Rehab Brings it All Back Home

Week 17

Rehab Brings it All Back Home

Tweets

1. Here’s another Allan, and if you’ve been following, another who’s out of my life but not forgotten.

2. The beauty of poetry is that you really don’t know what you’re going to write until you do.

3. In retrospect, grade school was so full of everything. My life today barely keeps pace.

4. It’s so enriching to see talent and character for what they are, even if it’s decades later.

5. How I am shamed by Allan, who had so much more than I did that I thought was less.

6. What does stature mean to you?

7. Poise matters.

Alone

The other Allan,

who spelled our

name the same

way—unusual, that

juxtaposition—was

a grade-school classmate

struck hard by polio

in sixth grade and

left an empty desk

among us for six months.

When he returned

with those clunking

leg braces and

elbow crutches

we welcomed him, I’m sure,

with fear on our faces.

He seemed none the less

for wear in class, as he

was one of our brightest,

with a technical bent

and shone in class projects.

He missed recess with us

and ate lunch alone

as the rest of us

scampered home.

One day I stayed back

and sat with him.

It was good.

I felt his aloneness

but no loneliness.

                        Remembering now,

our eighth grade

graduation picture,

there he stood full stature

among us boys in the back,

strong face, warm smile.

Where are you, Allan?

This blog is dedicated to my friend Randy Lewis,

Senior Vice President, Walgreen Co.

© 2012 Allan Cox, Allan Cox & Associates Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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The Struggle That Won’t End

Week 16

The Struggle That Won’t End

Tweets

1. It’s weird sometimes, how we just fall into a conversation with either a friend or stranger.

2. Someone pulls the trigger on a thought they want to spend time with, and there’s a listener willing to take it up.

3. So here’s the opening gambit: Gossip can serve a good purpose.

4. A release valve, she seems to be saying. Lightens the load of anger that could get to boiling.

5. Realism in human affairs winning out over idealism—the better way.

6. OK, none of us is pure—a constant balm, a slippage inevitable.

7. But habitual, a carcass in the making, one’s own, to perfection.

Unctuous?

We were just

relaxing on break

at a conference,

nestled in an alcove.

We’d made contact

by way of words

we spoke

in the larger group.

She says, “I’ve heard

there’s a social purpose

to gossip,

a good thing, you know.”

I said that sounds

like a journalistic tidbit,

a feature writer’s

cooking up a topic

for munching claques.

Later, I wondered further . . .

Hmmm, does it lighten

the load—in the bigger picture,

a societal safety valve?

How can it

when it makes me feel cheap—

speaking or listening?

Thoughts anyone?

© 2012 Allan Cox, Allan Cox & Associates Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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When Life is Living in the Fold

Week 15

When Life is Living in the Fold

Tweets

1.   The greatest gift in the world of love is the love of someone, not from someone.

2.   To be blown away permanently by a partner—ever and always—is psychic perpetual motion.

3.   To love fully is to be snapped to attention.

4.   When anger comes, as it will, it cannot, does not, have the heart to last

5.   We ask men to find their feminine side, but women were, at least in apparel, over and out fast with their masculine side.

6.   Being in love is to know you’ll never be alone, knowing how not to be alone.

7.   Yet love makes solitude rich.

Her

How does he know her,

            that executive with eyes that shine,

                        and a giver’s pulse,

                                    with forgiveness in hand,

                                                and . . . so quickly hurt?

            but for her glance that holds,

                        the quick embrace,

                                    her heart-born touch,

                                                and . . . doubt a whisk.

but for her electrified hurl,

                        a toter’s arm and leg,

                                    her sure reach for what makes do,

                                                and . . . harshness that scuttles.

but for making good’s case,

                        hearing none but compassion’s voice,

                                    lighting up those drawn to her,

and . . . a will for worry.

but as mirror to his faults,

                        and gifts as well,

                                    a link—a bond, even—to those he cherishes,

                                                and . . . impatience that snuffs.

More, still, does he know her—

as a pilgrim, yes,

            believer in him and the powers,

            soul to him in love without words,

            and her the creator, hearth and home.

           

Love with her?

            Look at him see her right now, taking a nap, tiny triangle

            of her face covered by the crumpled sheet, eyes, nose, lips,

            serene, peeking pretty. If he ever walked out the door, he

            wouldn’t make it past the first step.

© 2012 Allan Cox, Allan Cox & Associates Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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I’m Not Sure It Was What I Thought

Week 14

I’m Not Sure It Was What I Thought

Tweets

1.      As the twig is bent the tree leans applies as to one’s early attitudes as to a parent a parent’s influence.

2.      Children crave order. If parents provide that, they’ve provided much.

3.      Every child born into the same family is born into a different family.

4.      What is it about your parents that you appreciate deeply? “Nothing” is not an acceptable answer.

5.      How have you gone your own way?

6.      What memories soothe? Which ones rankle or grate?

7.      How are you like no other person?

Parents

It seems possible

to overrate

the impact of

our parents

on who we become.

Models of virtue

give rise

to slugs and sinners.

Out of the homes

of reprobates and absentees

come swans and singers

who find and create

a wealth of environs

that nourish them.

Prediction readily defied,

what matters most,

perhaps,

is to claim in heart

what your parents

gave that you wove

wittingly, unwittingly

as you composed

your world’s walk

masterpiece.

© 2012 Allan Cox, Allan Cox & Associates Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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When I Looked and He Was Gone

Week 13

When I Looked and He Was Gone

Tweets

1.      Who, long gone, still has a place in your memory bank?

2.      How did the separation take place? A move-away? Death? Illness? Argument and breach? Something else?

3.      What was that person’s gift to you? What was yours to her or him?

4.      Where is he or she now? Do you know? Does it matter?

5.      Is a regret for someone/something gone a bad thing? If not, what is its rightful place, and for how long?

6.      Donny was a mentor to me, taught me superior skills in sports, a good nature, a good picture of adulthood.

7.      Joanie Mitchell: “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t what you’ve got till it’s gone?”

Youth

Donny floated into my life

as a lithe paper airplane lands on

a grade-schooler’s desk.

He was young-at-heart uncle to a friend of mine.

He settled in with us—

our coach, like a little league dad,

as we went at it—zealots

in our alley,

empty lot,

and on the dead-end

nearby street.

He’d been a star athlete,

and brought us

his care-filled tutelage

sprung from Apollo.

We shone.

We graduated.

When I began high school

he drove me there each morning

on his way to work.

We talked and belly-laughed—

about teachers we both knew.

Then came the sports and

the girls and the new friends

I chose to ride with

on the school bus.

One day,

as if the sun came up

for the first time,

I noticed.

He was gone,

then the light went out.

© 2012 Allan Cox, Allan Cox & Associates Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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