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Dedicated to my teachers. You know who
you are…

Even to struggle mightily,

One has to be capable of

mighty things.

To feel great sorrow,

one needs to be capable

of greatness.

To grow angry or sad,

a person has to be able

to grow.

To learn even the hard way,

one finds out that he has the capacity

to learn.

Before one can fall from grace,

one has to have been bestowed

a place of grace

to begin with.

After taking two steps backward,

it dawned on me

that progress was only a possibility because

I had once taken
those same steps forward.

Now I only had to recall how

I’d managed the forward steps,
and learn to love the forward progress enough
to maintain it.

To sit and remember the good old days,

I had to have once lived them.

And I should be thankful always

even for what was in the past

or has simply been taken away.

To have been blessed is still a blessing,

even when it is viewed

in retrospect.

I miss my late mother.

It was a tragedy to have lost her

while she was young,

but it would be an even greater
tragedy if after her untimely passing,

I didn’t feel a sense of loss
and miss her badly.

I miss my youth at times.
At least I was fortunate enough

to have had a childhood.

Not all people are afforded the luxury of being able

to just be young while they are.

I wish there was more room in my house.
Homeless souls have the entire world to stretch out in,

but wish for the friendly confines of any home,

even one more modest than mine.

To be grounded, you have to

have once had freedom.

The secret is to have enjoyed freedom

while it was yours.

My future isn’t secure,

but I will be more capable of living  within my means

now that I have learned to live simply

while I was treated to a bout of poverty.

Prosperity will be appreciated and

never again be taken for granted.

When I lost my beautiful head of hair,
I was given a gift of time

to use as I please
as I don’t have to spend it

tending to what’s no longer there.

I will never recapture my youth,

but then my youth was overshadowed

with ignorance and ineptitude.

With the time I have, I will be able to

apply wisdom,
feel compassion,

recognize blessings,
and give thanks.

I am aware now

of the sources of ill feelings such as

regret, remorse, and resentment.

I will be judicious

with the world around me, and

minimize the damage left in my wake.

I am realizing

the real treasures in life

cannot be listed on an insurance dossier.

When the last of my breath has left me,

the sum of my treasure will be entombed
in my stilled heart, and assembled there
at my resting place.

I hope the assembly is large,

and glad to have
known me.

I hope the bounty of their personal treasures

is swelled with my contribution,

and that they too

see that value
is in the life we live and

not piled about their properties.

Between now and then,

I’m going to make the world a better place,

And wish for my time and life

to be remembered

and hopefully become a part of

the treasures of others.

Matthew Lyle Landsman

July 22, 2008

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A little story about my drives to work, and the ways that little sights along the way can profoundly
affect me…One day I noticed the field near work was full of grazing
Canada geese. Not unusual around here. BUT in the middle of all those
grey and white geese stood a pure white goose. I stopped to look at
it, to ponder how it happened to be there, seemingly out of place, but
with its own kind none the less. Not unlike Jackie Robinson when he
became the first major league baseball African American baseball player…As
a child I moved from Western Canada to Seattle, during the Vietnam War
and the late 60’s civil rights movement era. I knew nothing of racial
division and soon found myself befriending the black kids our government
bused across town from central downtown Seattle. I’m not sure who
stood out most at that moment, me or the others…

THEN I noticed a normally colored goose that stood out from the rest because it could barely walk as one of
its legs was injured. It would become separated a bit, eventually left
behind. It would hop a few steps then take to a low flight and get reunited
with the flock. I felt for it, but knew healing will take place, that
flight was still possible and that swimming may be possible too, although
maybe only in circles with only one foot able to paddle.

I thought that may have been the end of the goose saga after the birds moved on to summer living grounds
and re-creation of life, etc. But for several weeks now, I have seen
a lone goose endlessly wandering that field, every day searching…obviously
for its lost mate. I am told that geese mate for life. This bird might
spend the rest of its days on earth in a waiting vigil that won’t end
happily. For a moment I saw myself in that field, a metaphor for my
fears of ending up that way. Then I realized that the goose obviously
had had, and then lost its mate. If it hadn’t ever found one in
the first place, it would still be with the flock still in search of
its first life partner.

I stopped seeing myself in that field,
knowing that I too would have already moved on with the flock. Taking
the focus off myself, I knew then who the lone goose symbolized; my
own Father, endlessly circling our little town in wait of a day when
he will rejoin his lifelong partner, his wife, my Mom.

How beautiful, compelling, tragic, romantic,
and wonderfully sad is that? And how will I ever drive to a day at work
again without keeping my eyes, heart and poet’s mind open to the unseen,
the unappreciated, the discerned and forgotten. 

Hey, it’s not the destination that matters,
it’s all about the journey…look at how I found you on my way to a late
July reunion, and look where the destination has taken me already…

It’s ALL poetry, all inspiring, all beautiful, and
all worth writing home about…when you happen to be Matthew. 

Matthew Lyle Landsman  Spring 2007

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Matthew L Landsman

10/02/2001 0`dark:30
In regard to 9-11-2001

Empty chairs at the tables of

one thousand homes — times six.

Pillows lie on beds,

forever to be cold.

Hearts that wait for a calming word,

souls longing for someone to hold.
I have been there.

To the summit of that pair of pillars

reaching so amazingly high.

I stood in wide-eyed wonder

at the city’s towering gems.

Now I stare in disbelief

at an empty space in the Apple’s sky.
I find solace in knowing that the scores of those lost souls

were lifted straight to a better place –

by the collective prayers of the witnessing world.

It’s true that tears have yet to subside…

true there are more that will be cried.

It’s true that so much we knew

will never be the same.

But I also know that with turning of the leaves

comes the day of Thanksgiving –

for the memories of our newest angels…

for the knowing that, while for so many,

there’d be no going home,

still God sent to them his most special…

in uniforms of blue,

and fighters of fires…

from outside the bounds of harm,

from the masses left behind…

Sent in…

so they would know

they weren’t to perish abandoned, unescorted or forgotten

I believe too, that beneath the fallen structures

opened a crevasse of fire and discontent,

vows to immediately deliver the doers of evil,

the terminators of meant-to-be-peaceful flights,

straight into the bowels of hell.
And too, the souls of unintended fate

were raised as quickly to a celestial journey’s end,

accompanied and tended to by those

we were taught as children were our protectors, our heroes…our friends.
Those of us that remain will long struggle to find the meaning of it all.

The vision of what will balance, then overcome and

topple the self elevated mongers of hate

to their deserved fate – still eludes me.
I cannot know the specifics,

except that the believers of what is good and closer to Godliness will

in the end prevail.

By the rising up of spirit, faith and oneness

of our unseen friends – I feel a surge of awareness,

of determination and strength,
born of sorrow, shock, anger, fear, love and compassion.

There has begun a healing,

both of the scars left on the land and the division of good people,

for reasons that now seem petty and self-absorbed.

Already, good has risen from the ashes;

new vows of reparation have

emerged from amid the smoldered flames.

I hope the world will never be the same

as it was before that day.

I hope we can love one another more deeply,

be sincere in our greetings and farewells.

I pray that Christmas and other faith-filled days

can see a return to their roots – and linger past the designated days.
The souls departed need to know that beyond our efforts to

deny the tormentors satisfaction from their deeds –

that true good can be derived from the

sadness and the

madness of it all.

Mostly, what we need is hope.

We can only find it in each other,

no matter who or where we are.

Like the man said, “Come together”…

I don’t want this generation to lose its own version of what was our “Camelot”.

Hey God…We could use a little help down here…okay?

Matthew Lyle Landsman

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autumn leaves in wind

Where did this year go? Time for that matter? It’s been collecting in
the leaves of summer. Now its been captured in the autumn breeze…the
leaves and time have served their duty, now they will be captured in
the throes of a chilly fall, carried off on the breezes of evening and
passing hours while we sleep… Time isn’t lost at all…it just rests
in slumber at our feet, spent of livelihood, returning to the earth, to
the banks of tomorrows…recycled, replenished. Time can be a leaf
pressed between pages of a book, or a photograph in an album…

leaves bible

With the summer freshly behind us, the green leaves of spring are a
distant thing…but I still recall their rustling in balmy evening
breezes…as memories were being made…My barefooted trips thru the
grass…songbirds in the predawn hours…Now they lay at rest in the corner
by my porch…along the wall of my home…Like a pile of clippings and
memories waiting to be scrapbooked and catalogued…

Autumn leaf pile

While I rake…I shall recall the days…the moments that are freshly
etched even while the shade is laying in decay around my feet. If I
could leave them to meet the soil that nourished them to initial life,
they would replenish and richen the mother earth at the very place they
were given life…cradling one another…returning from whence they
came…reunited in an eternal embrace…in wait of spring after winter’s
slumber…Time in search of a taker, a user, a memory maker…

trunk

Autumn…its early autumn in my life too…after half a century, I’m
ready for longer nights and cooler days. The rings on the tree tell the
truth, the cumulative collection of yearly fallen leaves have richened
the soil where my shade trees dwell, made my knowing and memories grow
in kind…richer, deeper more meaningful. Where did time go? It lives
inside of me…life is more precious, hugs are more valued.

snow leaves2

My time gone by and memories are captured in those autumn
leaves…Outside my house, they lie in wait…teasing me, taunting
me…conspiring along with a breeze from the south…each stroke of the
rake is laughed at as both simply carry the stack right back to the
spot I moved it from…Holding on for another day or two…the
metaphoric gathering of moments passed are reminding me to appreciate
the life I’ve lived, before I toss it away like so much fill and
refuse…

Its early morning…I just stepped out on a chilly porch with a hot cup
of coffee.

coffee cup

The winds that tormented us yesterday have moved on…the
leaves are at rest in places they were deposited during the hours they
frolicked in that very wind…Now, exhausted and finally having given
in, they simply lie in fragrant piles, saying one final good bye to
yesterdays, to hours spent under summer’s sun…to duty shading my
home, being a part of the symphony that plays while breezes fill the
air. And though the passing of time will dull the vividness of
individual memories, I will have a few scattered leaves to keep…in
the form of photographs, of theater tickets, gas receipts from several
states over…a faded rose, a shirt that smells still of her perfume
when she hugged me good bye.

theatre_ticket

I will think of these things, of the music, the extra cups of
coffee…the sunsets of May…and I will embrace them all, while I tend
to bagging and hauling those leaves to the place where so many leaves
convene…at the fill just a few miles down the road…

leaf bag

Then I’ll move mostly indoors for the duration of the cold season, in
wait of spring buds, of the return of songbirds and the first green
leaves on the branches and boughs…But I won’t simply wait till time
has passed, I’ll meet it at the door…and frolic in those breezes, as
did the leaves…once more…

Matthew Lyle Landsman…autumn 2009

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A note for my honorary daughter…Love, Daddy Matty

It wasn’t the surf with its salty foam, nor was it the sunset, the likes of which I’d ever known…

It wasn’t the end of a sleepy afternoon or a drive to the shore…

But still my heart was stolen by the sea.

It was about hearts abandoned, about feelings stranded. It was about lingered disappointment and roles denied.

It was a theft of the kindest sort, a smile, a sigh, a request, a
plea…and there was that smile, a head on my shoulder, that truth, the
chorus of the Pacific’s roar. And there and then my heart was stolen by
that shore…

And of some of life’s failures, I cannot understand. For some of
life’s mercies, I can only feel eternal gratitude. In soft
conversations where joy ought to have lived, I heard of the need for my
heart to give a little of what I am, a friend, a shoulder, a pool of
knowledge, of kindness, of honesty…all those things a daddy should give
naturally.
So arm in arm at the end of the day, a prayer answered, a plea
fulfilled…an overdue longing to be accepted, appreciated, and just
loved. I for the lack of my son, she for the absence of a proverbial
dad…A quiet theft carried off by her misty hazel eyes, by the honesty
shared, by a soul’s muffled cries. While winter lingered, and spring
teasingly debuted, I was caught off guard by the approaching dusk,
mugged by the ocean, there and then my heart was stolen by the sea.
I will do my best to slip away to that town by the shore, to hope for a
smile when I’m greeted at their door. I will return when I can to the
scene of the crime…to the reaches and beaches, the salt and the trees,
the rutted road that leads to my honorary daughter, the one who stole
my heart by the sea…to that coastal town where I long to be.

Matthew Lyle Landsman

Spring 2008

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