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The following poems are dedicated to Jaine Toth. Jaine and my dad shared a love of poetry, the Baha'i Faith and good friends. Thank you Jaine for all the support and encouragement you provided over the years.
The Miner and The Polisher
At least once a day I take a pick,
a shovel and a bag to carry.
The ground is hard, red clay baked by sun,
Yet underneath, if I dig and shovel,
I discover words that I have thought,
But which now rest, buried.
They come out rough and
caked with mud,
So I wash away the dirt
clinging to the surfaces.
When I dry them after cleaning,
they still remain
Coarse and rough, and
still require polishing.
So I send them to Jaine, and
she polishes them –
Makes them shine as if they
never had been buried.
When she sends them back to me,
they are so beautiful
I cannot believe these were the ones
that I uncovered.
You’re Never too Old to Be Janie
You’re never too old to be to be Janie,
You’re never too old to care,
For all of the names that you go by,
Janie will always be there.
She was with you all though your childhood,
When pony tails pranced through your hair,
And later, when you were called Mommy,
If needed, Janie would always be there.
So call yourself Yenta or Sophie,
While I’ve met a Janie who cares –
She welcomes new friends to enter
She lives all that she shares.
While Janie stays in the shadow,
Her hidden eye lurks, smiles and stares
At a stage, waiting for actors
For parts for each name she now wears.
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