TREAT CHILDREN INDIVIDUALLY NOT EQUALLY

Treat children individually, not equally

Parents sometimes believe that the best way to avoid arguments

and unhappiness among their children is to give equally to each

child. New clothing for a child often is matched with something new for

the siblings too. Spending time with one child often means trying to

spend an equal amount of time with the other.

This practice of attempting to give equally to all the children only

encourages comparisons by the children who often feel cheated. No

matter how hard you try to make things the same portions of favorite food, time spent, or gifts given children are bound to find some way that you’re not being fair.Children feel special and valued

when you give to each according to individual need. Instead of telling

children that you love them equally, privately point out their special

qualities that have nothing to do with others in the family. (“I love

spending time with you” or “You’re the only one like you in the whole

world and I love you.”)?

A HIDDNEN SKY

There is a sky

below the ground.

I saw it today

through puddle windows

along my street.

Big sycamore leaves

were floating in it

like balloons becalmed.

Trees were towering

downly up

beneath my feet.

If streets contain a sky,do you and I?

GOOD FRIDAY

If ever rain should sing a hymn

throughout and through in;

if ever unfolding buds with tiny pain

should bloom big over meadows;

if ever hearts in deepest pain

should find a silver light—

let it be on Good Friday,

our day of holy surrender to

more than we know,

our bow of reverence to

more than we are,

our wail of grief for

all that might have been,

our needed emptying

of the cup of self to

find an inner morning—

an Easter wherein

the Sun of Love

will rise again

GRIEF IS A THIEF

Grief is a thief

you have urged

to take you away

but with your own

key locks you,

wet with tears,

inside your musty

woolen closet and

turns out the light.

Dark in your trap

shared with moths

you cry long past dry

and choke on all why.

When you know it’s

time (and you will):

burst

the closet open

into a room,

burst

the room open

into a sky,

settle for no moons,

pray past all suns,

inhale from Cosmos.

Not earth are you

but the damp wick

of a future shining.

Strike your match

and light the way.

INNERNESS

How potent is the silent voice within the heart—

like roses screaming quietly

at the top of their scents.

Our inner self turns a valve here,

flips a switch there,

rechannels a thought, all undetected,

guiding the mind with commands never heard by ears.

We inhale a vital force sent up from the sun,

full of planetary power, star strength,

universal unity.

We exhale such love as we can muster from our

little microverse,

radiating peace into nearest air

and farthest galaxies.

We breathe our relentless ripples

onto shimmering oceans of spirit.

Each star hears our silence.

Our mental voice imprints itself

on a forgetless tablet of inner space,

indelible as a baby’s first cry.

When we listen, the cold wind carries

the moan of mother earth

and the rising moon reflects

the sighs of setting sun.

Those who hear the universe

humming its silent symphony

learn to love each lento chord.

Strum my heart, you silent waves of love,

with your tuneful touch,

and help me sing the song of space

in the sanctum of my skull.

TO HIS LOVE

THE island dreams under the dawn

And great boughs drop tranquillity;

The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,

A parrot sways upon a tree,

Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

THE island dreams under the dawn

And great boughs drop tranquillity;

The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,

A parrot sways upon a tree,

Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES

AUTUMN is over the long leaves that love us,

And over the mice in the barley sheaves;

Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,

And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,

And weary and worn are our sad souls now;

Let us patt, ere the season of passion forget us,

With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.