Psychology of Securing Lasting Nonprofit Donor Commitments
What if you don’t write poetry
because it’s not black and white
and must be interpreted?
What if you don’t understand
and you’re a straight shooter
who doesn’t like ambiguity?
What happens when the bleak days of November
turn the landscape shades of grey?
You feel a dampening, sense a darkening, taste dryness
and feel a chill.
You lose your breath
You see your breath
You catch your breath
Then stuff it down, feeling pressure
to be thankful for blessings
as you stuff and are stuffed
But not filled.
The people hug you, but you don’t feel them.
They lack substance.
Not in their form
but in their being.
As trunks are bared, you seek to rediscover
all that has come before… to create, invest, seek out and aspire.
Hope is what you create.
Hope is the sun.
It is the life force compelling new blossoming.
It is light. It is passion. It is color.
It is a warm body.
You hug hope closely.
and decide against hibernation this year
and move from being asleep
to being awake.
A poem (yes) in loving memory of Felix, who died last November, and in gratitude to all the wonderful organizations, and all my friends, past, present and future, who make the light shine. This Thanksgiving, I am counting my blessings and hugging hope.
Hard to see the light now, just don’t let it go.
Things will come out right now, we can make it so.
Sometimes people leave you halfway through the woods.
Things will come out right now, we can make it so.
Sometimes people leave you halfway through the woods.
Do not let it grieve you, no one leaves for good.
–Steven Sondheim, Into The Woods
5 Comments
Very nice Poem, Thanks for sharing with us.
Beautiful Claire.
a hug of hope from me,
Mere
Beautiful poem; lovely tribute to dear Felix. debi
This brought tears to my eyes, beautiful. Thank you! This Thanksgiving I'm thankful for your poem.
Lovely poem, Claire. Yes, we should count our blessings and hug each other. Hope this next year will be a "huggable" one for you.
Vera