Renewal, Bumper Stickers and the Writer's Corner

      I look forward to the blooming of my weeping cherry; those beautiful blossoms of purple and pink. In the quiet I will gaze at their beauty and  drink my first cup of coffee each morning. I have always loved that tree but we have a special bond this time of year.

      How can you not love the greening buds and the colors nature cloak us in? Hearts seem to rise with the temperature and the scent of renewal is in the air. 

     Each spring I like to re-evaluate my goals and plan a few challenges for the rest of the year. This year marks the third anniversary since I became a human bumper sticker. A few years ago I hit a car. I actually ran into it...on foot. It happens.

    Many things in my life changed at that moment, but the world did not end. In reality, it became more beautiful in ways than I can ever explain.

   This year's challenges will include tackling braille, sculpting and possibly taking a class or two. I am sure I will add many more things to the list before May turns the corner.  Spring is a great time to stretch your wings and learn something new. I would love to hear what some of your challenges are.

    I am testing some new visual aids that are still in their development stages. I am excited by what I have learned and the promises that they may be able to offer some with visual impairment. More on that soon.

    Let me introduce you to Stewart Brennan whose pen runs its ink in the riches of imagery beauty, wisdom and reflection.

  

Please take a seat around the writer's corner. You will find hope, faith,

 reflection and inspiration dancing between its light and shadows.

 Writer's Corner

Stewart Brennan is a former free lance DJ (1975 to 1985) that became a manufacturing specialist in the Packaging Industry after completing an Electrical Engineering Technologies program at Dawson College in Montreal. Stewart’s spare time is spent on maintaining three websites that contains his research in Alternative News, History, Philosophy, Spiritual study, and Music Promotion. (World United News, World United Awakening, and World United Music) Recently he has begun to put together his creative writing and photography to create a book of inspirational material.

Please visit the links below to learn more about Stewart Brennan.

Art & Expressions of SFBrennan
http://sfbrennanart.blogspot.ca/
World United Awakening
http://worldunitedawakening.blogspot.ca/
World United Music
http://worldunitedmusic.blogspot.ca/
World United News

http://worldunitednews.blogspot.ca

Answered Prayers

Unheard voices bring the night, our hopes return the day,
beings struggle for the light, in prayers we often say,

“Hear me oh most gracious one, I lift my heart to you,
I need you in these times of woe, a sign to guide me through.”

Empathy whispers, aglow within, candle flickers in the dark,
Prayers are thrust from the rain, while lost here on earth’s ark.

Close your eyes and listen, replies appear in sight,
truth comes with your answer, connections made by light.

Darkness wanes, the oceans true, the skies return their song,
No longer lost, your path in view, new sense that you belong.

Valley Bridge at Twilight

Fishing under Valley Bridge, where I’ll take my son today,
Beneath old wooden structure, in shadows our rods will prey.

The dirt road down the canyon, was steep and full of turns,
But that didn’t stop our excitement, or burden thoughts of return.

Our ancient village wonder, monolithic bridge with sturdy frame,
wide arches on either end of it, and Roman middle was its claim.

The aqueduct of Segovia, its brilliance before us stood,
With seventy-two small arches, double stacked and made of wood.

The early morning sun, was just rising over the valley,
it gave the bridge its shadow, with glowing light ray finale.

Whistle sounds a-distant, eerie wind to raise my attention,
turning to my boy, “there’s a story I neglected to mention”.

We sat down near the river, to watch the oncoming train,
our bridge just in the distance, the wood already a strain.

I began to tell the tale, that my father told me before,
Passed down to each generation, since our family owned the store.

It began with bridge construction, when horse and buggy ruled the day,
The railroad was being connected, to all the townships without delay.

The owners were in a hurry, seems progress wouldn’t be stopped,
the bridge was to be completed, so they worked around the clock.

The massive engine arrived early, its size did widen eyes,
packed in the cars that followed, a large bank vault, and town supplies.

The railway owner emerged livid, out from his special caboose,
“What’s the delay now conductor?” he moaned like a bullish moose.

“The bridge is not completed, we’ll have to wait a little while”,
spit the tobacco subordinate, to the boss man filled with guile.

“This train’s to move by sundown, it’s all the time you’ve got”,
the heritor slammed his door shut, horses spooked by anger wrought.

The bridge crew were almost finished, when sun set that afternoon,
but the iron track wasn’t ready, as the train left way too soon.

The town gathered at the station, waving flags and cheering on,
then in a jolting instant, the train pulled out and was gone.

The valley drop gave accelerated speed, the workers never saw it coming,
when brakes engaged like screeching nails, the thunder heard was numbing. 

A year had passed in village mourning, bridge completed months before,
Seventy two people had died that evening, more than in the great war.

Your great grand dad was there that day, just opened the family store,
He'd saved his money from work camps, and laboured with sledge no more.

It is said that when the sun sets, and angel rays touch the bridge,
You can see their silhouette’s and shadows, just there above the ridge.

Forest Sanctuary

I Stand before cathedrals forgotten, in awe of life’s magnificence,
forests old, deep and rare, storied in great beneficence.

Timber woods engage my eyes, and lift my shaman spirit,
connections made from long ago, secure my soul to hear it.

Civilization, behind grows quiet, the sounds returned are fair,
the path that lays before me now, my journey, each step a prayer.

Stretching out empathic thoughts, the marrow of my soul,
returning essence kindred, in phase to make me whole.

Spirits flowing through me, ancestor voices heard,
language wave impressions, “return to us” their word.

Thoughts do reach out further, all life returns reflection,
symbiotic spirit flow, our lifeblood makes connection.

Beings of energy fuse together, bonds broken long ago,
reconnecting age old spirits, to lift my heart aglow.

For in my mind, a secret place, forest sanctuary calls,
visions found within me, that long for hallowed halls.

Inspiring Moments

Inspiring moments, sending grace,
lifting spirits and warming face.
Connection made, to make you whole
Rays of light to fill your soul.

Our Little Miracle

Spring arrived early that year, in our little village of Rome,
as migration came much sooner, and livened up our home,
Life worked out a miracle, after the doctors we did phone,
and our family tree grew bigger, the couple no longer alone.

Just out back in our garden, where the family oak tree stood,
was a wicker basket carriage, with a white frilly hood.
There inside smiling, was our pride, and next generation,
our newborn baby girl, who would inherit our plantation.

My wife and I stood there, our arms around each other,
Smiling at our little one, who looked just like her mother.
If only dad were still with us, your mum, and father too,
We could take a family picture, when the flowers were in bloom.

The morning mist was lifting, as the birds were in full song,
they gathered in the trees above as more birds joined along.
Then landing on the carriage sides, two sparrows began to play,
their chirping brought more laughter, and chased the morning grey.

The clouds dissolved and parted, as the sun shone down its rays,
and there above the carriage, was a glow that seemed to stay.
Our little girl was looking up, something made her smile,
as if someone were standing there, talking to her a while.

I grabbed my little camera, took a picture of the beautiful sight,
I swear we saw three figures, winged, and filled with light.
And just as quick they vanished, as the clouds returned the shade,
But deep inside my wife and I, knew who came that day.

******

See you next time our paths cross again