Sunday, June 27, 2021

A 4000 Year Old Well


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Israel Pilgrimage—1986


We arrive at Shechem

and make our way

to Jacob’s Well


It surprises me to find

this ancient water source

that I first read about in Genesis

still operating


and I’m astonished

to be offered

a refreshing cupful

drawn deeply

from a bucket

on a rope


The water is clear and cool

and tastes ordinary, but

what can be ordinary

about water drawn

from the very well

of the old patriarch

built 4000 years ago

the very well

where Jesus revealed Himself

as the Messiah

to a woman of Samaria


I purchase a small ceramic urn

filled with an ounce or so

of life’s most basic sustenance

It is sealed with a plug of wax


I’ll place it on a shelf at home

not because of any

mystical or magical powers


(It is ordinary water, after all)


but to remind me

of how far back in time

God’s amazing story goes


Maude Carolan Pych

Here I am holding a copy of my book,

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"

published by Elm Hill press.

It's available online at Amazon & Barnes & Noble.

Sunday, June 20, 2021

A Poem About My Father

 Happy Father's Day!

Let me introduce you to my father...

Frank H. Walsh (1912-1985)


In memory of Frank H. Walsh ~ 1912-1985


I went to see The King’s Speech

the other night

This started me thinking about my father

who became a stutterer

as a result of nervousness derived

from his childhood battle

with crippling poliomyelitis


With child eyes

I never saw him crippled

though he walked with a pronounced limp

one leg being shorter than the other

He wore a heavy-soled shoe

reinforced with steel with a metal brace

attached that extended up to his knee


I didn’t think of him as a stutterer either

though he had great difficulty

saying what he wanted to say

stammering over, over and over

trying to get the words to spring

from his tangled tongue


To me, he was just Dad

…ordinary Dad


Looking back now, I think of him

as extraordinary and tenacious

a “can-do” kind of father

…even an overcomer


Handicaps never seemed

to handicapped him

never kept him from doing

anything he set his mind to—


He wasn’t a builder, but

he built the house we grew up in

and a bungalow next door for Grandma

did all the plumbing, electrical work

installed the drywall, spackled, painted

built porches, set the sidewalks

climbed a ladder to the roof

He built a patio with an outdoor fireplace

and a cement wading pool, too

He erected a coop for chickens

which he raised from fertilized eggs

He slaughtered them

mom cleaned and we ate them

for Sunday dinner

He also plowed the backyard

and planted a big vegetable garden


You name it, he did it

and usually did it well


He sang “Heart of My Heart” and

“You Can Have Her, I Don’t Want Her,

She’s Too Fat for Me”

without any stammer at all

danced to a rollicking “Beer Barrel” polka

with his heavy shoe thumping the floor

and I’m told he even pedaled

his bike once, all the way up Skyline Drive


Dad took us on vacations every summer

usually tent camping at Bear Mountain

or the Adirondacks or Truro at Cape Cod

setting up camp and cots mostly himself


He built outboard motorboats,

Water Lily and Water Lily II

and a blue egg-shaped camper trailer

which he hitched to the back of our car


He brewed root beer

bottled it and we drank it

even though it was flat and fizz-less

and he brewed beer beer

I can still remember the smell

of it fermenting in a huge crock

in our spare room


When I was a child

I thought all daddies did those things

And when I got married

I thought husbands did those things


To say he was remarkable

seems an understatement—

I only hope some of the stuff he was made of

has worked its way into the bones and marrow

into the blood and sinews

into the gray that matters

into our Walsh family genes


Maude Carolan Pych

The above poem appears in my 411-page

memoir in poetry titled, Wonderhoods.

Ordering information can be found on my website or blog:


Sunday, June 13, 2021

Beautiful Butterflies

 See the pretty flowers dancing in the sky...

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There's something happy about butterflies.

They flit-flitter as they flutter by,

flying flowers against the azure sky.


They alight upon the milkweed, and then

they circle, soar and alight again,

toe-dancing on pink petals in the glen.


Ever dwelling in hue and sweet fragrance,

in garden splendor they flicker as they dance.

Pollination is purely happenstance.


I delight in their overflow of joy.

(They wouldn't even know how to be coy.)

A flame of mirth! A whirligig! A toy!


Do they recall they once were grubby worms,

remember well their dark and squiggly squirms?

Reborn, now grace and beauty each affirms!


This almost seems to be sheer fantasy,

sky dancers as enchanting as can be,

springing from blossoms right in front of me!


So, merrily a-nectaring they go,

reaping and sowing sweetness in day-glow…

Seems they have learned what all of us should know.


In contemplation of their simple ways,

I wish to add their ballet to my days,

to sky dance gracefully on wings of praise!


Maude Carolan Pych

Here I am with a copy of my book,

Behold the Lamb...poetically!

It's a compilation of poems about the Birth, Death & Resurrection of Jesus

You can order a copy online at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

For more information, visit my website at

Sunday, June 6, 2021


 A Springtime Poem...

Photo credit:



Once I was a caterpillar, dwelling upon the earth,

crawling along day by day, adept at feigning mirth.

I only knew the earthy life; I thought that that was it;

I took what terra firma gave, the pleasures and the grit.

There was no beauty in me.  No one ever looked here twice,

Few cared if I were evil; no one knew if I were nice.

I was only concerned with myself, what the earth could give,

yet, inside I was sensing a far better way to live.

Instinct led me to spin a thread and weave a neat cocoon;

I became a living mummy, wrapped tight within my tomb.

What was happening to me?  I tried to kick and shout,

“Help me!  Open up this thing!  I want to get right out!”

No one heard and I was powerless, so I went to sleep,

not knowing what was ahead of me, feeling something deep.

I don’t know how much time went by within my tiny tomb,

but sensed that I was being changed, as one inside a womb.

Finally, instinct worked in me.  There was a sudden urge

to break out of my chrysalis and from the dark emerge.

Somehow, I then received the strength to burst my being free;

Alas, the golden Light broke through and there was a new me!

I took some time to understand, some time to wonder why,

then I just shook myself a bit and I began to fly!

And `lo, I was so beautiful, and `lo, I saw the sun...

Oh, after living on the earth, soaring was great fun!

A wretched worm was I no more; I knew that fact was true,

I was reborn and I became a creation wholly new!

A butterfly!  A butterfly!  I received my wings,

glorious splendors of the Heavens, all the higher things.

All old things have passed away; they’ll never come again;

I’ve set my mind on things above, on these I will attend.

Now, even when I swoop to earth and walk upon the ground,

I’ll never be a worm again...I’m Butterfly...glory bound!

Praise God for metamorphosis, it’s by His loving grace

that I’m a new creation now, and I shall see His Face.


Maude Carolan

Here I am, reading from my book, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" at the Totowa (NJ) Library, last year. The book is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For more information and links, visit my website at: