Cultural Commission

Let’s Make Our Tree a Jesse Tree

1 A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.

2 The Spirit of the Lord will rest on us—the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of power, the Spirit of knowledge…………..;

3 And we will delight in our Lord….; We will not judge by what we see with our eyes, or

Decide by what we hear with our ears;

4 But with love we will honor the needy, with justice we will give decisions for the poor of the earth.

Source: Isaiah 11:1-4 

Merry Christmas, celebrate the birth of Jesus, believed to be the Branch of Jesse.

Happy Hanukkah, celebrate the beginning of our spiritual reality, altruism over egoism.

Invoke Zakat, celebrate the annual tax for charitable and religious purposes.

Call forth Diwali, celebrate light over darkness, good over evil, knowledge over ignorance.

Happy Kwanzaa, Nguso Saba, celebrate first fruits of harvest in African culture and unity.

Felize Navidad, celebrate Christmas from bottom of your heart and a prosperous New Year!

Boxing Day, celebrate collecting boxes of food for the poor.

The Winter Solstice, celebrate releasing the dark in favor of light literally and metaphysically.

Not just another enchanting tree lighting The Wheat Ridge Green on 38th

 But a sign of how we will always seek to celebrate together

From where we have come, who we are as a people today in community

Different beliefs yet bound by multiple global calendar holidays

Stirring the heart language that mostly children and animals understand.

Let’s laugh together about someone tangled up in Christmas lights outside

Lucas dressed up in silliness mimicking a red-nosed horse-like figure in the sky

Santa stuck in the chimney because measuring ahead did not happen

And to your wondering eyes did appear 5 extra pounds right on your rear

Giggling washing Christmas dishes in the bathtub because no kitchen water.

Oh yes, Bosco the German pointer ate a pound of nuts without cracking a one

And family bruises everywhere from the learn-to-ski Christmas in Colorado mountains

Remember Mom put up that funny sign “kitchen closed, eat leftovers please”

And David’s pumpkin pie Santa Trap caught Dad’s foot in motion.

Why do the stories never wear out years later round our tables?

Why do we create traditions new in our homes forever?

Why do we shed tears when we raise a glass to Noble’s First Christmas?

Why do we sing with King Wenceslas “He who first shall bless the poor,

Shall himself find blessing.”

Merry Christmas and to all a Good night! 

                                                                 Sharon R. Heinlen, Wheat Ridge Poet-in-Residence, December 2019

A KIND OF A SPARK

Dedicated to Wheat Ridge City Council Members 

The Day After The Election Two Years Ago

My eight-year-old daughter asked me at breakfast:

“Mom, why did you have to get elected?”

“Will you have to go to the Fox place a lot?”

“Can you and me still have our Park talks on Saturday afternoons?”

Scraping scrambled eggs out of the old iron skillet

I felt a familiar ‘thunk’ in my dead-tired head.

Why, indeed, did I say ‘yes’ when they asked me to run

for the City Council of this city that grew me up?

Say something simple so perhaps she’ll understand

“Well, I want to be like a spark to make things better and

try to fix some things that aren’t quite right around our city.”

She had that ‘what does that mean?’ look on her face.

I dressed for work that day and later saw her face

hanging around the edges of tasks and meetings

while accepting ‘congrats’ from colleagues and friends

who might have wondered the same thing themselves.

Six Months Later

We are having our time together at the Park

(It hasn’t happened as much since the election).

Lila is focused on her bad test grade in English

with angry tears coming and going the whole time.

I think about the single dad during public comments time

about our affordable housing crisis and his family struggles

and I say “Lila, sometimes someone else has to

tell us what they need before we can solve a problem.”

“So, what is it that you need to improve your English?”

“I need you to be at home with me for my homework!”

Another ‘thunk!’ this time right smack in my heart.

“When we get home we will mark the calendar, promise!”

Flash! Sometimes I know that I have developed the art of

explaining the questions or the problems away from

my sphere of responsibility no matter my passion to be

present and sensitive and effective and appreciated.

The One Year Anniversary of My Commitment

I have learned to ask for help from colleagues and citizens

who have historical perspective and compromising skills.

I have shared with Lila that we have to make mistakes

to learn after my affordable housing policy failed miserably.

I have taught her about metaphors for public service

when chopping wood and carrying water are not enough

to move anything forward because this is the 21^st Century

and we depend on compelling facebook and twitter messaging.

Laughter erupts when she describes my council member brain

as a muscle that gets stronger when I use the internet to find

out about developers who have taken risks and built “hot”

affordable housing in places just like our neighborhood.

And at our last Park talk (on the calendar regularly now) we

shared our ideas about her school assignment to create her own

Ridge Culture Project with ‘weaving family and community fabric’

as the foundation for building a common good in our city.

And Now, Today

Lila reminds me every day that she and my family provide

the anchor dropped down into wholeness giving me strength

to sustain commitment when the council meeting rides and rides

like the bloody bus will never stop anywhere anytime.

Yesterday I read Walt Whitman’s words calling America the ‘Greatest Poem’

and my desire to serve my city and its people metasticized into

a sense of purpose phenomenally greater than my humanness

and rooted in efforts to create a unified whole out of disparate parts.

I can now interject my ideas into the countless debates about taxes

and utility costs and Wadsworth traffic abatement so that we can

legislate the possibilities for progress when we work with the clear-headed

sense that we are inextricably linked to the fate of any one of us.

So, I got elected and yes, I go to the Fox place almost every day.

Has it all meant anything or is anything better for the hours spent?

Whitman wrote about the common man, clothed himself the same.

And I count carefully the victories for that man now and into the future.

                                                            Sharon R. Heinlen, Poet in Residence

                                                                                Wheat Ridge, Colorado  January, 2019

(Plaque for “Sweet Grass Dance” Sculpture, Anderson Park, 2019) 

Dancing in a Timeless Place

West from the Pavilion in Anderson Park Abstract grass forms rise from the ground Inviting you to dance to the music Found in the beauty of natural space Cornered by yesterday, today and tomorrow Memories of golden wheat and pioneer spirits A limestone arched celebration of young and old A new century gathering of migrating settlers. 

Sharon R. Heinlen, 2019 

Wheat Ridge Poet in Residence

TREE CITY U.S.A. 

A love letter to Wheat Ridge

 Millions of leaves and needles a forever view 

Buds, flowers, cones, branches 

On every Ridge road, street and shaded avenue 

Planted, protected, cultivated for me and for you. 

Feeling the ambience of a small city high 

Where you do not have to pay to enter round 

Seeing hundreds of birds that define the sky 

Nature’s art lifting you off the ground. 

There is so deep a reality within your heart 

Love a river within you, a current so joyful In neighborhoods where you feel you belong 

Finding all kinds of families built ever so strong. 

In Winter when Junipers are shagged with snow 

And Clear Creek burbles gently through ice 

Spring, Summer, Fall firm ground below 

A beer and pizza on the Ridge will suffice. 

We have big plans for this welcoming place 

For each who calls Ridge city their own 

Friends who spend time treasuring our open space 

Backyards where children explore and become grown. 

When we close both eyes to see with our other eye 

Building on things that happened years before 

Reminders of what we now choose to preserve 

A landscape blanketed by trees we adore. 

Touch the ancestral spirit molding this City 

Transcending boundaries of age, income, race 

An understanding that like trees people are healthy 

When connected in sunlight to a loving soul space.

Sharon R. Heinlen 2019 

Wheat Ridge Poet-in-Residence

ANDERSON PARK DEDICATION POEM

 LISTEN TO THE CHILDREN

So who are we to have gathered in celebration Humbled by community vision marking what really matters 

A latitude of gratitude for citizens voting to preserve Layered bones of articulate hope for open park lands. 

Parents, grandparents, neighbors, friends all praising This green space singing through our memory of time 

When happy children yelled out in fun while exploring A great pool, ball fields, playgrounds, the banks of Clear Creek. 

Daddy, give me an underdog push way high to the sky Grammy, does that flower have a name? 

Put some wood on that ball and fly it over the fence! You will hear the sounds happy hearts make. 

Their eye spirits captivated by a bubbling water village With darting dragonflies and swimming duck families 

And then comes snow white on the frozen ground 

And gray creek puddles freeze into fractured artscapes. 

For our children those hours were over way too soon 

Moments they dreamed of as you kissed them goodnight 

Growing bodies never created to sit still for too long Climbed to the top of the giant slide over and over again.

 Listen to their giggles, whispers, screams and shouts 

A kaleidoscope of children in an endless Colorado light 

They’ll remember those times in a thousand filmstrips Rebirthed years later from the corners of their minds.

Mayor Anderson’s commitment to community service Connecting us all to this people’s land forever here 

Take a child’s hand, listen -- the trail back is never the same And new trails are ours to move us unerringly ahead.

Sharon R. Heinlen, Wheat Ridge Poet-in-Residence 

June 22, 2019

Where can I find it?

Thousands of people valuing the ordinary, and the special

People creating art, dancing, singing and playing instruments

People in business nurturing flora, fauna making living local

People helping global immigrants become contributing permanents.

       Leader: WHERE?                Audience yells: “THE RIDGE!”

Knowing the whole is greater than the sum of its parts

Finding our fabric of life comes from millions of small stitches

Quilts of ideas from scrappy beginnings forming warmest of hearts

Opportunity experiences perfect for capturing essential life pieces.

         Leader: WHERE?                Audience yells: “THE RIDGE!”

Toes-movin’ music grown from American roots…Bluegrass!

Born in the 40’s best heard live anywhere its boundaries expanding

Contemporary longhairs with a punk rock vibe tuned up on bad-ass class

Floating rivers of song-words often remembered as life-changing.

         Leader: WHERE?                Audience yells: “THE RIDGE!”

Hundreds of hours of unseen unheralded labor giving evidence

Of earthbound humility in multifarious residents, diverse families

Localworks non-profit extraordinaire promoting visionary intelligence

Simple inheritance combining agrarian-urban fun and community pluralities.

         Leader: WHERE?                Audience yells: “THE RIDGE!”

It’s Saturday night grab a Ridge-brewed beer, a taco or pierogi, a noodle or meatballs

This small city rocks gentle on your mind when you gather friends

From Sheridan to Youngfield, North and South, 44th, 38th, 29th road halls

Your happy shopping place or sports-watching bar fun never ends.

       Leader: WHERE?                Audience yells: “THE RIDGE!”

Sharon R. Heinlen, Poet-in-Residence

Wheat Ridge Cultural Commission

Ridge Fest September 2019