Jaine

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.