it stared me
in the eye,
every time I opened the fridge.
It looked neglected;
I took pity.
And sliver by sliver,
I polished it off
(except for the last,
forlorn piece,
which will sit there until
it grows fuzz)
And I don’t even like
sugar cream.
Why couldn’t I
forget about the pie?
Oh, why?
Lori Fiechter
October 26, 2001
"I have the house to myself; now I can really get something done. "
Quiet Enough
When I finally had
peace and quiet,
enough to hear myself think,
I found I’d forgotten how.
Quiet takes getting used to
and the noise in my head
is the loudest unquiet
of all.
Lori Fiechter
October 25, 2001
Brick by Brick
Brick by brick,
stone by stone,
they built up a wall between them.
But now,
brick by brick,
stone by stone,
the wall is coming down.
(They need something to throw.)
Lori Fiechter
October 30, 2001
Come on and have a heaping helping of my hospitality!
People-Pleasing Impostor
I like to please people;
(I like them to be pleased with me)
I like to help people:
(so they think me helpful)
I earnestly empathize
("Isn’t she empathetic!")
and spontaneously smile,
(so they think me friendly)
I’m not really other-motivated,
just inward-analyzing.
To be—or just to be known as,
that is my question.
Lori Fiechter
October 26, 2001
"You may be right; I
may be crazy"
Here is one for the dogmatically inclined such as I.
(My sister reminded me of a poster Mom gave her:
a sleek, elegant cat with the caption "Everyone is entitled to my
opinions" )
Feel Free to Disagree
Feel Free
to disagree with me.
I will not stop you.
I'll say "you have a point"
(the wrong point, but that still counts)
I'll say, "you may be
right"
(but you're not!)
After all, I'm rather confident
that I am right
(or at least, I make more sense.)
but I'll keep that to myself.
So--Feel free
to disagree with me.
Talk is cheap
and opinions are free.
Especially wrong ones.
Agree?
lori fiechter
10-27-01