Poetry: Roses, Street Toughs, and the Dalai Lama

This poem came out of a moment of holding the space and being present for a little girl who had not been accustomed to such moments in her life.

Roses, Street Toughs, and the Dalai Lama

The Lama says

angry people

are only that way because

they are frustrated

in their search

for compassion.

So when the little girl

cursed

at the neighbor’s dog,

I picked roses and calculated the odds

of softening a street toughened nine-year-old.

I walked over,

smiled and handed

her a fistful of

roses

wrapped in a damp towel.

I told her she might

put them in water.

She froze.  Smiled.

Then reached out with both hands, shyly,

as if accepting

a June bride’s bouquet.

She lowered her nose to them

and inhaled.

She thanked me

twice.

“They smell beautiful,” she said.

She left with them and

within minutes returned

to my garden, curious now

about my pruner and spray bottle.

She followed me

while I explained blackspot,

organics,and beneficials.

I waited for her

to trudge off, sullen and bored,

but she listened

and then asked more questions.

She thanked me

again

before going home and I

was left to think

about the Lama,

and the net gain.

Not about compassion,

or sentient beings,

but a nine year old girl

carrying roses.

-Maria Mandarino

 8-21-99

Poetry: Rising

The open spaces of nature offer the opportunity for stillness and healing.  This poem unfolded from a dream I had about a friend who is a gifted healer and a great lover of nature and God’s creation.

Rising

There is a hollow ache in me

at never having slept

under a starlit sky

as you have –

in the woods, among all

that God intended

to roam wild

and free.

There is a hollow ache too

for the grace that lives

behind eyes that burn

with wisdom and faith;

eyes like the river that sustained you,

mysterious but undeniable life

bubbling beneath a crystal surface.

You told me you camped alone once

in the mountains of Taos,

drifting to sleep to the calls of coyotes

while lightning fractured the distant night sky

and you waited to hear God’s voice.

I dreamed I saw you there, saw your feet putting roots

into red clay

that trembled and swallowed you whole.

But you were smart enough to yield to it

and then rise like the phoenix at dawn,

bold,

beautiful,

with powerful wings,

ready to save us all.

–Maria Mandarino

November 7, 2001