Julie's Poetry

I wrote this about my Dad’s funeral in the 25th year anniversary of his passing.

Dad, if you could
have seen all your
children crying
at your funeral,
you may have made
some different choices.
Your brothers and sisters
your nieces and nephews,
your bridge club and
some AA friends
all were there, your
Mother too crushed to travel.
Your life, the life
of an alcoholic
can be isolating.
A sparsely filled
church.
Sadness, mourning,
shock.
Your son, clever and
poignant in his eulogy.
A priest who didn’t know
you, but was trying his
best.
The Ventura Mission,
a beautiful place
for a sad ceremony,
for a bunch of submarine
Catholics who didn’t know
when to rise and when to
kneel.
I always pondered
if you would have
preferred a Buddhist
ceremony and a reading
from the Art of Motorcycle
Maintenance. Most likely so,
but funeral are for the
living and so we chose
a Catholic one.
Mom and Bob were there,
to honor you, and to be
with us.
Cousins Kathy and Diane
were incredibly supportive,
as were our Aunts and Uncles.
Katie and I watched as you
disappeared into the fire,
our Dad now gone.
I remembered a fist fight
between siblings,
a sensitive time for all and
a few angry remarks that
broke my heart even more.
Good times too,
visiting with relatives.
Genuine laughter at the
funeral home,
with laughter at a poem
verse on your flyer
that said “I did not die”,
as my brother jokingly said
“he better have, we just gave all
his furniture and clothes away”.
We laughed until we cried.
The funeral director asked us
if our father was an alcoholic,
your fatty liver gave that
away.
Some nice lunches
and dinners along the way,
time catching up with
relatives we see too few times.
An El Torito lunch as
the after the funeral
gathering and memorial,
when there was no longer
a home to go to.
My kids, the whole time
so involved and grown up
and mature.  Holding their
Mom when she cried,
so brave, so supportive
at seven and eight.  I was
brimming with pride
and my rock, my hubbie
always there for me.
A few days after we came
home, I was driving and
I felt my Dad’s spirit in the car
with me, maybe one last visit
before he left this earth.
I could literally smell the smoke
on him.
(now I wish I hadn’t complained
about the smoking so much).
It was nice to know he was there,
and I think I was crying about how
I hadn’t seen him for six months
before he died.
Suddenly I had this vision of
myself leaning against him
and he was smoothing my hair
with his hand and saying it is
OK,  I know you loved me,
It will be OK.  I will forever
remember that, the last goodbye,
the last comfort, that last hug.
Thanks for the visit Dad and
leaving that beautiful image
in my mind.
The care, the comfort and the
love that you came back to give.

Julie Roberts
1-29-2017

I wrote this the day before Donald Trump was to be sworn in as President of the United States. In the pandemic that is now taking place,  what I ponder is even more disturbing.
The other day when I was watching a news conference I started crying.  What I was watching was a presidential update on the virus, during the time a reporter asked
what I thought was a great question, “What do you say to comfort the American people”?
He went on to berate the reporter (never answering the question), saying he was a terrible reporter and part of the fake media.  We want comfort Mr. President, put your narcissism aside and comfort the people who are waiting for you to do the right thing.   We don’t care about the media and your battle with them, you are the President of the United States, be there for us, take a mature and measured approach and lead!

Wow, tomorrow
a reality star
will mosey up
to the greatest
platform on earth,
to take a presidency,
that I am not
at all sure that he
is ready for.
Am I afraid?
Damn straight I am!
Can I trust him to
be mature,
to exhibit kindness
and empathy.
To not just do good
for those who are
gaining clout and moving
up in this world,
but to protect those
who aren’t.
Can he not be a hot
head, a narcissist
full of himself.
Can his power not go
to his head.
Powerful, now more than
ever, wealthy, so much so
that few of us will
ever know.  Influence,
moving up in the world and
strengthening his power.
This is not a business,
this is a country,
A county that leads
the world,
that most countries
look up to.
How much worse is
it to have a reality star
rather than an actor
for president.
(At least Reagan had
experience).
My heart is literally
broken.
I live in the stand alone
state of California,
liberal, caring, blue.
Do I have to give this
guy a chance?
I am afraid and
my heart is aching,
but I will move forward
in a years time I will
reconsider my stance.
All the while holding
the hands of the
downtrodden and less
fortunate.
And at the end of the
year, remove him if
we need to.
If the rich get richer,
if the country lacks
basic fairness,
if we deport everyone,
basic human rights
are trampled.
If he is not presidential,
and ruins our foreign
policy, then we must do
what needs to be done.
Oh the days of Obama,
I know I will miss them.
Empathy and kindness
abounded.
I hope I am wrong, about
the new president.
I will hope with all my heart
that I am.

Jewel Roberts
1-19-17

I wrote this on a rainy day up in the San Francisco hills.  Watching the rain I was hit with
just how little control we really have in life, and how this rain almost makes all things new, including myself.

Clouds zoom by
then the clatter of
rain, against the window,
banging against the
windowpanes like they
want in. Let us in!
they repeat, moisturizing
mother earth, to newly green,
refreshing and cleansing.
Total renewal,
new May flowers
watered by these
beautiful shining diamond
like raindrops,
although storming now,
they moisturize and renew
the earth and me,
with a fresh outlook
a clearer view,
more vivid coloring.
That myself and the
world will look
more beautiful to me.
Cleansing off the grime
and allowing me to see
more clearly,
the gorgeous earth
renewed and a beautiful
me renewed as well.
Clean, clear, refreshed.

Jewel Roberts
Jan. 19th, 2017

I wrote this when I visited Descanso gardens where my family and I sponsored a rose garden after my Dad passed away back in 1992.

Beautiful garden
full of prolific roses
and colorful butterflies
and green swaying
weeping willows.
Lots of marble plaques,
huge wood structures
and mission gardens
with flowing fountains.
His absolute favorite
place.
A stroll, a lunch
peace amidst the
chaos of his job
at JPL.
He loved nature
greenery and beauty.
What a gorgeous
place,
sometimes so beautiful
it makes you cry.
Roses as far as
the eye can see,
in every color, shape
size and kind.
Such beauty and in
all that beauty there
is a plaque.
To my father:
Chinese Rose garden
In memory of
Donald L. Gordon.
Why Chinese?
Because he loved
all things Asian
and we wanted to
acknowledge his
love of that culture.
his love of nature,
and his love of Descanso
gardens.
So there his memory
plaque rests in one of his
favorite places
shining in marble
amidst all this beauty.
Lost him too soon
to alcoholism,
but that our love
for him continues,
the hope for him
is gone. Was
he loved when he
walked this earth,
the answer is yes.
Always choose
beauty, the past
is perfect,
teaching us what it must.
We cannot change it,
just recognize and acknowledge
that he did the best
he could.
Learn, forgive, and remember
his lessons.
Love you Dad, miss you.

Julie Roberts
January 2017

Julie Roberts March 2020
I wrote this poem after seeing the movies The Cave and For Sama.  It was heartbreaking to watch the families and the doctors try to deal with all the difficulties and horror of war.

Big brown eyes,
wide with fear.
Trembling, gathering
up those they hold dear close
as the bombs fall,
cowering with family
in a group feels
safer, but they
are also aware of the
randomness of war,
of bombs dropping,
of hatred and mistrust,
of pain and blood to those
who deserve it and those
who don’t.
Doctors work tirelessly
underground, to safely
heal and provide comfort.
Healing those hurt by the
merciless and viciousness
of this war.
The children break our
hearts, such innocence
caught up in a war they
don’t understand.
Blood dripping down their
beautiful  little faces, my heart
breaks, for all involved.
Wake up United Nations,
wake up please.
People are in pain, people are
suffering, for no more than just
being themselves.
One million people have
fled their homes to get
away from this war.
Empathy, compassion and
just plain human kindness,
Where are you?  Stand up!

Julie Roberts 09-17
I wrote this when our daughter took us to a spiritual nature walk in Truckee.  It was a
very emotional experience, I felt my Dad’s presence when I was there and we had a new
grandchild going to appear in a few months, so I was open to tears and new happiness.

Rocks
placed as if
an artist
planned it all,
just for me.
Standing at the
bridge,
watching the water,
trickle over the rocks.
I think of
my Father and
Mother teaching
me to love
nature,
so many moons ago.
Time that feels like
almost yesterday.
I think as I watch
it and enjoy it
with my own
daughter.
Are we still one-
is he still here with me?
In this beautiful
place full of
the best of nature.
25 years such a long time,
to be gone, I still miss you.
The you that loved nature
and kids and food.
I wish you could stand
with me and watch this stream,
see my children grow up and now
grandchildren coming along.
And I think he is here in
the shape of my legs,
in my love of food and spirituality.
and desire to heal in nature.
I smile, yes you are here with me,
with us, still smiling down.
I look up and see a hawk,
“Hi Dad”, I think to myself,
That is you,
free flying and soaring,

Julie Roberts

  10-23-2016
I wrote this after the 24 year anniversary of my Father’s passing.  I so hope my children remember-the good and the difficult.

Do you remember
him?
The “Pop” that
loved to play
to bring you
stuffed animals
and trinkets.
Going up to his house,
playing hide and seek
with your cousin Charlie.
And how kind he
was to make sure
everyone was included.
Will you remember
the grandfather that
didn’t give me trouble,
That wanted to be at
the big events of your
life.
But sometimes failed,
because of alcoholism.
He loved you but it
called to him,
and sometimes messed
up, reunions and parties.
Sometimes there was
disappointment and
at times anger from
your mother over his
intoxication.
I was so proud of you,
at the funeral,
you weren’t afraid,
but you were so
young at seven and eight.
Will you remember?
The good things about
him, not the failure
in his choices,
but that of love, of
success, of Buddism,
food and politics, of
bridge and beauty
and travel and good
books like the Art Of
Motorcycle Maintenance.
Let him be the angel
on your shoulder,
love life, choose love,
say yes to adventure,
Take him with you.
Don’t forget both his
successes and failures.
Remember to remember.

Julie Roberts

Written 10-7-2016
I wrote this when my daughter’s cat was going to the great beyond.  The joy of loving an animal with the pain of letting them go.  Something we all must learn. It is a hard lesson
but one we all must learn at some time in our lives.

Pure softness
incarnate
A pile of
strawberry blonde
fur.
So filled with
admiration for
her owner.
So filled with curiosity
and playfulness.
Love, joy, devotion
all things she brought
to our lives.
Especially our Jenny,
a cuddle in the lap,
a lazy day, cozying around,
a cup of tea and a soft
kitten, what more could you want?
Meowing at the door,
I want food, I want company.
We welcomed her into our lives,
her softness and calming presence.
Warming our lives
and now as she ages
It is time to let go,
Time to let her
out of her pain and suffering.
We will do it for her,
for us we want her around
forever,
but that is not to be.
For now we will welcome
her freedom from pain and
the total enrichment of our
lives for four years.
We will welcome wholeheartedly
the unavoidable,
we will bow to her and
say thank you.
For making our lives
so much richer.
Love is always
worth it.
Pain will come, but
we bow to it.
Thank you Princess
for enriching our lives-
now we let you go
and we wholeheartedly
accept the unavoidable-
with love forever and a
kiss goodbye.

Julie/Mom

Empty eyes
Devoid of hope
She tries to be strong on
twelve dollars an hour
Doesn’t even buy groceries
or pay the inflated rent.
Tech companies
wandering in
taking up territories
and inflating pricing
in her low rent city.
Hip new joints and
hang outs pop up that
are out of her price range.
Cool for the young
millennials but
Subway and McD’s
are her splurge.
Mister can I have
a dime?
Mrs. can you spare
some change?
The look of poverty
on her face
Discouraged, hopeless
Where to next?
Wandering the streets
of the city,
Hoping for a break
Hoping this poverty
isn’t a punishment
from God.
For not having the
right attitude.
for not being positive
enough like in
the book The Secret.
She was not born to
privilege,
With a silver spoon in
her mouth.
She was raised in the
city,
The projects.
She is hungry, hungry for
food,
hungry for moving
up in the chain.
hungry for a nice place
to lay her head after
a long day.
Hungry to get out of this
cast like system,
not acknowledged in the US
but still it exists.
Nevertheless, brother can
you spare a dime?
If not a dime, then maybe
some empathy or kindness?

Julie 2018