A gathering of old friends

 

I was feeling the kind of weariness
that doesn’t rub or sleep off.
The kind that closes my eyes
in the middle of whatever I am doing
be it writing or listening or watching—
when my friend Paul called.  He and his wife,
toddler, and young son could stop by and visit
on their way back to Poland where they live.
 
I woke up in a flash to dash around my home
and pick up the things that were out of place
or harmful to young ones.  Half my weariness
vanished in anticipation, and all left with
their warm welcome and the cool winter air
when I opened the door.  We talked
around the quiet sweetness of the children
occupied with colored pencils and paper.
 
Elwira had finished all the requirements
for her doctorate and was giving a paper
in North Carolina. Paul was visiting his father
and our old Quaker meeting.  I was writing poetry
in and about my retirement community.  We talked
about our old Quaker friends and then turned

to politics.  We agreed on the dangers. 

We were all experiencing immovable MAGA politics.
 
We talked past time for them to leave, so we rushed
on coats, packed away photos, and hugged at the door.
What good medicine they were!  I carried my joy and 
stayed wide awake through dinner and a dinner program. 
New friends and acquaintances make me welcome,
but there is nothing like old-time friends to infuse
a tired spirit with love.  Now, I’m tired again, but 
new old friends help me fight off the weary blues.

 

For my prompt "A Weekend with friends" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

In uncertain times

 

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Each of us is the center of God’s universe
as it flows outward.  How can we learn that? 
I look into the center of a Queen Ann’s Lace,
picture myself unfurling its petals all
at once, but they’re too still, too evenly spaced.
 
Imagining living in love’s center
is dizzying—but to actually be there—
What could that be like?  Could we bargain for
the experience?  Buy a ticket at
a road show for the ultimate ride??
 
And find ourselves later alone in the dark
of an empty road, dizzy, and grateful
no sun blinds us, aware that all doors to
healing can open if we open them ourselves.
No masks, no faking it, no substitute will do.
 
And that’s exactly what I want to do. Now!
Before the world ends or I die.  On one
of my prayer days, I want to feel life's
energy flowing through me, I want to be
the energy, the love, the life force, open. 
 
With that enlightenment and energy,
we could dig deeper into life, heal more broken
pieces of God's world to leave it a better place.
I pray we know the center and never, ever 

forget. I pray all peoples wake into love. 

 For Mary's prompt "In Uncertain Times" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Being a good creature (from 1/1/2025)

 

 

It's a new day and my mind is
surprisingly bereft of prayer.
I’ve yearned for hours in the day’s quiet,
I fear that nothing is left there.
 
But house plants have the Godliness
to remind me they need water.
And trees and fields I see outside
call me by my pet name, Daughter.
 
They tell me that while they’re alive
I’m part of their wealth and their tribe,
that walks with them that bring me home,
will help them, also, to survive.

 

For Sherry's prompt "Being Human" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Constructive Rest

 

 I.

I need to rest but toss and turn,
both ends of the candle I burn.
Father said this throughout the years.
He’d yell “Go to sleep!” 
I’d end up in tears. 
 
But now: semi-supine:
a new old way to recline,
I lay down on my back, and let hands uncurl.  
Let head lie on books about the world.
Let knees rise so torso unhooks and unwinds. 
 
Arms and elbows are free: shoulders let them go,
neck lengthens and head lies low.  Neck has no work to do.  
Legs have no work to do.  I don’t have to hold up anything.
I don’t have to hold in anything.
Foot to head, I am held by the floor.
Breathe in peace, breathe tension out the door.

 

  II.

Freed, I grieve for things I cannot change:
immoral wars, hate, needless deaths, the whole range.
I remind myself to take these to the forest
and allow in comfort from my surroundings
and constructive rest.  
 
Breathe in and breathe out for the old sofa
with mismatched cushions.  Read again and again
the rug that hangs over it: “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”
Watch the black cat lie flat on the wide windowsill. 
Note the room is full of love and purrs.
 
Breathe in and breathe out love
for parents whose voices still ring in my head,
for friends near and far, for movements
I can support but not engage in. 
Breathe in, breathe out.  Sigh.

 

III. 

I’m in the middle of a poem about resting. 
My body is rested, but my mind resists,
feeling ashamed at how little I do in the world.
I remember to take my grief and this shame,
too, out to the forest.  Tell the truth.
 
Truth to inner light
and out to world spirit. 
I do what I can. I do what I can. 

The forest is dark and sweet
I move a few steps in
and read to the trees.

For my prompt "Rest/relax" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

A new fragrance

 

"Smell", from Allegory of the Senses by Jan Brueghel the Elder

 

For the last quarter of a century, I’ve
used fragrance-free soap, shampoo, and cleaning
supplies to please an allergic brother.
But he still can’t visit.  Dryer sheet and
laundry soap odors linger in shared halls.
They even itch my non-allergic nose.
 
And I am too aware of all smells from hidden
cigarettes to front-and-center cookies,
mint, asphalt, fire and ICE, and distant guns.
I long for fragrance that doesn’t exist—
one that adds a layer of silk to my
body, bath, bedtime, dream time, and dawn.
 
My fragrance would leave room for floral and
forest scents, it would evoke sea and sand.
Eyes closed, I could choose to bask in my cave
of scent, or reach out for scent-scapes I crave
like a room of new books, or the comfort of peace,  
like orchards and baking, or a cave with you.  

 

For Sumana's prompt "Fragrance" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

What is peace?

 

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Peace is more than stopping wars waged with weapons
Peace is the end of fear and release from hiding
Peace is abundance shared for the love of giving
Peace is watching a peony slowly bloom
 
I crave peace.
 
Peace is more than singing and dancing
Peace is reading by natural and artificial light
Peace is walking and riding and talking and laughing
Peace is sitting in a café and writing
 
I want to share peace with you.
 
Peace is more than the calm of quiet and prayer
Peace is conversation with neighbors and strangers.
Peace is knowledge and peace is creation
Peace is reading a love poem to a tree
 
Let us create peace.

For Mary's prompt "Yearning for peace" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast