Poetry Archives - Brittle Views

Between Breaths

Robert Ford — Fri, 13 Sep 2024 04:21:50 +0000

For the last couple of months, I’ve been helping a very dear friend organize a nonprofit fundraising event that will take place this weekend. HARK’s mission is to “share the real story of ALS and to provide a network of compassionate resources for families.” Through fundraising activities like this weekend’s event, HARK provides assistance to alleviate the financial burdens faced by families battling ALS, offering support in many ways including:

Provide assistance with home modifications
Purchased and donated a handicap accessible van to a pALS
Purchasing equipment not covered by insurance
Paying travel expenses for pALS to visit family or attend an important family event they would not otherwise be able to afford
Visit communities across the country sharing Hope on the Horizon increasing awareness of ALS and benefitting a local ALS family
Provide financial assistance for household expenses
Assisting families with children during the holidays

Having heard me perform some of my poetry at an open mic night, Deb asked me if I’d consider writing something and performing it at the event. I said “yes” but felt a little overwhelmed and out of my depth. Like many people, I didn’t really know all that much about the disease, other than ALS brings emotional, physical, and financial challenges to families, as they must provide increasing levels of care and cope with the emotional toll of watching a loved one’s health decline.

I didn’t know where to start until I sat in on Deb being interviewed a local TV station on Monday, when the reported asked what had changed when her late brother got his diagnosis. As I listened to her answer, it took me back to when my own father was given 2 weeks to live and summarily transferred into hospice care (where, thanks to their dedicated level of care and support, he went on to live another two years), and this poem started to write itself before I even got home.

For me, it’s a meditation on those fragile moments when love, hope, and resilience emerge in the face of uncertainty. My hope is that each of you might find something in it that speaks to your heart, whatever that may be.

Between Breaths

It begins like any other—
that day,
until it isn’t
like any other

Words land,
worlds shift.
Time bends—
it stretches,
shrinks,
and expands.

Seconds are counted
in breaths,
in the strength
to lift a hand,
to lift a child,
in the steps
that remain.

What once was bright
now flickers, dims.
What was strong
now lies diminished.
What was steadfast
now shifts in silence.

And for families,
for friends,
love finds new ways—
in longer glances,
in quiet, held breaths,
wondering how many more.

Time tilts,
caught between hope and fear,
between what was
and what may never be,
where each moment matters
because it may never come again.

Yet even here, blessings bloom—
laughter rings louder,
touch lingers longer,
and sunsets burn
a little brighter,
as love fills the spaces
where strength used to be.

When worlds shift,
we shift too,
holding tighter,
learning to live
in the fragile beauty
of now.

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Finding Your Eyes

Robert Ford — Tue, 21 May 2024 13:52:40 +0000

As I diligently try to get my arms around 45 years’ worth of my poetry in readiness for publishing my ‘Love & Loss’ collection, I come across long-forgotten poems that seem to be screaming, “Pick me!” This is one of those poems.

I don’t remember when I wrote it, but I have a feeling that it wasn’t based on any one specific personal experience. Always a voracious reader and avid movie fan, the romantic in me would often be hooked by the turn of a phrase or a specific scene, and I’d want to take it and make it my own. This one makes me think of Brief Encounter, but that might be because the guy in accompanying image that I generated reminds me of Trevor Howard. If you’ve never watched that movie, do yourself a favor and block off an afternoon, have a large box of Kleenex tissues a the ready, and sit back and enjoy!

Finding Your Eyes

Finding your eyes
Holding your gaze
Speaking rapidly and excitedly
Yet with nothing voiced

Our ardent conversation
So rich and full of promise
Quite literally plays out
Within the blinking of our eyes

Questions asked and answered
Passions broached and embraced
Desires voiced and echoed
Intent stated and readily welcomed

Joining and sharing together
In the most imperceptible of smiles
The meeting of our minds
Foretells the meeting of our bodies

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UNSPOKEN NO MORE

Robert Ford — Tue, 30 Apr 2024 15:18:03 +0000

At the weekend, I was among a large group that came together to celebrate the life of a close friend who passed ten years ago. I’d first met Ian when we were both 18, and we were both freshly-minted students at Wolverhampton Polytechnic. He was one of those people that fully embraced his quirkiness, and we all loved him for it.

Yesterday, I spent much of the day reflecting on the weekend, and this poem decided to make an appearance. While it was always clear just how much we all loved each other, the actual words would go unspoken. That has changed now, and I like to think of that as a gift that we all received from Ian.

When I sent this to those of us who stayed with Ann Marie, here’s the note that I sent with it.

I’ve spent much of the day thinking about the weekend, and about how much each and every one of you mean to me. The lyrics from Joni Mitchell’s ‘Big Yellow Taxi’ have been playing in my head, in particular the line “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone”. The thing is that I used to think that I did know what we had in Ian, and that we’d always have him. It turns out that I didn’t know what a big hole his passing would leave in my life, nor how each and every one of us would come together to hold each other up. I keep getting this image of Ian with that faux-indignation of his, saying “you bastards” for us having so much fun together without him, except he truly was so very much there with us.

UNSPOKEN NO MORE

Together we came
in celebration
of you, of your life
Our lives all the richer
for knowing you
for loving you
And now, for a decade
of missing you

You’d never met a stranger
so many said
and we all nodded
each remembering
how you’d made your way
into our hearts and lives

So many stories
shared and built upon
such an outpouring
of love and affection
reflecting the precious weight
of words once unspoken

Your loss changed us
an all too painful reminder
of the fragility of life
As we noted your absence
you were very much with us

Coming together
in celebration of you
and of your life
and of what we shared
individually and collectively
You’ve gifted us a readiness
to not leave things unspoken
leaving no doubt
of how we love one another
upgrading us all
from friends to family

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RECLAMATION

Robert Ford — Fri, 05 Apr 2024 17:49:14 +0000

Last week, four months of hard work came to life with Camp Sacred City, a “magical place co-created by humans freely sharing their authentic gifts” taking place at Wonderfield Farm & Retreat in Floral City, Florida. For the almost two hundred people who heeded the call, it truly was a magical experience, and reinforced what a community is capable of, once we’ve set our minds to something.

RECLAMATION

Breathing in nature’s calming sigh
Exhaling expectations
Releasing inhibitions and self-doubts
Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Exhale…
Reconnecting to ancient rhythms within
Remembering who we truly are
Returning home to Gaia’s embrace

Feet firmly planted on sacred soil
We relinquish control
Shedding burdens and letting go
Of that which no longer serves us
Yielding in sweet surrender
We bloom anew

Fully present
We embrace possibilities
Opening ourselves
Our hearts… our minds…
Our postures
Rooted deep, we reach
Growing towards the light
Standing tall, in testament
to transformation’s might

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SILENT NO MORE

Robert Ford — Wed, 08 Mar 2023 21:32:53 +0000

I wrote this poem about a month ago, but decided to hold off on posting it until International Women’s Day, which is today (March 8th, 2023). I wrote it at the encouragement of my dear friend Sharon Hake, as a submission for an upcoming book from Great Dames, which is the nonprofit organization that she co-founded with her daughter, and where I serve on the Board. Great Dames is a dynamic, diverse community of women who are connected, empowered and inspired to create the impact they desire.

In seeking submissions for the book, Great Dames were invited to share their stories, reinforcing their commitment to women through their words. My original view was that this was primarily a project by women and for women, but in talking with Sharon, I came to see that as an ally, particularly one that actively seeks to encourage more men to step up in their support of women, it was time for me to put fingers to keyboard.

SILENT NO MORE

All men
We are sons of mothers
Often brothers of sisters
Husbands of wives
And fathers of daughters

All too often
We, and that means me
It means you
It means our fathers
It means our brothers
It means our sons

We bear witness, silently
Seeing and feeling the pain, maybe
Observing persistent inequalities, perhaps
Perceiving rinse and repeat indignities, possibly
And do we take action?
Not often enough

From our very first breath
Age-old signals and patterns surround us
Some subtle, many overt
Feeling hopeless and helpless
We often choose silence
Reinforcing the status quo

All too often making excuses
For ourselves and to ourselves
Quick to say that it’s better than it was
Deep down, we know it’s not enough

So what do we do?
We ask
We listen
We support
We hold space
We voice our truths

We show our mothers and our sisters
We show our wives and our partners
Yes, especially to our daughters
We show that they’re not alone
Not us and them
But we, together

To our fathers and our brothers
And yes, especially to our sons
We show them a better way
Leading by example, we celebrate
That together, we move mountains
Not content with leveling the playing field
We commit to expanding it, for all of us

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LOVE & LOSS

Robert Ford — Wed, 28 Dec 2022 00:53:38 +0000

I’m now in the home straights of finalizing ‘Love & Loss’, which is a collection of my poetry that will be out early in the New Year. It’s been a very cathartic process to revisit and curate almost half a century’s worth of my writing. Along the way, I’ve learned a lot about myself; about the paths that I’ve followed along the way, about where I am today, and what I want to do next.

In introducing the title track ‘Love & Loss’, I’d like to share an excerpt from the book’s introduction:

“My mother died when I was 17, after a very long illness. Her health had declined throughout my teenage years, and we had known that she was dying for 3 or 4 years before her death. Looking back now, I see that the weight of that loss muddied the love that I felt for her, and from her. I was lost, sad, angry, frustrated, hurt, and resentful. When a loved one dies after a long illness, it feels like a double whammy. Not only have you lost that person from your life, but you lose the version of yourself that had been supporting them through their illness.“

‘Love & Loss’ is the first poem that I’ve ever written about my Mum, and like much of my recent work, it was fully-formed at birth, spilling out of me onto the screen. In reality, almost forty-five years is a pretty long gestation period. I see now that for all of that time, I’ve resented my Mum: for her having to deal with a lot of challenges when I was very young, which left her with little emotional bandwidth for me; for getting sick; and for dying at such an early age (she was only forty-nine). I can see now that I was seeing things through the eyes of a child, and that I’ve just continued to drag it around like an anchor, throughout my entire adult life. As the poem says, I’ve decided that I’ve mourned enough, and instead of grieving for the things that I didn’t get to share with my Mum, I’m choosing to celebrate her, and the love that we share.

LOVE & LOSS

Sometimes
we get so wrapped up in loss
That we fail to witness love writ large
Remembering our relationships
by what they were not
rather than by all that they were

Sometimes
relationships end all too soon
Loved ones leave
They change
They grow
They die

Sometimes
Loved ones stay
And it’s the love that leaves
The love that dies

I’ve mourned for all that we didn’t have
I’ve grieved for the ‘could have beens’
For the ‘should have beens’
Enough I say
I’ve mourned enough
It’s time to celebrate
All that was
All that you were
All that you still are

You are still present in my life
And I choose to see you
Choosing to welcome you in
Choosing to feel your presence
Choosing to hear you
in my words
Choosing to see you
in my reflection
Choosing to be enveloped
in your love

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TRIGGER

Robert Ford — Sun, 27 Nov 2022 20:38:49 +0000

I was feeling very tender when I woke up this morning. Today would have been my late brother’s 73rd birthday, and so I took some time to think about him, and about the part that he played in my childhood. He was the first person in my family to go to University, and it was only as an adult that I started to understand how difficult that must have been, and how he’d made it so much easier for my brother John and myself.

Later, I decided to walk a few blocks and seek out my friends who were chalking the pavements, as part of The Global Love Project. On the way, I was just about to cross the road at a pedestrian crossing, when I saw a police offer berating a young black man who was dressed in women’s clothing, and holding a sign, asking for money. As I got to the other side of the road, the young man walked away from the police officer, crossing the street that I’d just crossed. The police officer followed him, demanding that he provide him with his name and ID, which the young man respectfully declined to do. I paused to fully understand what was going on, and I decided that I needed to cross back across the street, and to bear witness and offer silent support. When the office saw me, he told me to move on, and I politely declined. At that point, he started talking into the microphone on his shoulder, and within about 30 seconds, a back-up had arrived, and he was describing me to the second officer, as someone who had “taken it upon himself to push his way into things”. Again, I chose to stand my ground. I didn’t like the officer’s energy or that he appeared to be losing his patience, but I could feel the young man’s eyes on me, imploring me to stay. At this point the two officers went into a huddle by the second officer’s squad car, and the young man saw his opportunity to walk away, and took it. The first officer came back, and noting that the young man had left, he jumped into his squad car, and drove off at a tear. No-one said anything else to me, and I found myself shaking. That was when the following memory came flooding back to me.

As I walked away, I made a promise to myself to better understand the law here in Florida, in situations like this one. Remembering back to how I felt when I was the one being unjustly accused and bullied, I’m glad that I was there, and glad that I made the choices that I did. I also thought about the privilege I have in walking through life as a white, middle-aged male… remembering how it had been very different when I identified, and was subsequently targeted for being, an outsider.

TRIGGER

I was eighteen
Dealing with grief
by diving deeply into life
Losing and finding myself
In punk colors and shock values
I’d scraped beneath the surface
And found so much love
So much understanding
and so much acceptance
From those who were shunned
by so many

It was an everyday any day Saturday
As usual, we’d gone into town
Living and breathing music
We’d bounce from record store
to record store
Exploring our hopes and dreams
Etched deep within those grooves

We’d gone into Boots for some reason
And there, I’d spotted my cousin
I didn’t recognize him to begin with
His frame gaunt and tired
His skin sallow
A knitted woolen hat
covering his chemical baldness

It was the first time
that I’d seen him for a while
And it would be the last
His leukemia in remission
He was desperately trying
to be a normal teenager

Not really knowing what to say
And already dealing with enough grief
I overcompensated with humour
Manically reciting Monty Python sketches
In an attempt at levity

His eyes met mine
Warm
deep
resigned
And we bade our farewells

I left the store

ahead of my friends
They were still in line to pay
And I wanted a moment on my own
To think
to process
to accept

Walking out
into the age-old medieval streets
I suddenly felt hands upon me
And my body was bounced
into the cold damp brick
of the alleyway

It was common then
to be set upon
For the way that I dressed
and for who I chose to call friend

Looking up
to see who was doing this to me
I was surprised to see two grown men
middle-aged
cheaply-dressed
muscle already turning to fat

They both wore near-identical uniforms
Off-brand Sta-Prest trousers
short-sleeved polyester shirts
Their eyes hidden
behind mirrored aviator glasses

“We’re plain clothed police officers”
they told me
As they calmly bounced me
against the wall again

“We’re responding to a complaint”
they said
A group of youths
had been causing a public disturbance
had been terrifying Saturday shoppers
and generally making a nuisance of themselves
And I fitted the description

They moved in closer
stripping me of my dignity
stripping me of my agency
I tasted fear
Knowing that they intended to scare me
I knew that they could also hurt me

It was at that moment
that my guardian angel appeared
The older brother of one of my friends
I didn’t really know him all that well then
He wasn’t with us that day
But he had been in the same store
with his girlfriend
And had left around the time as me

I’m not sure if I ever knew
what had made him turn back
Or if I had
it’s long since been forgotten
I will never forget what he did though
Telling his girlfriend to wait
He’d stepped back into the alleyway
Stepping ever closer
to where I was being held

“What’s going on?”
he asked
I’d been frantically
protesting my innocence
Telling them
that person that I’d accosted
was actually my cousin

They’d paid no attention
Continuing to bounce me off that wall
Stopping only when they realized
that they had an audience
And more importantly
that I had a witness

One of bullies
Let’s go ahead and name them
for who and for what they were
Turned and snarled that he should leave
That it was none of his business
That it was a police matter
and that they were upholding the law

“I know him and I’m not going anywhere”
he replied
And he did just that
Planting his feet firmly
Looking to me
Finding my eyes
And without words
he reassured me
that everything would be okay

There was a stand-off then
And my heart raced
As time stood still
As if to compensate

Bouncing me off the wall
One last time
They told me
that they were cautioning me
And that they would be watching me

They’d moved in close for that
All menace
stale Marlborough’s
and Christmas set aftershave
And then they were gone
Melting back into the Saturday crowds

I melted back into the wall
to stop myself from falling
Allowing myself to crumble
And my tears to flow freely

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BABY STEPS

Robert Ford — Sat, 27 Aug 2022 18:08:10 +0000

Since moving to Saint Petersburg, my spiritual journey has been on a tear. With hindsight, I can see that I’ve been ready for this for a few years. I just needed to plant myself within a fertile environment, and the rest would take care of itself. In my first couple of weeks of being here, I bought the domain name slightlywoowoo.com, thinking that it would be fun to document my growing awareness and acceptance of all things ‘woo-woo’.

Before I had chance to think about setting up the blog, I found that I was going so far beyond the slightly part. Being an extravert by nature, I find it easy to seek out new experiences and connections, and to generally insert myself into the thick of things. What I’ve found here has been nothing short of magical, and I’ve embraced it wholeheartedly.

BABY STEPS

Baby steps
Tentatively testing
The edges and contours
Of your experience
And then going beyond

Following the drumbeat
Following the rhythm
In your head
In your heart
and in your feet

Cautiously at first
Carefully
Until confidence blooms
And you find your people
You find your tribe

Recognizing and remembering
Reconnecting and renewing
Seeing one another
Knowing one another
Cherishing each other

The world your canvas, your stage
Gift yourself permission
To color outside the lines
And seek the space between the notes
You are home, you are home

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Hasta Siempre

Robert Ford — Fri, 29 Jul 2022 15:57:30 +0000

This is a poem that I wrote a couple of months ago, as I prepared to relocate to Saint Petersburg. I’m sharing it now, with the blessing of the person that I wrote it for, and as my way of celebrating International Friendship Day, which is tomorrow (July 30th).

The genesis of this poem comes from a fundraising idea I had for a non-profit, where I serve on the Board. Great Dames was co-founded in 2009 by my good friend Sharon Kelly Hake, and her daughter Heather Cassey. I’ve been involved from day one, and it is an organization that is very close to my heart. My idea was that I would write poems on request, with the recipient and myself then sharing the cost of sponsoring an Aspiring Dame to be a part of the community. Sharon took me up on my offer, asking me to write a poem about our friendship.

The title, which means ‘until forever’, reflects that Sharon and I first met, while I was still relatively new to the US, and she and her family had just returned to the US from a multi-year assignment in Spain. We both worked for DuPont, and both took on key roles in a $2BN strategic business that was just being formed. We became fast friends, working very closely together over the next several years, and over time, I got to know and love her family, too. After leaving DuPont, I continued to work on projects with Sharon, and since then, there really hasn’t been any major career decisions for either of us, that we haven’t consulted each other on. It’s been wonderful to see Sharon truly find her calling with Great Dames, and to be able to participate in building something that is so important to so many.

Friendship is one of those things that we can often take for granted, and don’t think to take the time to sit down and spell out what it means to us. Being at that age where I’ve lost quite a few friends (some to illnesses, and others in tragic accidents), I’ve written far too many ‘after the fact’ reflections on what those individuals have meant to me, instead of taking the time to leave my loved ones in no doubt of how I feel about them. As we celebrate International Friendship Day tomorrow, I encourage you to think about doing the same… pick up the phone, write them a note, tell you friends what it means that they’re in your lives.

Photo by Aedrian on Unsplash

Hasta Siempre

in meeting and making friends
life provides
a multitude of possibilities
places where we learn
where we work
where we play

It is not about place or time
granted, friendship often starts there
as seed, once scattered
finds fertile soil or fallow
mutual respect and shared values
providing the nutrients
laughter providing the sunlight

not all friendships
are created equal
many falter
as people change
and paths diverge
few transcend time’s test
to grow and flourish

other friendships give us cause
to count our blessings
as friends become family
our friendship is like that
a quarter century in the making
both timeless and priceless
ever durable and always dependable
distance shrinks and time compresses
when you share an enduring bond

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Open

Robert Ford — Sat, 09 Jul 2022 14:30:06 +0000

Since I started to think about relocating to Florida last fall, I haven’t really been writing much poetry. Getting my house ready to put on the market, and working to simplify my life and skinny down my worldly belongings took a lot more bandwidth than I anticipated. It’s only now that I realize just how much I was sheltered through multiple corporate relocations.

I’ve been in Florida for four weeks now, and last weekend, I was finally reunited with my belongings (my tale of scammy moving companies holding my stuff hostage will have to wait for another day), and Saint Petersburg feels more like home every day.

There is something about this city that is magical. Sure, it’s known as Sunshine City, and I live just a short walk from the Bay, where I get to see dolphins and manatees. Yes, it is full of breathtaking murals, great museums, and punches well above its weight when it comes to great restaurants and coffee shops, etc. For me, it’s more about the people who are drawn here (in the words of Steve Jobs, they think differently), and the intentional community that they are building. Finding my way to that, and being welcomed into it, is fast making this Home for me.

This morning, like most mornings, I was up at dawn, ready to welcome the new day. Wolfie and I have ended up in a leafy residential area with a lake and a fountain, and we’ve just been watching the world go by. I started thinking about how I feel different here, and why that is, and this poem decided to present itself!

Open

Starting anew
I seek out age-old truths
Stripped down and pared back
We are ready for each other

Free to wander
I search for new rituals
Cornerstones
to build a new life upon

Rejecting complacency
Renouncing convention
Embracing my ability to choose
I choose joy and wonder

Shifting and flowing
I feel agile yet grounded
My new life calls me
And I am open

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