Author: David Calloway

by

An Empty Nest


Leaves fallen
Birds departed
An empty nest
Exposed.

As I watch from the stillness of an empty room
On a lonesome grey silent late fall afternoon
Dancing in random choreography
In and out and about this dark tree
The season’s first snowflakes appear
The nest’s only occupants for the rest of the year.

And I wonder
Will I be standing here next spring
To see the tree renew
And hear the chirping birds return
To raise another brood?

Just one more spring will do, I think.
Yes, one last spring will do.

The image I tried to convey in this poem is the sad story of an old man whose children have grown up and left to live their lives in some other, distant place, and whose wife has died, leaving him alone in a house that used to hold his bustling family.  This past spring and summer, he enjoyed watching a covey of birds living in a tree outside his window.  But now, they too have gone.  He is truly alone for perhaps the first time in his life.  And he wonders if his own life’s work is now complete…if there’s anything left for him in this world.  

The ” lonesome grey silent late fall afternoon” refers not just to the environment outside his window, but to the state of his own affairs at this time in his life.   In the end, he vows to live on for a while longer, to see one more family return to the nest left exposed to the elements in the tree outside his picture window.

There is, in fact, a small tree next to the sidewalk in front of my own house. And, indeed, it holds an abandoned bird’s nest, nestled in a fork of branches. When I see this nest in winter, I think of a time just a few months ago, when the nest was hidden by all the leaves of this small tree and I remember hearing the chirping birds and fluttering leaves as they flitted from branch to branch, raising their rambunctious family. But the abandoned nest in winter makes me consider what it might be like for me, as an old man in the late fall or winter of my life, to be left alone in my own once-bustling house, with my life’s work done, nothing left to do, and no one left to care. It’s perhaps the fear of finding myself in that kind of situation that leads me to think mindfully, to appreciate what I have, now, in the life I lead today.  Whenever I pass this nest, I like to recite the first stanza of this poem .  This is a small haiku, or “gatha”, that reminds me to think mindfully.

Another thing that inspired me to write this short poem is that the last of our three children is about to graduate from high school and leave Tracy and I with an empty nest of our own. We look forward to (and often talk about) the quiet times to come, and we look forward to some deserved relaxation after the day-to-day hectic schedules of the past couple decades. We’ve tried the best way we knew how to raise three of the finest children anyone could hope for. Although we look forward to the peace and quiet, I know we’ll wish for the hustle and bustle and hope for a day when our family might return to someplace near home, to raise families of their own, or just to celebrate a few Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays together.

I often find it difficult to cherish the present, but the mindful message this poem is meant to convey is this: Don’t spend your life waiting for some magical time in the future when things will be so much better than today. When that day finally comes, you’re likely to wish for the happy days gone by. So live today and every day with the thought that no day is, or will be, better than this day. Find the joy and happiness that’s present, in some way, in every day of your life.

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Farmer Dan


Dan Branigan didn’t plan
To follow in his father’s footsteps
No matter how noble farmers were thought to be
Even in Dan’s own eyes.

In a land devoid of architecture
With perhaps the single exception
Of an occasional cement silo towering over the lonely prarie
Dan dreamed of being an architect.
He planned to escape what we liked to call
The center of nowhere with nothing in sight
And make his way to Chicago
Like his idol, Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright.

But Dan said he had no desire
To build modest homes in a style reflecting this empty prairie
But rather to design beautiful, bustling towers
Tall enough to sway in the stratosphere
Gleaming glass castles housing as many people and businesses as
The grain stored in that rich farmer’s silo down the way.
Something like the Sears tower, or that giant needle
Rising from the desert in Dubai
Was what Dan had in mind.
If it could happen in Dubai,
Why not here in Iowa I often heard Dan say.
God knows who would ever come to the middle of Iowa
To occupy his skyscrapers, but that thought never seemed to matter to Dan.
Build it, and they will come…like in that movie he used to say.

Growing up on a farm never left much time for leisure
Always something needed doing
And as the eldest son, Mr. Branigan most often turned to Dan
To help keep the family farm afloat.
Animals to feed at sunrise and again before sunset
Fields to prepare for planting,
And then to plant, and fertilize, and irrigate, and harvest.
And never-ending fences to mend.
Dan found time enough to dream
But never much time to pursue his dreams.

Except perhaps, each year when winter came
And snow fell on everything all around
And life slowed down.

The dead of winter gave Dan the time he needed to study
To earn the grades necessary
For acceptance to the University of Chicago.
But then, just before Easter of his freshman year
Dan was sent home early
So Mr Branigan could tell his eldest son face-to-face
About the tumor his doctor said explained
His many recent, recurrent, painful migraines
And ask Dan to take his place
To keep the Branigan farm alive.

Dan put his dreams on hold
And turned to something he knew all too well how to do
But something he also knew would likely hold him captive
With responsibility not just to his current family
But to all past generations of Branigans
Who had invested their own lives in building and tending this farm.
How could he ever let them down?

As so often happens in farm country
Dan married his high school sweetheart
And raised a family the only way he knew
Of honest, hard-working children who knew
There was always another chore to do, another fence to mend.

In Dan’s own last days
He didn’t think about architecture or sky scrapers or University even.
No, he thought about his grandson
And a day they had spent walking in a corn field.
Dan had crumbled a clod of Branigan farmland through his fingers
And together they had pulled a cob of fresh corn off the stalk
And peeled back the green husk to reveal golden kernels of grain.
They had listened to the sister stalks rustling in the breeze
And inhaled the yellow mist of pollen
Tickling their noses and smelling like no other smell.

Dan had told his grandson about all the generations of Branigan sweat and toil
And love that had been poured into every handful of soil on this farm.
He had told the tale of his own father, and his father’s father
Who had all been Branigan farmers as far back as anyone could remember
Had planted and harvested crops from these very fields
And sent their harvests to feed millions, all over the world.
There was no profession more noble on this entire Earth
Than to be a farmer on this farm, the Branigan farm.

That was the moment Dan realized
He had lived a good life, and was happy in that moment
Like no other moment.

Thinking of that day now, precious months later
He looked out at the snow falling on the Branigan farm
Felt the warmth of the fire crackling in the fireplace
Gave his rocking chair a little push
Smiled to his grandson cuddled on his lap
And silently thanked him for giving
This simplest of gifts.

This poem is a little long to be about mindfulness. But the message I tried convey in this little story is that we often spend too much of our lives dreaming grandiose dreams and wishing to be something other than what we are. Real, honest joy comes from appreciating the simple pleasures of everyday life, like the moment when Dan shows his grandson what the farm really is — the soil, plants, sounds, smells, and so on that surround them every day. We are also surrounded by similar simple pleasures in our own everyday lives. We just need to let life slow down, stop for just a minute every now and then, and experience the things that are happening in that moment. Those are the experiences that make up our true lives…not the constant dreams and worries of the future or regrets from our past. Take a minute, even now. Experience this very moment in your life.

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A Cold Winter Rain


A cold winter rain descends
From the darkest clouds I have ever seen
And a blustery wind pushes flowing sheets of water
And the trunks of every tree in sight
First left, and then right
And then left again
Whooshing and whistling from every direction
Making this dreary morning feel like almost night.

The things I need to do
The places I need to go
Will have to wait.

If not for this cold rain
This day would join the refuse of so many other
All-too-forgettable days that make up the measure of my life.
But this day is so unlike most
It is a day I will remember
A day I will not regret.

And so, I am thankful for this early-winter storm.
It gives me the excuse I shouldn’t need
To stop
Forget the things I think I need to do
And live, really live
This one day
Watching, hearing, feeling
Experiencing
A cold winter rain descending
From the darkest clouds I have ever seen.

Most days are just like every other day, and so are lost to the routine of our everyday life. When Monday is just like Tuesday and every week is like the week before, our lives slip away one forgettable day after another. Whenever the opportunity arises, slow down and experience one day as unique from every other. That day will join the few that really count.

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Water Flows Like Magic


Water flows like magic
From this ordinary faucet.

The slightest touch of a single finger
Unleashes an endless stream of crystal clear, pure, life-sustaining water
Without which I could not survive.

How many souls have given their time and energy
Applied their knowledge
Dedicated their own lives to sustain mine?

Souls I do not know.

Souls who know not me.

Ancient Romans who first conceived of this possibility
Civil engineers and construction workers who built dams and mined aquifers
Erected towers
And laid pipe under every road of this great country
And every street of this small town.
Teachers who taught them, not just their trade
But how to read and write and calculate.
Grocers and farmers who provided their food.
Garment workers in far-off lands
Who made the clothes they wear to their work.
And all other humans everywhere
Who provided every other necessity of their lives.

With the touch of a finger on this extraordinary faucet
I feel the pulse of all mankind
As water flows like magic.

We take so many things for granted in the privileged lives we lead. But our lives are truly dependent on essentially every other person who has ever lived. Everything we own, everything we eat or drink, everything we need or think we need was made for us or grown for us or transported to us by other human beings. The next time you turn on a water faucet, I hope you think of the interconnectedness of all things — particularly, how every human everywhere is connected in some small way to everything we do and everything we have.

In true mindfulness fashion, think of the interconnectedness of all things whenever you turn on a faucet, perhaps while reciting the last stanza of this short poem. The tactile feedback of touching the tap, feeling the water flow, and visualizing the pulse of all mankind behind this bit of magic can be a very powerful reminder of this mindful message. Give it a try!

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A True Reflection


Looking in this mirror
I see myself as others see me.

Today
I will display a gentle smile
And caring eyes
Projecting inner peace.

Someday, perhaps
This small deception
May grow to represent
A true reflection.

A good first step in changing our lives for the better begins with forcing a smile and consciously trying to find opportunities to be helpful to others. Over time, we can begin to internalize these traits, leading to happier lives for ourselves and those around us.

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Backwater Solitude


I run
Not because I need the exercise
(Although, of course, I know I do)
I run instead to think of you
In solitude.

Too many times during the day
You pierce the turbulent surface of my consciousness
Rising nearly half out of the water sometimes.
Trying to gasp a breath of air, I guess
Or give me a breath, perhaps.
A breath I need and want, but cannot take.
I must put you down
I must push you back
Into that black realm of nothingness.

For duty’s silent siren calls me
Pulls me in a current I can barely tread.
For a solid gold anchor on a gossamer thread
I am drowning myself in a too-rough sea
Of much too much responsibility.

And then I run.
I run from all the troubles in my life
And dive into my inner self
And find you there
Waiting patiently
For me.

Holding you close one moment in time
We rise to the surface at last to find
It isn’t deep at all
Here
In the backwater solitude
Of my mind.


This is a poem I wrote about 20 years ago…before I knew anything about mindfulness. At the time, I was a wanna-be runner training for the New York City marathon. I tried many different things to help distract myself from the pain and drudgery of the run, including memorizing many poems, and writing a few…including this one. So, in a way, “Backwater Solitude” is an anti-mindful poem as it deals with the mental gymnastics that we all put ourselves through every day, instead of just enjoying the moment, whatever the moment is.

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Crickets


The incessant sounds of crickets
Surround me
On this otherwise quiet evening.
They spend their entire lives
Crying out for something they do not have:
Simple companionship.

Like these lonely insects
I spend most of my own too-short life
Dreaming of things I do not have
Wishing for things I do not need
When the mass of humanity would give anything
To have what I have
And too seldom appreciate:

My health
A wife who loves me
Children making their own way through life
Good friends
And leisure to spend these few simple moments
Listening to crickets
In the night.

This poem recognizes the simple truth that our near constant and insatiable desire for more and more material things only leads to our general unhappiness. We think that new car or new TV or latest cell phone will make us happy. But it doesn’t take long before the new gadget joins the long list of things we accumulate, and our yearning moves to the next great item we think we just have to have. True happiness comes not by acquiring more things, but rather from the relationships we build with others — our friends and family.

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The Breeze


This gentle breeze presses against me
Comforting
Like a crisp cotton sheet
On a sultry Sunday morning.

It carries a familiar scent
From some other place
Some other time
Resurrecting memories long lost
Memories best forgotten.

But as for now
All there is
Is this breeze
And this scent
And the rustling of leaves
As it moves on.

This is one of my favorite poems. I like the little mystery of the memory triggered by the breeze-borne scent. At first, I try to lead the reader to think this might be a pleasant memory, perhaps of some long-lost love. But then, we find this memory is not so pleasant after all. Or maybe it’s a memory of some guilty pleasure that is best forgotten? The last stanza brings in the mindfulness message..reminding us that everything in life is transient, including even the memory of our life’s experience.

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Snowfall


The snow falls oh so softly from this wintery sky
Each flake like almost nothing
And even less than nothing
Melting on my upturned face
And yet, in time, flake falls on flake
Building drifts nearly insurmountable.

Life, like this winter sky
Can sometimes seem so dark
So dreary
And a single act of kindness?
Insignificant.

But over time, kindness begets kindness
Changing lives.
Least of which my own.

May my life be forever like this gentle storm
Spreading joy with every flake that falls.

Abbreviated version for mindfulness repetition:

The snow falls oh so softly from this wintery sky.
May my life be forever like this gentle storm
Spreading joy with every flake that falls.

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I Awaken


I awaken
And I smile to the new day

Nothing is more valuable than this day
I will find a way to spend it wisely
I will find a way to make a difference
To someone
Today
This day

I awaken
I smile
I am alive.

This is my all-time favorite mindfulness poem. I find myself reciting it each morning when I awaken, and believe it or not, it does make me smile. I can’t say I always find a way to to make a difference, but the intention is there on most days.