stirring ~
02 Saturday Sep 2023
Posted in Poetry
02 Saturday Sep 2023
Posted in Poetry
12 Friday Oct 2018
Posted in Poetry, spirituality, Storytelling

sometimes now
I disappear
and wake beyond the wanting
beyond the urge
to scatter
all I’ve known
to leave behind
without a note –
passion unrelenting
to slip beneath
the shutter to the door
how many
I have wondered
righteous dreams I spared
the moon to pull –
I sleep
and find you there
. . .
24 Tuesday Apr 2018
Posted in Poetry, spirituality, Storytelling

tis all I have
the best of me
given to this destiny
wherein I live
ten thousand lives
unsure of one –
one more
forever now
these hands are bent
as silence breaks
o’er moments spent
on lifetimes more
than I can see
ages without memory
exist forever
as just this one –
this only
always
best of me
. . .
24 Monday Aug 2015
Posted in Poetry
02 Thursday Apr 2015
Posted in Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling
Tags
bliss, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, life, love, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, self, southern, spirit, truth, understanding, value, wisdom
someone made mention
of rings on the table
habits worn clean
to the bone
a rusted out latch
keeps no one from leaving
a whispered reminder
of reasons
to stay
where the fences
need mending
and water runs cool
sprung from a river
two miles ‘neath the porch
we watched the sun rise
another
one day
when spoke of intention
promise undone
by a change in the
weather
warm cotton gowns
I dared not replace
with the pretense of love
the essence of summer
left on the line
and a glass
of the best I knew how
. . .
22 Wednesday Oct 2014
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry
Tags
becoming, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, poetry, reason, restless, self, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding, value, wandering, wonder
I can’t help but notice that at a time when it seems many of my friends are complaining about a loss of memories, I’m finding them.
Last week, I awoke and lay in bed remembering other dreams the same as they would have been years ago, before the heat of day wore them down. Only now, I’m remembering details not as dreams, but as memories. The dreams have become rooted in other dreams, and in pieces of reality – even reality that might have seemed unimportant or transparent before.
I’m not sure of the reasons. Could be a bad bowl of banana pudding or some exceptionally strong nail polish (beauty’s best). I’m perplexed, and intrigued. I only know it is happening, and I’m aware and unafraid of knowing (or not).
Threads once thought to have no meaning are weaved into others, the truth becoming more than one shade of scarlet.
carry me
the only way
on roads you keep
so well
let me sleep
til morning
shakes your faith
in the story
I been telling
of where the sun awaits
and where the trees are bent
beneath the night
my fate
is all but written
by the movement
of your hands
a chapter more (or less)
is free enough
city lights
are faded
tho wing’ed lanterns rise
out beyond the reach
of will and luck
beyond the plans
of where we’d be –
it hardly matters now
just let me wake
remembering
your touch
. . .
24 Wednesday Sep 2014
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry
Tags
bliss, breath, connection, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, faith, family, forgiveness, grace, life, living, love, old maps, passion, reason, relationship, restless, resurrection, self, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, value, wisdom, wonder
Yesterday (Sunday), I listened to a message entitled ‘enough’. It spoke of a culture that seeks fulfillment in the physical accumulation of more and more stuff. Although I had never thought of it, we place our hopes and dreams in things that will ultimately end up in a landfill.
It was a message designed to motivate, at a time when most churches are looking for financial commitment. The minister spoke of tithing and ways of getting by on less. The ultimate question asked again and again, ‘how much is enough’…….
I was reminded of a conversation with my sister a few years back when
we talked about all we had, and how it was nothing more than on loan from a greater power. How many cell phones do we need? How big does a TV need to be in order to be enough?
Later, I was thinking back on this word – ‘enough’ and found it ironic that we live in a society that never seems to get enough, but has no concept of ‘enough’ as it relates to investment in those things we cannot hold anyway. I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about love, forgiveness, compassion, and time. When we consciously give these, we find the greater wealth returned to us. Love should always result in more love; compassion, more compassion; and forgiveness, room for more.
“He is no fool who gives that which he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”
When I wrote this on Sunday afternoon, I had no idea how the week might unravel, and yet last night as I reflected, all things seem to connect through this, to this notion of more.
I love the idea of grace and although Mr. Webster might describe it differently, I think of it as love undeserved. When someone says, “I love you”, it is the ‘more’ that matters – not that I love you more than you love me, but that I love you more than you might have felt you deserved. That’s grace, and it is (in my opinion) the divine within us. Certainly, life would be less messy if God had asked us simply to love those just like us, those who deserve it, those who make it easy.
We are better, or at least I believe we are.
And there’s that word – believe. There are the things I believe and the things I know.
We are warned time and again about judging others, and yet we do it. Everyone does it. I do it, because inherently, I feel an urge to judge those who judge. Twisted, I know! I try, but it is difficult not to. But judging is razor’s edge. It is not just about forming an opinion based on information or facts (or a lack of either). It’s about denying love, forgiveness and compassion based on our own ideas of whether or not someone deserves it. It is the thing that keeps love from being ‘more’. It keeps love from being grace (and it is surely by grace, we are saved).
Silly me, but I would argue that it’s not really love if it comes with the condition of being deserved. As Lyle Lovett penned it so well –
And who keeps on loving you
When you’ve been lying
Saying things ain’t what they seem
God does
But I don’t
God will
But I won’t
And that’s the difference
Between God and me
I don’t always get it right, but that’s okay. In my bones, I believe we are asked (blessed) to make a habit of giving ‘more’, of being ‘more’, of forgiving ‘more’. When I think of judgment, I think of something I once heard. God created us in His image, and in return (out of some crazy reasoning), we create Him in ours. We assume our
logic of what is lovable and forgivable is the same as His.
I thank Him every day that it’s not.
When I fail to love, that isn’t about deserving. That isn’t even about the person I’m withholding my love and forgiveness from. It’s about me. When my life is over, I will not be asked what I kept for myself, but rather what I gave away. In giving of grace, I am hopeful to receive the same. I don’t know about you, but I was kinda counting on a little divine grace.
What I believe – a sweeter life awaits beyond what we could earn, beyond what we deserve.
What I know – we don’t have to wait.
of choices
only these
of what I give away
the last I knew
of promises
of debts I can’t repay
but let not
there be another
would wander to a place
where arms
are not yet opened –
love is not yet grace
break my heart again (again)
that I might learn to heal
that I might live
beyond this life
another truth revealed
of choices
might I gather –
as stones
along the road
and carry not their burden
to my soul
. . .
12 Friday Sep 2014
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry
Tags
becoming, bliss, breath, cherokee, connection, death, destiny, faith, fearless, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, nature, old maps, poetry, reason, sacred intimacy, self, soul, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wandering, wonder
as passion
confessed
by luna to flame
a faithful old owl
to the moon
where crickets are crowded –
as branches to breeze
remembered
as snowflakes
in June
there’s a spot
at the softest curve of the night
the color of eyes
as depths to the sea
a place in the meadow
where secrets
are kept –
where stars make love
to the trees
there’s a swelling
decided
by all I hold dear
– breath holding softly
my own
a place in the universe
as music unheard
by words not yet spoken
I’m known
. . .
29 Friday Aug 2014
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry
Tags
bliss, faith, fearless, knowledge, life, love, passion, poetry, resurrection, seeing in the dark, self, truth, understanding, value, wisdom
no more or less
was right made wrong
or hell for heaven trade
was dark alone when light was come
or souls bent afraid?
loving words still echo deep
returned as truth we swore
held to more than promises
the ways we walked before
no more or less
was right made wrong
or hell for heaven trade
was dark alone when light was come
or souls bent afraid?
to paths of fate
disguised as dreams
for all we came to know
silence haunts the lowly heart
with dreams too dear
to hold
no more or less
was right made wrong
or hell for heaven trade
was dark alone when light was come
or souls bent afraid?
. . .
20 Wednesday Aug 2014
Posted in Poetry
Tags
becoming, connection, conscious consciousness, death, dreams, faith, fearless, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, restless, self, soul touch, spirit, truth, understanding, value, wisdom
will the river
run dry
for a promise beholding
as secret these dreams
held aloft
by the stars
tell me their names
share me to story
of a moment –
eternity
here in your arms
of a place
in the wood
surrendered to blossom
come of a night
you held me
this way
warned me of sorrows
your loving
would leave me
remind me
again –
what of joy to repay
when all
that is left
is a reason for going
when the cool morning air
sits deep in my bones
beg me
remember
the sweet smell of autumn
if e’er I’ve forgotten
my way back
to home
. . .
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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