Found

Lost love

They call it

But I know

Where it lies

I’ve sewn it

Beneath a scar

Long and jagged

Almost invisible

Sometimes catching

On a sharp edge

Of memory

It opens

Spilling tears

Of crimson.

And I mend

With stronger thread.

Marsyl Warren

Godsong haiku

Violins
God's breath
in my ear.

Watching Family Movies

My father's jumpy images,

miles of trees,

autumn on parade.

Looking for myself

in all those flickering cells,

in spring.

In autumn;

the sun, and my head,

out of the clouds.

Looking for dad

in all those flickering cells.

Found,

In miles of trees.

colors

In the stained glass warehouse

Searching for the hues

We'll miss in winter

I'm channeling my father

Who loved color

As much as I.

Haiku for a black and white bird

Little chickadee joy

a stunning jewel

framed by my window.

A Genealogist’s Garden


A northern gardener surely cannot be surprised
By the rapid passing of the seasons
The urgent, boyant seedlings
seeking the spotlight
The unselfconscious bloom of summer
The sudden peak of beauty at harvest,
Which can only be discerned in looking back
And the long colorless decay
Buried under the cold
Of winter.

As I remove the detritus of death
From the sprouts of spring
I wonder.
How generations of my seedlings
Will continue their blooming
Long after the debris of my being
is swept away.

-Marsyl Dickinson Warren-

Not this tide...

When Rudyard Kipling lost his son John, who died and disappeared in Loos in 1915, he wrote this poem:

"Have you news of my boy Jack?"
Not this tide.
"When d'you think that he'll come back?"
Not with this wind blowing,
and this tide.
"Has any one else had word of him?"
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing,
and this tide.
"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind -
Not even with that wind blowing,
and that tide.
Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing
and that tide.

Charles M. Dickinson was related by marriage to the Kipling family. He assisted in looking for John over those long years while he was missing. In 1911, it was concluded that John Kipling had died in the war. The following article was printed in the Trenton Evening Times on November 29, 1911. (Charles and my third great grandfather, Theodore Dickinson, were first cousins.)

"KIPLING’S SON LISTED AMONG WAR MISSING Binghamton, N.Y., Nov. 29 – John Kipling, son of Rudyard Kipling, who has immortalized the British Tommy in verse and story, has finally been listed among those thousands of soldiers who vanished in the war without leaving a clue as to their fate. This was announced here by Charles M. Dickinson, former Consul General at Constantinople, who for several years has been searching the Near East for trace of the young British soldier. Until shortly before Mr. Dickinson began his search the last word of the author’s son had been in October, 1915, when he was reported wounded and missing in northern France. He was only eighteen when he entered the army. It was learned, however, that young Kipling was on a British vessel bound for the Dardanelles, and he was thought to have reached the Gallipoli Peninsula, where some of the fiercest fighting of the war took place. Here, however, all trace of him was lost. Mr. Dickinson took up the search on the theory that Kipling might have been captured by the Turks. He is acquainted with the Turkish leaders through his successful efforts twenty years ago to obtain the release of Miss Stone, who had been captured by bandits. Mr. Dickinson has become convinced Kipling is no longer alive, after a thorough investigation by mail and special messengers. John Kipling’s name does not appear anywhere in the lists of the English dead, and he will now be officially recorded as among those unaccounted for." Trenton Evening Times, November 29, 1911