As the holidays drew closer, the time came to begin my Christmas shopping list. The obligatory gift giving season was here, yet when I looked into my pocketbook, I found the tentacles of the economic crunch wrapped tightly around my wallet. To defeat this foe I found myself turning to Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s mighty weapon, the pen.

The first part of the Christmas challenge was the ever growing list of those I felt endeared to offer an annual sacrifice to. Parents, grandparents, siblings, co-workers, In-laws…. the list appeared daunting.
A mother whose love reaches so far away
The grandparents who plant their seeds every day
The coworker’s laugh that brightens our hours
In-laws with gardens over run with flowers...

As the list took shape, so the words began to form. Each person had implanted within me a living photograph of who they are. Not their appearance, but rather the part of themselves that they chose to reach out and touch others with. The personality of their souls had formed a three dimensional painting of themselves into my heart. It is this painting that allowed words to come rushing forth through my pen, creating an ode to each individual on my list. Individualized poetry that would create a reflection of the picture each person had given me of themselves, unbeknownst to them.

When the time for gift-giving came around, my mind began to shout words of guilt. Looking at the gifts each person had lovingly taken the time to purchase and wrap, I had a deep wish that I could have done more. (A quick glare in the direction of my purse, a deep sigh) Society induced materialism still held a bit of a grip. My grandfather read his poem first. Tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes until, after taking in a breath, he requested that my mother continue to read the words to him.
After reading the poem aloud, my mother took me aside. Out of her wallet, she pulled out a small card. I choked up myself when I saw what was on it. A simple poem I had written to her in college. She had it resized and laminated to carry around with her everywhere she went. “The best gifts you could give”, she went on to say.

I glanced back toward my purse. The tentacles that I had perceived to be my enemy were no longer the threat that I had feared they would be. The pen had indeed defeated my perceptions of sacrificial giving. While choosing the perfect gift would have brought forth a smile, words poured out from the soul brought tears of joy.

Isn’t that the beauty of poetry? Words become the artistic palette used to create a portrait of one’s heart. Why not try giving the gift of words to someone you love, one doesn’t have to be a master poet to pour out the picture that someone has painted on your soul. That, my friend, is a gift from the heart!





* Edward Bulwer-Lytton used the phrase “The pen is mightier than the sword” in his play “The Conspiracy”
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_pen_is_mightier_than_the_sword