Category: poetry

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April is from the Latin word aperire,”to open”

An unusual poetic sensibility.

April Prayer

by Stuart Kestenbaum

Just before the green begins there is the hint of green
a blush of color, and the red buds thicken
the ends of the maple’s branches and everything
is poised before the start of a new world,
which is really the same world
just moving forward from bud
to flower to blossom to fruit
to harvest to sweet sleep, and the roots
await the next signal, every signal
every call a miracle and the switchboard
is lighting up and the operators are
standing by in the pledge drive we’ve
all been listening to: Go make the call.

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William Wordworth’s Salute to Artemis II’s Voyage

The flight of Artemis II has captured the attention of the world. The thunderous launch, the flight around the moon’s unseen surface and the pictures of earth floating alone in space.

The voyage is both a technical triumph and a remarkable achievement of human spirit and courage.

Over two centuries earlier, radical technology was being introduced at the beginning of England’s industrial revolution.  Wordsworth’s  romantic style celebrated the beauty of nature; but he  was similarly awed by the potential of these new technical creations.

He wrote of the future hope promised by human inventions. His poetic  sensitivity elebrating these innovations could easily portray our spirit as we track the Artemis II voyage.  His final stanza seems almost prescient of this deed, especially the use of the word space.

Steamboats, Viaducts and Railways

by William Wordsworth  (1770-1850)

Motion and Means, on land and sea at war
With old poetic feeling, not for this,
Shall ye, by Poets even, be judged amiss!

Nor shall your presence, howsoe’ er it mar
The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar
To the Mind’s gaining that prophetic sense
Of future change, that point of vision, whence
May be discovered what in soul ye are.

In spite of all that beauty may disown
In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace
Her lawful offspring in Man’s art; and Time,
Pleased with your triumphs o’er his brother Space,
Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown
Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime.

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Friday’s Hope

From Endymion
Book I

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases, it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made of our searching; yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.

Excerpt from “Endymion” Book I by John Keats.

Or the beauty of song from Ukrainian Easter service.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZwLwyDqFTs)

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Post-GAC Thought

The Day Nothing Happened

by Jeffrey Harrison

 

On that day in history, history
took a day off. Current events
were uneventful. Breaking news
never broke. Nobody
of any import was born, or died.
(If you were born that day,
bask in the inverted glory
of your unimportance.)
No milestones, no disasters.
The most significant thing going on
was a golf tournament (the Masters).

It was a Sunday. In Washington,
President Eisenhower
(whose very name induces sleep)
practiced his putt
on the carpet of the Oval Office,
a little white ball crossing
and recrossing the presidential seal
like one of Jupiter’s moons
or a hypnotist’s watch.
On the radio, Perry Como
was putting everyone into a coma.

But the very next day,
in New York City,
Bill Haley & His Comets
recorded “Rock Around the Clock;”
and a few young people
began to regain consciousness …
while history, like Polyphemus
waking from a one-day slumber,
stumbled out of his cave,
blinked his giant eye, and peered around
for something to destroy.

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Saving Miracles on Christmas Eve 2025

After reading this news story in the Philadelphia Inquirer this morning (Credit Union Members Vote Against Merger), Billy Collins’ poem came to mind about this unusual event.  Both are stories of life renewed, once threatened, and  now free again.

Christmas Sparrow

By Billy Collins

The first thing I heard this morning
was a soft, insistent rustle,
the rapid flapping of wings
against glass as it turned out,

a small bird rioting
in the frame of a high window,
trying to hurl itself through
the enigma of transparency into the spacious light.

A noise in the throat of the cat
hunkered on the rug
told me how the bird had gotten inside,
carried in the cold night
through the flap in a basement door,
and later released from the soft clench of teeth.

Up on a chair, I trapped its pulsations
in a small towel and carried it to the door,
so weightless it seemed
to have vanished into the nest of cloth.

But outside, it burst
from my uncupped hands into its element,
dipping over the dormant garden
in a spasm of wingbeats
and disappearing over a tall row of hemlocks.

Still, for the rest of the day,
I could feel its wild thrumming
against my palms whenever I thought
about the hours the bird must have spent
pent in the shadows of that room,
hidden in the spiky branches
of our decorated tree, breathing there
among metallic angels, ceramic apples, stars of yarn,

its eyes open, like mine as I lie here tonight
picturing this rare, lucky sparrow
tucked into a holly bush now,
a light snow tumbling through the windless dark.

 

 

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Two Seasonal Reflections-Political and Natural

Will Rogers:  There is no credit to being a comedian when you have the whole government working for you.

The Maple Leaf-A Metaphor for Life

by Rondalyn Whitney

I hope my death is like a maple leaf,
a final, radiant show.
Not a storm of sudden, brutal grief,
but a gentle, amber glow.

To fade as autumn comes to call,
to loosen its grip with grace.
Not cling to the branch, but simply fall,
and find a new resting place.

A flash of crimson, orange, and gold,
a final, vibrant hue.
Then, a slow drift, stories untold,
a journey forever new.

To spin and twirl on the final breeze,
a dance upon the air.
Rustle softly through the autumn trees,
a beauty beyond compare.

And when it lands, a soft, hushed sound,
upon the forest floor.
A new beauty on the cold ground,
until it’s seen no more.

 

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A Departing CEO’s Lament

Starting an odyssey to change cooperatives.  Before you read this CEO’s statement from LinkedIn, consider a brief thought from Emily Dickinson, By a Departing Light:

By a departing light
We see acuter, quite,
Than by a wick that stays.
There’s something in the flight
That clarifies the sight
And decks the rays.

A Course Change By a Credit Union CEO

 I have always been a bit of a square peg struggling to go into a round hole. I have always pushed against the grain regardless of my role. Sometimes that has been appreciated. Other times, it has been criticized.

I have debated for years how I can best serve this wonderful industry. In a space that is riddled with hypocrisy and attrition, I have concluded that I am of more value outside the bubble than inside.

I’m not only stepping down as a CEO. I’m stepping away from working inside credit unions altogether.

There is never a good time. There are always what ifs. Unfinished work.

December 18th is my 25th anniversary in the credit union industry.

In my 25 years, we have lost more than 50% of our neighborhood or community credit unions across the country.

So what are my motives? Family. Opportunity. Change. Fit.

Change. Something has to change.

I could sit in a credit union trying desperately to conform to my round hole. To complacency. To status quo. To fit.

Or…

I can dedicate myself to change. Change to challenge complacency. Change to disrupt the status quo.

I’m betting on myself. For my family. For opportunities. But also for a chance to make an indelible change to our industry.

If we want future generations to know credit unions, we must be about the work of saving them.

If I am fortunate, I have 25 years left in my career. During that time, my priorities will be God, Family, Career. In that order.

The second half of my career will be focused on finding as many ways as possible to help our credit unions win. Creative Strategy. Next Level Results.

I won’t stand by idly watching credit unions get regulated out of existence or go quietly into the night.

So this is not a goodbye. This is a hello.

I am not leaving the fight. I’m just getting started.

November 14th. I close one door so that I can run through another.

See you then.

(James McBride, CEO, Connects Federal Credit Union)

 

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A Basketball Sonnet

Basketball

by G.E. Johnson

Once after dinner a woman and I walked past
An empty basketball court and she says,
“I played on a team my junior year in Belfast,”
And I say “Want to shoot some?” She says “Yes,”
Though she was wearing a long black dinner dress.
She kicked off her high heels and she caught
My pass and with great finesse
Drove to the baseline, jumped and shot
Swish. Two points. We played for awhile,
Man in a black suit, woman in a long black gown,
I loved her quickness and her heads-up style,
Her cool hand as she beat me hands down —
Her jumpiness, like a blackbird in the night—
Her steady eye, her feet about to take flight.

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Celebrating Credit Union Bikers Across Iowa in Summer

I have been told several stories by credit union employees of this summer midwestern Tour de Iowa.   Not to be confused with the Tour de France.   

It is often a family effort.  Here is a poem written by a 2025 participant which won Garrison Keillor’s July poetry contest.

Please add any comments about your experience if you have participated in this popular event.

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Our Goal for Fulfillment and Society’s Need

This Frost poem below uses a realistic scene as a metaphor to portray the tension between individual ambition  and social need.

This challenge is at the core of excesses now very visible in the credit union system.

In academia, this is called the principal-agent problem.  When member owners delegate their tasks to an agent (the board of directors-CEO) but cannot directly monitor the agent’s actions, this leads to conflicts of interest.  At the extreme this turns into self-dealing as the agent pursues their own goals at the expense of the member-shareholder.

Frost’s presents his solution in the final stanza.  It feels at best an ambiguous rationale.

Two Tramps In Mud Time

by Robert Frost

Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!"
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behindndhind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.

Good blocks of oak it was I split,
As large around as the chopping block;
And every piece I squarely hit
Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
The blows that a life of self-control
Spares to strike for the common good,
That day, giving a loose my soul,
I spent on the unimportant wood. . .


The time when most I loved my task
The two must make me love it more
By coming with what they came to ask.
You'd think I never had felt before
The weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
The grip of earth on outspread feet,
The life of muscles rocking soft
And smooth and moist in vernal heat.

Out of the wood two hulking tramps
(From sleeping God knows where last night,
But not long since in the lumber camps).
They thought all chopping was theirs of righthtght.
Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
They judged me by their appropriate tool.
Except as a fellow handled an ax
They had no way of knowing a fool.

Nothing on either side was said.
They knew they had but to stay their stay

And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man's work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right--agreed.

But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.