Poems

I adore the Aran red sweater, The one we bought in Ireland for you. How complete I feel when I wear it now, And you are not here anymore. I reach in the pockets, hoping to find Something you held. I feel the wool you touched for warmth And you are not here anymore. I miss all the wild hair on your beautiful head, It covered your shoulders and framed your perfect face. And you are not here anymore. I wait and I wait to see you again. I go through each day, Wanting the dread to stop, And you are not here anymore. I can’t stand it. ~Patty S. (Mom)
	Special poem written by Jesse Moon, 15 yrs. old, the day after the Sept. 11th terrorist attack. On Jan. 31, 2000 Jesse lost his precious grandfather and friend, Don Shaw on Alaska flight #261 off the coast of California. His pain still shows, and he understands! Can you see the clouds part now An object so large and a heart so small A sense of fear A hand of love The first hit has come A second will follow The sounds of God can be heard And the cries of plea come with the wind Darkness surrounds the world Only to catch a glimpse of light But what cannot be found Can only be buried How far can a senseless act travel Only to be stopped by unforgiving memories Tomorrow will come But the hopes and dreams of others will not The enemy has spoken With actions so harsh the ground beneath will not heal The clouds only cast more shadows for people to turn and run But to succeed we must prevail And shed the hate away
This Dreary Place Outside the birds chirp, A sign to move on. But my mind won’t leave this dreary place called grief. For my love was too strong, My admiration too solid! To let go so soon… I wish to freeze time, lock my emotions in this dreary place called grief. for this empty feeling won’t leave my body. Its all a front if it seems I’m alright there may be a smile but I’m crying inside every word muttered is harder than before… -Sara Hansen	Sara Hansen
	A Poem of Comfort She says she’ll never recover, that her grief is here to stay. Something inside me sees something inside her- Beauty, strength talent and potential- All live in that one shape of a teenage girl. She has a soul meant to fly free with the birds A voice meant to be with only the best- A spirit that cannot be tamed. Yet she says she’ll never recover. That her grief is here to stay But I know my hero and my very special friend will be fine. -Kelsie Martin (a friend of Sara’s)
The Tree of Life depicted here reflects a link between heaven and earth and comes from the 'Book of Kells'. According to George Bain, author of "Celtic Art the methods of construction", the Celtic 'Tree of Life' completes the total of created life, the seven created beings of the Celtic world, Plant, Insect, Fish, Reptile, Bird, Animal and Man. There is a distinct similarity between these and examples from Buddhist art, perhaps helpful in proving the Celtic migrations to these lands.
	Remembrance How can the ocean be still and yet not be still? This majestic force that has claimed so many lives. Knowing but not knowing the sorrow it has caused so many hearts. Aware but not aware of the secrets held within its frame. Seagulls above, perceiving but not perceiving the beauty of this burial place. I watch the waves aware, but not aware of their deep hypnotic pull. But I am aware that God knows the secrets of the ocean, and the sorrow of my heart. Joanne Anderson
The Rainbow Legend: The Chumash people have lived for centuries along the California coast between San Luis Obispo and Malibu, whose very name calls forth the memory of the Chumash village Humaliwo, meaning "The Surf Sounds Loudly." Here they created a special way of life, and while some other California tribes had similar customs, no other Native Americans lived in exactly the same way. Their invention and use of the ocean going redwood plank boat (Tomol), their complex village and religious life and their extraordinary craftsmanship are what make the Chumash unique. Even their language, with eight regional dialects, belongs to the Hokam language family, which is the oldest in California. This suggests that Chumash-speaking peoples were living in this part of California for thousands of years. According to legend, the First Chumash people were created on Li-Mu Island, which we now call Santa Cruz Island. This island lies off the coast near Santa Barbara. The people were made from the seeds of a magic plant by the Earth Goddess whose name is Hutash. Hutash is married to the Sky Snake, the Milky Way. He can make lightening bolts with his tongue. One day, he decided to make a gift to the Chumash people, so he sent down a lighting bolt that started a fire. After this, people kept fires burning so that they could cook their food and be warm. After the Sky Snake gave them fire, the Chumash people lived more comfortably. More babies were born each year, and the villages grew larger and more noisy. The island was growing very crowded and the noise began to bother Hutash, keeping Her awake at night. She finally decided that some of the people would have to leave the island and move to the mainland, where no one lived. Hutash wondered how to get the people across the water to the mainland. Then She had an idea. She built a bridge out of a very long, very high rainbow, which stretched from the tallest mountain on the island all the way to the tall mountains near Carpenteria. Hutash told the people to go across the Rainbow Bridge, and fill the world with people. So the Chumash people began to cross the bridge. Most got across safely, but some made the mistake of looking down. Far, far below the water shone, and the fog swirled. They got so dizzy that some of them fell off the Rainbow Bridge, down, down, through the fog, into the ocean. Hutash felt terrible about this, for she had told them to cross Her bridge. She did not want them to drown, so She turned them into dolphins. Later, when the Chumash went to sea in their plank Tomol, they always remembered that the dolphins were their brothers. And in September, they honor Hutash with a great Harvest Festival, which is named after Her.
Dolphin image created by Tom Byrum mycroft@academus.net	All Is Well ~Rosamunde Pilcher Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.