Writer in the Woods

What guides you? What gives you purpose? Why do we help one another in situations where we believed we wouldn’t or shouldn’t? Many parents I know don’t wince at the sight of their own child’s bodily outputs, yet before they were parents, they couldn’t stand the sight. Why do we have an innate will to mourn people we don’t know personally? Or become angry over the violence done in places we don’t call home? This, my friends, is far more than “human nature” on a scientific level; it is because of how God made us. We are made in His image not only in appearance, but in spirit. Humans have the ability to love like God loves. But to unlock that love, we must act on those empathetic instincts. For those of my friends who are my brothers and sisters in Christ, we must go beyond worship on Sundays, and give praise to Him through action. Go to the ones that need you most, and show God’s love to them. Forgive those who hurt you out of ignorance and/or spite. They are hurting. Many people in the world strive to show God’s love that’s burning in their hearts, but they do not know it’s there. They express their passions in ways that are destructive, only because they do not know how to express them properly. 

My friends, please know that those of you who are expressing your need for love through destructive, self-consuming ways, you are loved. Your family loves you. Your friends love you. If you believe the opposite to be true, know that above all else, God loves you. He will always love you. The love of God is all around you. It’s in the eyes and hearts of your family, in your friends, in your pets, in children (all, not just yours), in your teachers, and in all of creation. When you feel the wind cool your face, that is God giving the breath of life. When flowers spring forth from the ground and the trees, that is God comparing your beauty with nature. You can feel it in you every time you smile or laugh just because you’re happy. And to my friends who are depressed, I say to you, God will be there to comfort you. To all, I say go to God no matter what! Go to him when you are happy. Just like a parent, God loves to see His children laugh and play with true joy in their hearts. Go to God when you are sad and/or angry. There is no greater comfort. Finally, my friends, know that I love you for all that you are. 

How many times have we planned something way in advance? We dotted I’s and crossed T’s. Now, how many of those times did all our plans crash and burn? The frustration is immense, especially when we believe we factored every uncertainty. We time family trips only to have the flights delayed. Or our luggage shipped to a state on the farthest side of the country. It seems that bad things happen right on cue. Who is to blame? Ourselves? No. We can never plan for the uncertainties of life. It is simply impossible. No matter how many hours we spend with time tables, map charting, contingency lists, nothing will prepare us for every variable. So the question still remains, who is to blame? God? No. Understand that God does not make bad things happen. He does not smite people. He does not plague them with sickness just for sins. He does not do these things because He is love incarnate. However, he does allow bad things to happen. For if He didn’t, Earth would be perfect. It would be Heaven. But that is not the case. Earth will never be Heaven, because Heaven is Heaven. So we must not blame God for our woes. As much as we wish to do so when we see a child stricken with cancer at such a young age. Or if we see criminals run free after committing heinous acts. God is the only certainty in life. When all fails around us: society, justice, doctors, etc., we must not judge God. We must not hate God. Understand, my friends, that God is just as upset as we are at such atrocities. He is saddened at the slaughter of innocents and innocence. Remember He is here to comfort us in such dark times. He is the shoulder to lean on. Show Him the love He shows you. I encourage us, challenge us, to embrace each other in comforting love rather than shout and blame. Take that to heart, my friends, and we shall see true unity in the world.

Count the enemies you have. Think of those you despise. What have they done? What have they said? They could be rivals: at work, in romantic pursuit, or in sports. They could be friends that you’ve had a falling out with. They could even be family members that have hurt you a thousand times over. Many of us have those “enemies” in our lives. But I am here to tell you, my friends, that they are not your “enemies”. Trust me, I have had “enemies” who I declared as such (most without their knowledge). As years passed without any contact with those people, I realized that they pose no threat to my lively hood because they never did. No, the people that I proclaimed–that we proclaim as our “enemies”– are not so. It is our grudges toward them that are the enemy.

We have been taught to “forgive and forget”. If we do not, we remain slaves to our grudges. It eats at us. Grudges are the throbbing headaches in the back of our minds. We become sickly, obsessed, and paranoid because of it. It is through forgiveness, however, that we can break the chains of hate. But remember my friends, saying “I forgive you” will be nothing without the love in our hearts.

If we forgive, we must do so with our hearts, not just with words. If we say the phrase without love, then it becomes a lie; not only to them, but also to ourselves. I challenge us, my friends, to let go of our grudge(s), no matter the slight. Reflect on what they have done to you and what you have done to them. And then ask yourself: “Are they keeping the wound open, or am I?”

Written by Jonathan Forrest

Dover hopped about in a field of clover. He hopped over logs. He hopped over frogs (across streams), and to the edge of a grove. Dover twitched his long, gray ears that stood high above the brush. He straightened his waistcoat with shiny, gold buttons, and then smiled while twirling his whiskers.

“What a peculiar rabbit you are,” said a calm voice that ended with a squeak.
Dover followed the voice to a branch of a birch tree he was standing under. The voice seemed to belong to the squirrel sitting on that branch. The squirrel snapped his suspenders as a greeting.

“You’re one to talk,” Dover scoffed.
“My name is Shea. What’s yours?”
“Hippity Dover, Esquire,” The Rabbit answered with a bow. Shea the Squirrel
smiled wide, and with his eyes.
“You must be one of those important types.”
“Indeed I am, good sir!” Dover exclaimed. Shea lept from the branch and grabbed Dover’s paw and shook it excitedly. Dover quickly pulled away.
“Yes, well…good to meet you, chap. I must be going now,” He said, trying to
avoid eye contact.
“Many meetings, I suspect. Let me guess: the old codger turtle, down by the pond, is trying to sell his home, and you want to buy it?” Shea questioned as he stroked the scuff of his chin. Well, Dover was quite flabbergasted at the outlandish guess. Why in the world…hold on! Dover thought for a moment. His thoughts resulted in a mischievous grin.
“Old codger turtle, eh? You aren’t speaking of the good doctor, Bartholomew J.
Snapper?” Dover asked. Shea laughed.
“Yes, that’s the one!”
“I had no clue he was selling his home. However, now that I know that he is, I’m quite intrigued to find out his price,” Dover replied. Shea twitched his tail twice and hopped slightly off the ground. He gave a gleeful shout, “ Yipee!” Dover rolled his eyes and went along the path he planned to embark on anyway. This time however, he caught a tag-a-long squirrel in his wake.

Now these two, let’s say…companions…hold on! Should I call them companions
or friends? I know that Shea would prefer that I call them friends, but Dover (at this moment in time) would not accept or reciprocate such a designation between him and the squirrel, that frankly, he was quite annoyed with. I suppose companions shall do. Where was I? Ah, yes!

The two companions journeyed through Oakey Oaks Forest. Dover hopped
through fields, across streams (that ran down to the marshes), and up and around tangled knots of
roots and fallen trees. Shea traversed the trees above, keeping his eye on Dover. On occasion, Dover looked up, hoping the squirrel fell behind. On the contrary, Shea led half of the time. He
was very fast. As the two companions raced to the turtle’s pond, they spotted the wall of cattails. Shea saw over Dr. Snapper’s natural fence. He was surprised by the crowd of beavers surrounding the good doctor’s home.

“Confound you entitled, enlarged, flat-tailed woodchucks! Get off my property! I say, you saw-mill scoundrels, I will not allow you to dam my home!” Dr. Bartholomew J. Snapper raised his cane at the group, with vigor. For an old fellow, Snapper projected his voice
like a lion’s roar. Only those with the keenest sense of hearing could detect the slight wheeze of his age. Beavers did not have the ears that Dover possessed. He was the only one that could hear the strain. The rabbit burst through the cattails.

“Doctor, oh good doctor! How are you?” he said. Dover’s abrupt entrance gave
everyone a start. Poor old Snapper fell back onto his porch swing, clutching his chest.
“What’s this all about, Snapper? What is this rancorous rabbit doing here?” The beavers’ leader, Harvey, cried. Dr. Snapper took a deep breath and then snapped, “Get out, the lot of you!”
“Yeah, you heard him. Beat it!” Dover had his thumb, jetting from his raised fist, pointing behind, over his shoulder.

From the cedar branch, Shea was perched, laughing hysterically at Dover’s antics. Harvey and the other beavers encircled Dover. What a predicament, one would think, if they were in Dover’s non-existent shoes. However, the ‘rancorous rabbit’ was not concerned at all. In fact, he had a grin. Well, that steamed Harvey’s pot. When the beavers all lunged toward Dover,
he sprang up over them. Mid-backflip, Dover snatched Harvey’s black bowler hat, and put it on his own head as he stuck the landing.
“Sensational!” Shea exclaimed from the cedar branch. Dover peered over at Dr.
Snapper. The old codger sat on his porch swing, watching intently at the scene that unfurled in his front yard. Dover gave him a tip of the hat.
“Pay attention, long ears!” balked the good doctor. Dover spun around and saw the business-end of Harvey’s cane–then came stars.

***

Dover’s eyes fluttered open, and then he squinted at the beams of sunlight shining
through the window. Instinctively, he gingerly tapped his head.
“Ow!” Dover cried.
“Don’t touch! You’ve been given quite the noggin floggin’,” Dr. Snapper said. Dover noticed the soft cloth wrapped around his head.
“What happened?” He asked.
“Ask the bush tail,” Dr. Snapper replied. Dover saw Shea sitting beside him. The squirrel met his gaze with smiling eyes. Dover twitched his pink nose.
“Well, what happened?”
“The beavers smacked you upside the head, and then I came down, jumped onto one of their backs, and used their head as a drum. The one they called Harvey, who hit you first, had a chunk of his tail taken out by Dr. Snapper. Well, those bewildered beavers took flight, and the battle was won,” Shea explained. The squirrel handed a black bowler hat, from behind his tail, to
Dover.
“Harvey didn’t want this anymore,” Shea said. Dover could understand why. The hat had quite a large dent. He shrugged, and then buffed the dent out. Dover placed the hat upon his head and smiled.
“Thank you, Shea.” The squirrel was excited to hear that, for sure.

Dr. Snapper groaned as he stretched. Then he pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket, sniffed it, snapped the end with his mouth, and spit out its butt. Dr. Snapper struck a match on his shell and lit the cigar. After a couple of puffs, he walked out the front door. Dover and Shea gave each other a glance, stood up, and followed Dr. Snapper. As they stepped out onto the porch, they saw Dr. Snapper sitting on his porch swing, smoking his cigar. Dover sat in a wicker chair beside the good doctor. Shea sat in another wicker chair across from Dover.
“So, are you selling this place, and for how much?” Dover asked forthright.
“I’m not. Harvey and his ilk wanted me to. I told them off, they didn’t listen, and then you came along,” Dr. Snapper answered.
“Oh,” Dover replied. The disappointment in his voice almost choked him.
“Well…regardless, I must say, that was jolly good fun!” Shea exclaimed as he put his feet on top of the coffee table. Dover gave out a chuckle and did the same. He tipped his new hat over his eyes, folded his paws on his chest, and relaxed.

All Written by Jonathan Forrest

It’s Been a While Since

It has been a while since
I wrote a poem.

One would say I’m rusty. 
Or perhaps
it’s like riding a bike
which I also have not done
in years.

Unlike riding a bike,
writing poems cannot
result in injury.

Unless you count
this papercut. 

God is a Poet

God is a poet. 
if you don’t believe me,
read the Psalms.

“But David wrote the Psalms,”
you would say. 
Yes, but who inspired 
such verses?

God spoke and it came to be.
Through His word, 
images
came to life. 

Who else could use words
to paint a picture,
but a poet? 

He is a bard above all,
singing songs,
played out in history. 

Rocking Chiar

What is it about a rocking chair 
that fills me with peace?

I slide in with ease,
Caressing the arms 
while I lean back.

Is it the gentle 
rocking motion?

Perhaps it’s the memory
That stirs
In my consciousness. 

O how I could
Simply thumb
The beads of my rosary

while I rock
gently 
into bliss. 

Spring

Fresh-mowed lawn
Grass stain smell

Birds singing hymns 
In budding branches

Crack of a bat
Pop-fly

Golf-clubs clank
Carts parade 
Toward tee-boxes

Pastel dresses
Worn for
The Paschal Feast

Soil soaks
The thaw and
 Melt

Nourish seeds
That are sown

Unravel garden hoses
Under the shade of sun hats 

Smile of a Junebug

I see in the summer grass
a Junebug smiling.

What could you be smiling for? 
What brings joy to you,
O Junebug?

Perhaps the warmth
and sunny days
bring forth that smile.

Could it be,
O Junebug,
that your day is here?

Is this the day
for you to arrive
among the scenes
of blue skies,
baseball,
and swimming pools?

Were you waiting
for the flower buds
to burst
like fireworks
in celebration of your return?

Smile away
little Junebug,
days are long,
bright, and cheerful.

Never forsake
your smile,
or your joy. 

Philosophy in Smoke

I live in a castle
surrounded by a city.
Fence, gate, and guard
secure inhabitants 
which I am one. 

Porch of concrete
carved into the castle
furnished with wicker benches
and glass tables. 

Ash trays
hold residue
of men’s thoughts
burned at the ends.

Late nights of tobacco haze.
Thoughts of liturgy, politics,
and wonders of the Heavenly gaze. 

Green turf 
simulating nature
among brick and stone.

Sirens in the distance. 

Momma

I’m a child again,
when I’m near you,
filled with awe
and comfort. 

My small hand you take
into yours
which is soft
and slender.

Your fingers
wrap around mine,
not in a vice,
but rather
like a warm hug
only mothers give.

Each step you take
send ripples
in the night sky,
as you lead me 
to your son’s 
presence. 

My eyes
are transfixed 
by your beauty. 
 
The stars
on your mantle
glisten, shimmer,
twinkle, like raindrops
in sunlight. 

Your smile is warm
and inviting,
like a lit hearth
of a cozy cabin
nestled in
the frigid,
snow-capped 
mountains. 

Dinner with Your Family

You invite me to your house
for dinner, after we play
on the hills near town.

Your mother welcomes me in
as one of her own.

I know my manners.
I wash my hands.
You wash my feet.

Fresh-baked bread
is all the welcome I need. 

We set the table for mother
as she brings out the food.
It’s not much:
just enough for one plate each. 

Your father arrives as the sun sets,
pulling out splinters from his hands 
between well-formed calluses. 

He greets us with a smile.
He greets mother with a tender kiss
on her forehead, as he grabs a plate
and a pot to lighten her load. 

You learned it from him
to give thanks
for the meal
before breaking the bread. 

We eat, we talk, we laugh. 
You father tells stories
for us only. 

I asked if I could stay…
forever.

Your parents say I’m
welcome anytime,
but I must go home
and share this love
with my own family.