Ms. Faye Leeper taught high school and college English for 20 years. She has tried to write poetry since she learned the alphabet. Her first major publication was a chapbook called FRAGMENTS, hoping to feel enlightened if she could put the bits and pieces together. She has been schooled both in and out of the U.S for years, but she hopes to feel educated when she finds time to relearn the things that she has been wrongly taught–or that she has wrongly interpreted. She loves travel and people. When someone says, “Would you like to go?”, she only says “When?” Or, “What day?”, so she can get the bag packed in time. She is sorry she was so long in findings the UPLI. “Surely,’ she says, We must have passed each other along the by-paths. It is such a joy!” Her latest publication is with the Brown Baggers (Seven Sisters), SWIMMING FOR THE MOON.
INHERITANCE
Sit beside me here awhile
and tell me of inheritance.
Shall I leave with you my deed
to some portion of the earth
that I have taken unto ownership?
Which part of the sky shall I leave
or the ocean, or the trees
or the moon, or the flowing stream?
As the rhythm of our heartbeats became one,
you were there already in our being
reflected in the moonbeams
as the quantum particles began their swirl,
for the dance of your blueprints.
In that night’s bliss you were initiated
to become the monument to our love.
If you have not in your heart discerned
all that I willed to offer you
since that first night as we watched you feed
from the warm nourishment of my body
while we struggled with the powers of the Universe
to know the source of such inexorable mystery,
then your inheritance is as nothing.
For without awareness of love. we are nothing.
The land. the sky. the magic of the smiling moon
must belong to someone else.
The joy of loving that has so structured you
is all I have to give and all that I take with me.
So what you carry in your heart, of me,
is your inheritance. It shall be measured in volume
as light or as heavy as your awareness dictates.
If your heart can assimilate what I will you to own,
then I shall leave you an inheritance of great abundance.
You shall inherit the Earth!
TRUTH IS RELATIVE
There was something
I once knew
but do not know anymore
because new knowledge
has crowded out
an old truth.
Except that I compare
what I once knew
with what I know now
how could I know
that truth is relative
only to the knowledge
that I have at hand.
Maybe, if I quit listening
to things I do not already believe
my mind can stand still
and rest for a little while-
or forever!
BOYS DON’T CRY
My sister and I always listened to Henry Aldridge
on Thursday nights, but we never
knew how it ended. Papa had to change the radio station
to get the world news.
I did not know what “Normandy” was.
It was awful to have to miss the end of our show!
One day my sister and I were jumping rope
when she screamed, “Look!” It was our
brother coming home! We ran, threw our arms around him.
He threw us off! We were
struck dumb by that! “We must behave,” he said.
His gaze went past us. He stood tall and
marched toward Mama with dignity of one in audience of a queen.
They pulled like magnets, held hands, looked deep into each other’s eyes,
then sort of half hugged. Maybe so Mama wouldn’t cry.
She said, “1 thought maybe
you’d get here on time. Dinner’s ready.”
“Yeah,” he said, I’ll go throw hay to the horses.”
He knew Papa would be out there.
I saw hay tossed out of the loft. He came by the well
and drew up a cold bucker of water.
For a long time, he splashed it over his face and head.
Papa walked up. Our brother said,
“A man ought not have to kill a man
who has never done him any wrong!”
We went in to a quiet table, bowed our heads
as Papa said, “Bless this food to the
nourishment of our bodies.” After a strange silence,
he said, “Give us time and wisdom
to address the wrongs we have committed
out of fear and ignorance.” The dinner was
royal, but appetites were lacking as we surreptitiously
glanced across the table toward the
red plate.
The next night, we got to hear Henry Aldridge all the way through.
FAITH, HOPE, LOVE,
THESE THREE
I have been instructed
in the wisdom of the ages:
“Know that it is there for you,
“whatever you desire–
” expect it, become aware of it.
” know that you are worthy of it.”
” As you believe, so it shall be.”
I hope–but-
I must wait for no one.
Such armor makes me inviolate
to disappointment.
Yet–if by chance you find a way
to reach out and touch me–
in spite of the shield
that would be beautiful!
Such hope makes me glad!
And then, I lift the looking glass
to see procrastination
add another wrinkle to my brow.
I’d best not wait.
I’ll go feed the birds.
That wisdom was already in the birds.
They sing as they wait for me.
They know that I will come.
LIFE’S QUIET PLACES
So many hurts I have had to hide-
so many tears I have left uncried.
What stuff am I?
Love is not kind.
Complexities we bring to it
yet we powerlessly cling to it
for the love of it
many have died.
Any great thing can go awry
without my ever knowing why.
I sent my eyes to find
things to please the heart.
Then all investments reached depletion-
dreams fell short of their completion–
vision truly immature-
too close to where I stand.
Love might lead me to Utopia
except for self-indulging myopia.
I had to look too close
to insure perfection first
When our greatest dreams abort,
we may become a different sort.
If I have learned one thing-
I can try it one more time.
OPEN DOOR
All the world’s our friend
our door’s wide open
the bread has been leavened
the grapes have been tramped
our coat’s your cover
if your need is greater
our tent’s your shelter
wherever we’re camped
We sing your praises
in our songs of love.
The board’s made ready
we’ll break the bread
we’ll pour from the vintage
reserved for the guests
your wounds we will heal
your fears we will quell
no limit is considered
we offer you the best
The latch string’s out-
but the gun stays loaded!
ROADRAGE
I leave several layers of rubber
on a busy road
stopping traffic for blocks.
The driver in the lane beside me
also makes sure no one moves.
I watch a moment of life
I understand so well-
a mother, frightened and confused
about which way to lead
her little ones to safety
as they in single file behind her
weave their line back and forth
in their playful game of “follow the leader,”
unaware of life-threatening danger.
That mother’s parental protective instinct
is stronger than any motorist’s road rage.
Impatient and curious travelers
alight to check the cause for delay-
then smile and wave
to total strangers
as drivers honk deafening cheers of relief
as we watch her last little duckling
mount the curb
and follow her to safety.
