Our friend Ruth at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town
has hostess duties this week. She asked us last week to take notice of what we are grateful for, what surprises us.
I am grateful for the many blessings in my life. For my imperfect, messy, loud, loving family. For my faith, even as I stumble my way in and out of a praxis that I have yet to let go of. For my health, mindful as I am watching my ninety-year old parents navigate the realities of aging. For the luxury of writing – the time, the technology, but more than anything the community of support I have found.
I am grateful. And at the same time, I cannot look away from the utter devastation of so many lives, dreams, homes, families, who have died or are living under the constant threat of dying. I cannot begin to understand the complexities that have led to the staggering violence that has unfolded – in the Middle East, in Africa, in Ukraine. There is plenty of despair to be found the world over.
So today, I am also grateful for the thoughtful. For those who do the hard work to see the many sides of complex issues.
They are light.
They remind me: More often than not, there are no easy answers to difficult questions. But at least they try.
And I find hope in this.
(w)holy lost
when the world is on fire
hope drowns in hunger, mired in loss
history an albatross
profound chasm to cross, our fears
fractionate, engineer
agony –mothers’ tears outlive
butterflies, combative
without answers to give, are lost
buried in permafrost
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
November 11, 2023
in the fullness of time
when the land beneath us collapses
into darkness
when grief burns the heart
when our cries rise hollow from bodies
bereft of hope
when despair’s grip chokes us
of prayer
then will you hold a space for us
a memory of peace
re-member us –its light
cupped and kindled
in a stranger’s hands
light that might lead us
back to ourselves
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
November 20, 2023
home/land
home in lined faces, old hands
remember home a war-torn land
ever-claimed home people set apart
yearn to return home to belong
to sand, sea, sky, home free
peaceable kingdom the promise called home
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
November 22, 2023
Patricia Franz is a kidlit writer and published poet. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Patricia, I can surely relate to your thoughts about giving thanks in the midst of the dark realities of the world. I wrote something similar this Friday. Your three poems are rich and heartbreaking and full of hope, even when it does seem to be drowning. What a beauty that luc bat poem is–that one is my favorite of the three.
It feels like a yearning for better, what I believe so many want, and cannot seem to cross that chasm, no matter the peace of a homeland and the light it brings. Your poems are heart-wrenching, Patricia, and sadly true of our world today. (FYI – Ruth has said that you left the link to her post instead of yours. You may want to go back & add yours!)
These are so devastating, Patricia. I love the image of the cupped and kindled light. Thank you for YOUR thoughtfulness and for sharing these bittersweet poems.
Your last poem with lines of home and “peaceable kingdom” remind me of the artist Henri Rousseau and his paintings: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_Rousseau –if we can only get there again…Thanks Patricia.
These break my heart, with honesty and beauty… Thank you
The idea of people trying to return home is heartbreaking in your last poem and I daily put my self in the position of those torn from their homes. Can we imagine peace again? Thank you Patricia. I loved how your poems are sad and real, but not sentimental.
Patricia, your poems weigh heavy on my mind. They make me ponder. What has happened in life? When will peace be felt even in small amounts? “in the fullness of time” brings hope at the end: light that might lead us
back to ourselves.
We all need to find ways to combat the darkness. Hope is the answer. Thank you for time of reflection late in the night.
Patricia, you have moved me with your heart-breaking poems. I can relate it’s like you have to get out the words, get the atrocities in the world off your chest. Writing is therapeutic. Your first two lines in your first poem grabbed me and didn’t let me go. I felt the pain, burn, and heard the cries. Your juxtaposition or contrasting stanzas make them more powerful. In the second stanza these lines especially spoke to me “a memory of peace/re-member us –its light/cupped and kindled/in a stranger’s hands,” beautiful imagery and I love your hopeful ending.
In your second stanza, your first two lines “home in lined faces, old hands/
remember home a war-torn land” are sad, but beautiful. I see these images. I’m curious if this poem is a certain form because I keep seeing “home” in different spots, yet the words make a clever diagonal, which makes “home” jump out to be noticed. I like that technique. I love your peaceful and hopeful ending. Thank you for sharing your honesty, your poignant poems, and your inspiration. After reading your poems a few times, I feel a weight lifted and I feel hopeful. Thank you for that.
Your gratitude, your poems…so many emotions, Patricia. I echo your feeling of gratitude for “those who do the hard work to see the many sides of complex issues.” Democracy depends on us doing this.