May 30 - In Memory of My Brother Walt Cooney

   May 30, 2013.  My brother passed away three years ago today. It's not the kind of anniversary one marks on the calendar and looks forward to with anticipation and glee, but   melancholy that a life is no more , gone too soon from his mother and dad, and  family and friends who loved him

    I choose not to wallow in grief, but to commemorate the life of  my beloved brother, and life long friend. I remember his walk and the way he stood straight and tall, the color of his eyes and happy smile, the sound of his voice, and how he laughed  when he got really tickled over something silly  someone did or said.

   Walt  died and left this earth to be with our Lord on the other side,  but he also lives in my heart and memory. And I know , come what may,  some things can never change. He will  forever be his mothers only son, and my little brother.

   Posted below , a  memory of Walt titled Lil' Cowboy, a poem I wrote three years before his passing. It was published in Write On ! Poetry Magazette   February 2007.   The verses  came to me as I   had been thinking of a time when Walt and I were kids, visiting our Grandmother's house in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Walt loved everything cowboy. Clothes, hats, boots.   His favorite was Roy Rogers.  Mother enjoys telling  the story, and I remember it, too when a neighborhood boy knocked on Grandma's front door. When  mom opened the door the little boy asked if Roy could come out to play. Mother replied,  "Honey, There isn't anybody named Roy  here". The boy  answered with a  definite  "Huh-huh ! My new friend, he said his name is Roy Rogers!"

                                                                       Lil' Cowboy

                                                               When my brother Walt
                                                                was just a boy
                                                                he dressed like his hero
                                                                a cowboy named Roy
                                                                in his cowboy shirt
                                                                and cowboy pants,
                                                                cowboy boots and
                                                                cowboy hat.
                                                                A holstered six-shooter
                                                                at his side,
                                                                he walked around
                                                                with cowboy pride
                                                                Eating cowboy cookies,
                                                                singing cowboy songs
                                                                his cowboy cat
                                                                tagging along
                                                                He aimed to please
                                                                and do only good
                                                                just like his hero
                                                                Roy Rogers would


                                                          

    

Memorial Day

A day  of remembrance
for the fallen brave,
those that died on the battlefield
in a land not their own, far away
from family and home - Oh!
the anguish, the tragedy of war

We decorate their graves
with flower and flag, sing
patriotic song and march in parades
And with somber thought
remember, freedom isn't free
the cost is high, 
the lives of beloved
sons and husbands
no longer here

                   *** My great-great Uncle Andy Norton
                           died in France World War I  (RIP+)

Diana , Mary Kay and Clouds

     It is a perfect May day. I  water the potted  Geraniums, then  sit down and  stretch my legs on the chaise lounge. So   peaceful and restful. For the longest time  I  look up and stare  at the vast , voluminous sky,  like I didn't have a care in the world. Its   brilliant blue draws me in like a cool pool on a hot summer day.

     I try to penetrate its depth with my constant gaze, but  it remains distant and mysterious. Majestic.  Only known to  angels on wing.

    Clouds drift slowly by until they gather together like friends at an afternoon social. I study each one  and notice their different shapes and sizes.  All look beautiful to me.  I wonder, are there silly clouds? Serious clouds?   Is one trying to lord it over the other ? To be more important and popular ? Then I notice a new  cloud roll in, all puffed up with its ego and self perceived charm, proclaiming judgement on what's best for the other clouds,  and what kind of clouds  they should be. A few  of the clouds scatter and are gone, no longer welcomed,   and lost forever  to their fellow clouds - all because of  bias   spoken by puffed up, self important  cloud. 

    Still staring up at the sky, and looking at the clouds I reflect  on the song Both Sides Now, popularized by both Joni Mitchell and Judy Collins and wonder about Mitchell's lyrics,  and what she meant by clouds. 

I've looked at clouds from both sides now,

from up and down, and still somehow

it's cloud illusions I recall. 

I really don't know clouds at all

    From the earliest days of listening to this favorite song, I  interpreted clouds meaning life - life as in friends. 

    Then,  looking more and more at the clouds, I recalled another long ago  May when I  lay in a hospital bed, my body broken and nearly left for dead after suffering an auto accident, along with dearly  beloved others,  and how two very special  clouds (friends) were ever present by my side. I had a  serious head injury. At first the doctors told my mother they didn't expect me to live, and if I did I may suffer  brain damage, and at the least I  may never walk again.   For three months I was in traction, my lung collapsed, my back broken, my femur crushed , and nearly every bone on the right side of my body broken.  Other than my  mother, brother and grandmother,  Diana and Mary Kay visited me nearly every day. They decorated my hospital bed, hung a  Robert Redford poster on the  wall, and sneaked pizza in for me to eat on Friday nights.

     While our other friends were sunning  at the beach, busy with their lives,  finding new loves and getting engaged (all in right order),   Diana and Mary Kay helped  cheer  me with  their colorful  stories  and constant encouragement.  They brought laughter to a broken spirit, and joy to a broken heart.   After being released from the hospital I  spent another two and a half months in a full body cast. When at home,   Diana came to live with my family and me, to help provide for my needs while my mother was at work, and   Mary Kay brought  over  her parents cool car and  removed  the front seat  so I could fit my plastered  body  into the back,  to  cruise the boulevard with the girls.

    At  19 years old, I don't know what I would have done without them. I  doubt I  ever  let  Diana and Mary Kay  know how much their friendship meant, how important they were to my getting well, how their example of friendship is  one I hold today  in high esteem, and strive to emulate.  To be there for my friend,  whenever in need. Not to judge, condemn or ridicule, but to listen and love.

    And looking  once again , up  at the clouds,  I think how important it is to  speak  the best of  our  friends, whether  in our presence ,  or far away.

 

   

   

  

 

     

Promise Fullfilled

As I walk around

the grounds of 

my  rural home, I feel

renewed, reborn

in seeing new growth

of  moutain greenery,

and spring flowers  

covering the hill

and across the field

How different from

the cold, grey days

of winter when only

the promise of light

carries us trough,

and our hope

the sun will rise

Let It Go

Days seem short,
the night so long 
for the troubled heart
and wearied soul
Words that hurt, 
carelessly spoken by 
'faithful friend' festers
like a boil,  and lingers 
on,  deflating the spirit
and severing the bond
of what once was. 
Which is better - to ignore 
the slight of those 
so admired?  To release
the mockery of those 
held dear? Or  hold 
forever the pain they
impart by their lofty,
haughty ridicule and 
lack of respect ? I say
goodbye to that, let 
it go and forget,  for
surely,  in another
ten year no one 
will remember