Reflections from Glennis Henning

Bequest

What will happen to the children
in the wasteland of tomorrow?
What will they do?
Where will they go?
When the sun beats down
and the hot wind angers through the rubble,
what will protect them?
When the poisonous gases of the aftermath
sear their fragile lungs,
who will help them breathe?
When their water is polluted
and their food won't grow,
where will they search for sustenance?
Though they may look with young, expectant eyes
towards the distant, grey- black hills,
who will come to their aid?
And while they gaze hopefully above the smokestacks
at the shimmering, heat-hazed sky,
from where will a new vision come?

Our grandchildren - how will they survive
in such a tarnished inheritance?
Whom will they thank for such a botched-up bequest?

                                                      — Glennis Henning

The Present World

Do you count them, you condoning dictators -
the women and children, as well as the young soldiers?
Are you ecstatic when the numbers killed are revealed,
feeling the victory is closer?

Must you repeat the Holocaust, man of Israel?
Is the whole process some kind of revenge,
or over-protection
so that genocide will never happen to your people again?
But do you enjoy the images of destruction,
replaced by tent cities,
where hungry occupants wade through the mud?
Do you take in the carts with gathered possessions
and children and elderly sufferers,
mothers with loving arms enfolding a tiny baby,
on top of the unsteady stack?

Yes, they love too, you know.
Will forgiveness ever see a pathway through?
Perhaps not, but growth into a peaceful future -
surely desirable.

Man of Russia, why must power rule,
extend its influence,
while ruining so many innocent lives?
Will kindness ever replace such egotistical desires?

And can a bully reorganise the world
and 'make America great again'-
regardless of others, friends or enemies;
regardless, too, of climate change and environmental degradation
and a planet with a growing population
of suffering and needy people?
As he thinks of growth and expansion for his own,
do the others enter his head?

When will honest, humanitarian statesmen
the world over,
step forward to work together?
As a grandma I would like to know.
The future is unfolding like a dark and thunderous cloud
and within I cry for my dear ones,
the innocent inheritors of still preventable catastrophes.
I have a vision of disaster reigning -
over nothingness.

Oh dear, at the moment the sun is shining
and it's a beautiful autumn day in Sydney.
I must go and water the garden.
And puppy would love a walk, too.

                                                               — Glennis Henning

'I understand the fragility of life. Just live every moment and be the friendliest, most loving, most creative person you can.'

Words of Walter Milac, who lost his wife and two daughters in the Port Arthur tragedy. I read these words just after writing the above poem. I found them inspirational.

Rebirth

(a poem for the New Year)

Terrible things have happened
so she closes the door to keep out the dreadful weather,
barricades herself against all outside influences,
safe inside, like a chicken within an egg,
seeped in a yolk of isolation,
protected from the pernicious poking
of a suffering and wounded world -
recovering.

Yet she cannot escape forever
for soon the wind and rain come beating against her window,
calling to her to look out into the storm
and allow herself to feel and share again in its human turmoil,
see something of beauty in its damp, windswept landscape,
something challenging even,
that she may tackle now with the insights of pain.

Yes, in time, the shell must crack.
Then she will open the door,
just a chink at first
and a beam of watery sunlight
will gleam through the dancing dust motes
on to her healing and newly-ruffled feathers,
and she will feel its warmth -
widening.

                                                            — Glennis Henning

Life's Enigma

The answers, my friend, may be blowin' in the wind.
Perhaps we should listen to the wind .*

Over the open country a soft zephyr bends the grasses,
caressing with a maternal moth breath
as the slender blades bow, touch and whisper,
confiding soothing secrets amongst themselves.

Sometimes hot, dusty northerlies blather across the city
like a loud-voiced school master,
roaring and blustering until their bombastic'lessons'
become lost in the distractions of discomfort and havoc.

Then an evening breeze may breathe over the harbour
like an exhalation of relief
and the leaves tremble and rustle
a gentle, but incomprehensible, murmur of response.

While to the north a sea-born hurricane gyrates and inundates;
a giant whirling dervish of destruction
uttering a widespread shriek of devastation
far too terrible to contemplate or comprehend.

And from all directions
all manner of windy words of certainty bother our ears,
sometimes soft and kindly,
sometimes strident and audacious - all anxious to convince.

But the answers, my friend, are elusive as the wind,
the answers - elusive as the wind .*

                                                                — Glennis Henning

* Adapted from Blowin' in the Wind by Bob Dylan

Jewels

Like an expectant fossicker I search,
peruse my books, bent on discovery.
And each day silent Eurekas echo round my room
for I am rarely disappointed.
The dark gems are there, hidden amongst the pages,
ready, pulsating, eager, just waiting to be plucked forth,
anxious to be used to enrich the diadem
of each reader's unique life.

For words are as priceless as precious jewels,
yet deep, throbbing and animate.
They are many-faceted,
each face surprising with its own peculiar lustre.
With the soft blue touch of amethyst
they allow me to express and share my sorrow,
defining and linking ruby tears into a necklace of thoughts,
communicating and clarifying feelings,
bringing sense and some understanding to a chaotic sadness.

Like a pearl growing within the oyster
they leaven my mind,
engendering thought and expanding vision,
enabling a grieving soul to look beyond despair
and glimpse again the value and opalescence of life.
Like a diamond sparkling in sunlight
they slowly entice me forward,
luring from mere existence into life again,
while, with beautiful amber droplets,
they embalm fond memories of my departed son into an enduring pendant,
forever enshrining his special personality and idiosyncratic ways.

Words! Words! Word! Words!
Muted, musical, sad, stirring, vibrant, vehement, helpful, healing!
Living treasures!

                                                                                 — Glennis Henning

I am reading 'Stay True' by Hua Hsu at the moment. It is the current work set by
my book-club and is set in America. Here is my reaction to one part of it.

Consolation

My friend has died and I must pour
my memories and feelings on the page.
Two Asians, seemingly on 'foreign' shore,
we sang and battled through a searching stage.
Ken helped me through.

But now he's gone, found in an alleyway,
a single shot into his head, the cause;
three culprits arrested later that day.
Ken's car was found nearby on their front lawn -
its lights still on.

'I picked up a pen and tried to write myself back into the past."*

Writing From the Wound

'A sad song in the air'*

The news numbed my whole being.
Shocked beyond tears, I began to write.
Words splashed onto the page
as I began to drip out my confusion,
consternation and my terrible loss,
spread and swam with it before my eyes.
Thus, as blood and pus seeping from a wound
relieve a throbbing build-up,
release of pain through expression
lessened emotional pressure - little by little,
composed and ordered it into something outside myself,
and so the endless healing was begun.

As I wrote it was as though I was building a lasting shrine.

                                                       — Glennis Henning

* two direct quotes from the book

Behind the Mask

The mask presents a courageous front -
but beneath the mask there is sorrow,
beneath the mask there is isolation
clutching to itself all manner of
tight-fitting experiences and tangled emotions,
silent, hidden burdens that cause you to cry out in your sleep -

so that eventually the mask must crack
and release the pressures,
spill them out like the contents of an overflowing chest of drawers
to avoid a bursting catastrophe -

but trustfully - hopefully -
right into the ears of a friend who is waiting nearby,
a friend with an abundance of lavender-lined empty drawers,
all ready;
a listener
who will gladly share her fresh-smelling storage space,
help you sort out and re-arrange your well-worn and troublesome assortment,
receive it as a gift
and surround you with the expansion of her understanding.

                                                                  — Glennis Henning

Sensible Solution

A quiet word's a feather in a storm
that flutters down and lands on ruffled ground,
gently allows a calmness to be born
and maybe a solution to be found.

A quiet word is like a sweet perfume
that wafts around dispelling nasty smells -
distracts from thoughts of disaster and doom,
the very darkest cares seeming to quell.

A quiet word is like a piano
bringing sweet music to a timeless time,
uplifting with a song, now high, now low,
humming a hymn to havens more sublime.

A quiet word's like raspberry on the tongue, a sweet'ner with a tang of wisdom tart,
coated with mild alternatives that come tasting so fresh and sensible and sharp.

A quiet word is like a soft embrace communicating both support and love - since
born within a place of caring grace, it promises firm seeds my little dove,
cradles a stem for growth, my little dove.

                                                                                           — Glennis Henning

Togetherness

Togetherness
is a sacrifice and a blessing
which engenders warmth and well-being
and a feeling of being loved and appreciated.
It is based on trust and mutual attraction,
yet does not impose on the ability to be oneself,
a free individual, unique, unlike unto no other,
with a sense of self-worth
that does not need to overflow into a show of arrogance
like a flooded river dominating a once tranquil stream.
It is something rare and valuable,
a considered product of both silence and shared conversation.
It is an acceptance and appreciation of another
based on caring and heartfelt insights,
a treasure to be valued beyond all others,
the only taste of the divine in a damaged world,
a circle enfolding a deep wholeness,
a hug of kindness throughout all travails,
an unbroken creation by artistic hands,
a masterpiece for survival,
a deep and loving miracle -

or perhaps, sometimes, sadly, merely an inner longing
a promising pattern of unfulfilled dreams,
and the deepest of yearnings
Oh dear!

                                                        — Glennis Henning

The Mystery of Hope

When the night of fearful prospects blankets the earth,
tucking in tight at the corners so that darkness prevails,
Hope gently lifts the covers to let the moonlight in.

For Hope is a vase of flowers painted in the gloom of Theresienstadt.
It is a smile that warms the chilliest of days,
or a soft voice penetrating the lonely silence.
It is a listening ear offering understanding
or a tune that hums undaunted amidst a cacophony of reported disasters.
It burns like a mysterious lamp devouring the shadows,
and, always glimmering,
is the constant foil to the blackness of despair.

Without it we should shrivel like the skin of an old orange,
become like floppy rag dolls staring with dull button eyes
into a future of nothingness,
boneless and lost,
no longer daring to dream.

I wonder where it comes from?

                                                                              — Glennis Henning

I Make a Wish

To each of my grandchildren -
Caitlin, Sam, Matthew, Jessica, Nicholas and Lucy.

I wish you love, fulfilment, fun,
the pleasure of a job well done,
deep friendships, family and health
but not too much of worldly wealth.
I don't want you to have 'the lot'.
It helps to work for what you've got.

Suff'ring and hardship lead to growth
and life is pain and pleasure, both,
yet should deep sadness come your way,
remember that to cry's okay,
and if a loved one should depart
you'll always hold him in your heart.

I wish for you a world that's fair,
not spoiled and needing great repair,
a world where all resolve to strive
for peace - where children thrive;
where kindness is a driving force
and wisdom sparks your leaders'torch.

May you escape the frantic race,
find time for reverie and space
to think, observe, absorb, create
throughout your life, no need to wait;
time to discover whom you are,
your inner self, precious and rare.

I know that wishes be but dreams
but sometimes they come true it seems
and so, for you, my treasured one
I spread my dreams beneath the sun;
may your whole life be worthwhile, fine,
a stirring trip, grandchild of mine.

                              — Glennis Henning