Several years ago
Trudging through the snow
We spied each other
We instantly labeled one another
Oh yeah, here is one of those dog people like us, we said
Paying vigil to the privilege of living with another species
At Wilber Park
Out in inclement weather, feet soaked with slush
Or on a glorious day in sandalled feet getting pebbles and sticks caught between our toes
It was just you then, Peter
And your dog Hudson
Whom we kept calling Cooper
And other historic names, like Lincoln and Hoover
But you remembered Buzzy every time
And our conversation never drifted off the gentleness of our pets
We proceeded
To engage in a conversation with far more meaning than discussing the troubles of the world
And that’s how we got to know the gentleness of your spirit
We often changed our walking schedule
But it never seemed to matter
We still ran into you
Often engrossed in our own conversation
We’d greet each other, dogs sniffing
To engage in a conversation with far more meaning than discussing the troubles of the world
Knowing your name was irrelevant
We knew you
Because it seems like we “dog friends” never need formal introductions
Our pets help us circumvent that convention
When Judy came and Daisy came along
It just seemed they were always there, and we proceeded through the park
Much in the same manner as before
A few more “dog friends” now
To engage in a conversation with far more meaning than discussing the troubles of the world
Judy was always kind enough to keep track of the days in the school year
Adding some bounce to our step
Perhaps to keep us up with Daisy’s boundless energy
A vain attempt
Then the floods wiped out the bridge
Forced to change routes
Later, when the creek ran lower, we and other “dog people” built a rock path
We said hello to them, we knew some of their names
Even got their dogs’ names correct on occasion
They were “dog people"
But Peter, you and Judy were only ones whom we referred to as our “dog friends”
Then Mario arrived on the scene (A nice Italian name by the way)
Kind of like one of those toys you buy in a little plastic wrapper
That you add water to and it grows to 300 times its size in two days
The lighting changed, the seasons changed, our schedules changed
But we always managed to run into one another
Serendipity
To engage in a conversation with far more meaning than discussing the troubles of the world
This season past, we were coming to know you in another capacity too Peter
And that changed
Without meter, like what is written here
Without rhyme, like what is written here
Without the dot at the end of the sentence
Because there really was no end to you Peter
But this remains the same
You will always be with us on our walks our “dog friend”
And in the spirit of these creatures of another species that share their lives with us
To think of your presence, and how much it really meant
Has even a greater meaning in retrospect
We are changed too
By having engaged with you, Peter, our “dog friend”
In conversations with far more meaning than discussing the troubles of the world
Your dog friends, JoAnn and Joe Chmielowski
6.8.10
Thoughts on the Master Teacher
To have had a master teacher for so many years was a gift; the realization that very same person was a master student until the end of life, that was a revelation.
To be master teacher can only occur in tandem with being a master student.
One can not separate the two vocations. They are without mutual recompense.
They simply must exist together to create a perfect equilibrium of our inner consciousness.
To imply a separateness of the two would be like pulling one weight off the balance scale; it would be rendered it useless.
Every relationship we have holds an opportunity for learning which is far greater than we had ever expected or imagined. Through our acceptance of each person in our life, through joy or even through pain, each relationship offers a symbiotic richness. By being open and in touch with our inner teacher/student we amass a wealth we can offer others. It is something we keep giving that never gets depleted.
No learning opportunity should escape us, no matter how seemingly trivial. It is all important. It is all relevant for growth. Hold onto it for as long as we are capable. Even at its end as one is hanging by a thread, it will be a precious, golden thread...........with someone learning from its glow. Illumination. Even a crystal, no matter how intricately it is cut, will not shine without light.
This is the only REAL thing we leave behind us. - - the legacy of what others have learned from us. Our light. One must be not only the master teacher, but a willing master student to attain this. The promise is in everyone. Keep shining.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski 12/16/08
To be master teacher can only occur in tandem with being a master student.
One can not separate the two vocations. They are without mutual recompense.
They simply must exist together to create a perfect equilibrium of our inner consciousness.
To imply a separateness of the two would be like pulling one weight off the balance scale; it would be rendered it useless.
Every relationship we have holds an opportunity for learning which is far greater than we had ever expected or imagined. Through our acceptance of each person in our life, through joy or even through pain, each relationship offers a symbiotic richness. By being open and in touch with our inner teacher/student we amass a wealth we can offer others. It is something we keep giving that never gets depleted.
No learning opportunity should escape us, no matter how seemingly trivial. It is all important. It is all relevant for growth. Hold onto it for as long as we are capable. Even at its end as one is hanging by a thread, it will be a precious, golden thread...........with someone learning from its glow. Illumination. Even a crystal, no matter how intricately it is cut, will not shine without light.
This is the only REAL thing we leave behind us. - - the legacy of what others have learned from us. Our light. One must be not only the master teacher, but a willing master student to attain this. The promise is in everyone. Keep shining.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski 12/16/08
DUCK SUSHI
Poetry is like creating a menu for one of those "high class" fusion restaurants.
Duck sushi (is it raw, or cooked?) with mango-fig chutney
seasoned with chile pequin spice
on arborio rice served on a bed of petit-pan squash with a coconut confit.
You just put all this weird stuff together.
Maybe even translate it to another language.
In and of itself it can be random and disjointed.
You only hope the finished project tastes good.
And you haven't created "high class" confusion.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski
November 23, 2009
Duck sushi (is it raw, or cooked?) with mango-fig chutney
seasoned with chile pequin spice
on arborio rice served on a bed of petit-pan squash with a coconut confit.
You just put all this weird stuff together.
Maybe even translate it to another language.
In and of itself it can be random and disjointed.
You only hope the finished project tastes good.
And you haven't created "high class" confusion.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski
November 23, 2009
IRONING SHEETS
Dad told me to give my mother a rest and iron the sheets.
I hate to iron the sheets. My god, it took them four days to dry in the freezing cold. They are stiff anyway, without them even being frozen.
Celia and I hung them on the fire escape, where they got twisted around, and stayed that way for three days. Like statues, some kind of ghosts. I even thought as I was falling asleep that maybe it's grandma and grandpa coming back as sheets. That made me laugh. Then today it got warmer, still a chilling wind, but not cold enough to keep the damned sheets frozen. They were out there flapping away like overgrown pigeons.
So I am stuck ironing these sheets. Dad said he would get me the pickles I like on Orchard Street. What good is this doing? Who cares if they are wrinkled? Why don't you ever ask Celia to iron the sheets? But I don't dare to ask those questions. It's gonna take the whole morning at least. For a couple of pickles. "Give your mother a rest. The baby is due any day" he said.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski March 3, 2009
I hate to iron the sheets. My god, it took them four days to dry in the freezing cold. They are stiff anyway, without them even being frozen.
Celia and I hung them on the fire escape, where they got twisted around, and stayed that way for three days. Like statues, some kind of ghosts. I even thought as I was falling asleep that maybe it's grandma and grandpa coming back as sheets. That made me laugh. Then today it got warmer, still a chilling wind, but not cold enough to keep the damned sheets frozen. They were out there flapping away like overgrown pigeons.
So I am stuck ironing these sheets. Dad said he would get me the pickles I like on Orchard Street. What good is this doing? Who cares if they are wrinkled? Why don't you ever ask Celia to iron the sheets? But I don't dare to ask those questions. It's gonna take the whole morning at least. For a couple of pickles. "Give your mother a rest. The baby is due any day" he said.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski March 3, 2009
MY DANCE
My dance, the pas de deux of brain and pen
My words move together freely to your music.
The means create happiness.
The end lifts you up and dances with you.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski April 6, 2009
My words move together freely to your music.
The means create happiness.
The end lifts you up and dances with you.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski April 6, 2009
ALLUVIUM
Wondrous that you haven't relocated from this strange state that is me.
That you read me, talk to me.
The very same instant, I read you, talk to you.
A synchronicity of thoughts, racing full throttle.
You have taken a place under the umbrella
I hold to stop the deluge from soaking me to the bone.
Suck in our bellies, tuck in our butts, you too stay dry.
In surrounding alluvium, my thanks, accumulating.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski
April 24, 2009
That you read me, talk to me.
The very same instant, I read you, talk to you.
A synchronicity of thoughts, racing full throttle.
You have taken a place under the umbrella
I hold to stop the deluge from soaking me to the bone.
Suck in our bellies, tuck in our butts, you too stay dry.
In surrounding alluvium, my thanks, accumulating.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski
April 24, 2009
HIS TWINKLE
On that day so brilliant that even a stop sign looked beautiful,
All prosaic turned poetic.
His twinkle, there in your eyes.
Recent revelation took me further into those eyes than I ever imagined I would journey.
I thought I would have emerged by now.
But the further I go, the more it is clear I still have a great distance to travel.
His twinkle, there in you eyes.
Where am I in relation to you,
All prosaic turned poetic,
That even a stop sign looks beautiful?.
Stop, and proceed when it is safe to do so.
The damned thing doesn't mean that you stop forever baby.
His twinkle, there in your eyes.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski April 16, 2009
All prosaic turned poetic.
His twinkle, there in your eyes.
Recent revelation took me further into those eyes than I ever imagined I would journey.
I thought I would have emerged by now.
But the further I go, the more it is clear I still have a great distance to travel.
His twinkle, there in you eyes.
Where am I in relation to you,
All prosaic turned poetic,
That even a stop sign looks beautiful?.
Stop, and proceed when it is safe to do so.
The damned thing doesn't mean that you stop forever baby.
His twinkle, there in your eyes.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski April 16, 2009
ALL MY FINGERTIPS
I hold you dear through my writing and my music.
Your embrace is your reading and your listening.
You exist in all my fingertips.
All my fingertips.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski 2/20/09
Your embrace is your reading and your listening.
You exist in all my fingertips.
All my fingertips.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski 2/20/09
KNOCK, KNOCK
Knocking at your door.
Happily.
For when it is darkest outside,
A light is always on inside.
And I can see right in.
You need not open up.
I know where the key is hidden.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski
June 1, 2009
Happily.
For when it is darkest outside,
A light is always on inside.
And I can see right in.
You need not open up.
I know where the key is hidden.
JoAnn Bertone Chmielowski
June 1, 2009
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