Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Friday, June 24, 2022

Chase Joy

Chase joy.  

And when you've caught it, feast upon it.


Gobble it up like an ice cream cone on the hottest day of the year.

Let its sticky sweetness dribble down your chin and arm,

the remnant is evidence of the thing now in you - 

filling your belly and becoming a part of you.


And in times of desolation,

when your limbs are too tired for the chase

and your belly is full of sorrow,

sit quietly and let joy come to you,

presenting itself in shyness and timidity,

but no less potent in consolation.


Know that she is yours and she will sustain you in all things,

if you permit her.

Thursday, December 16, 2021

Please Use Caution When Opening

Please Use Caution When Opening the Overhead Bin 

            as Things May Have Shifted During Flight


The great blue heron stands in the shallow life-giving waters, 

Where fish move and swim and have their being –

Before sustaining the heron in the form of lunch.

 

When the sun burns long for days uninterrupted

And the shallows begin to dry,

When the fish die off for lack of relief

 

And the pond recedes to stagnant algal blooms

Before cracking in thick sheets formed by the unrelenting heat

The great blue heron rises in flight.

 

 

Please use caution when opening the overhead bins

As things may have shifted during flight.

 

 

I took flight several times and found myself

Always returning to the same pond.

The familiarity of the slime and the stench were inescapable.

 

A silent promise, hanging in the air, that things would change

That people could grow and learn as if by accident,

That one day we simply cease to be whom we’ve always been.

 

I searched for new places to find sustenance

In the form of things that moved in harmony with my Self

Rising from the clear and shallow life-giving waters.

 

 

Please use caution when opening the overhead bins

As things may have shifted during flight.

 

 

“Baby, I love you.  I have big plans for us.  You are a queen.

Drink the cool, clear waters of my love as they wash over you

Unmooring you from your own life.”

 

“He beat me.  He broke my nose.  He took my shoes and my car keys from me.  

I walked ten miles home barefoot at one o’clock in the morning.

He pulled me out of a chair by my hair; he threw me off the bed.”

 

 

Please use caution when opening the overhead bins

As things may have shifted during flight.

 

 

“I’m very disappointed she didn’t walk away the first time.

     I thought she was stronger than that.”

Children learn what they live and grow to live what they’ve learned.

 

What did you teach her about walking away, as you stood at the stove

The next morning, the shadows of his handprints wrapping around your neck,

Unhidden, undiminished by the fragrance of blueberry pancakes cooking on the griddle?

 

What did you teach her every day before and since? Forty-four years

Of standing at that stove, interrupted only when he walked away,

But always, always, always welcoming him back?

 

 

Please use caution when opening the overhead bins

As things may have shifted during flight.

 

 

The great blue heron found new shallows of life-giving waters,

Where fish move and swim and have their being – 

Before sustaining the heron in the form of lunch.

 

The sun warms the air and waters

As its reflection dances across the surface

Shimmering like so much glitter when the wind moves.

 

The rains come to refresh the waters

Filling the banks, feeding the reeds, sustaining life anew.

The great blue heron does not rise to flight.

 

 

Please use caution when opening the overhead bins

As things may have shifted during flight.

 

 

The greatest gift he ever gave me was the courage

And confidence, the self-assurance to leave if I choose.

The second is like it: to be a home I will never want to leave.

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Napoléon Complex

Recently, historians determined that Bonaparte was the average height for a man of his time.  You have seven inches on the average man today, so what’s your excuse?

What is your excuse?

You tried to stand on the shoulders of giants, but finding your vision still clouded by the crowns of their heads, you made a mad scramble for your axe and cut them down, using their slain bodies as timber for your house.


It is not indestructible and the next giant will grind your bones to make their recompense.

Wednesday, December 12, 2018

The Container

The Container

The work, as yet undone, feels mountainous.
“But I’ve already done so much,” my protest.
There is still more to be done.

My marriage is a container 
In which old things foment,
In which new things grow.

Dark soil — I once thought hid broken
And unlovely things — becomes a garden, 
Rich and fertile, germinating life.

A mirror, reflecting back to me
All that is holy, and inviting transformation 
Of all that is still wounded.

What blessed ground, what sacred space is this,
Where I meet God in the other;
Where I meet God within?

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Broken Tea Cups

Broken Tea Cups

One broken tea cup, tiny cracks
     too fine for the eye to see.
     I pour into you all my best.
     Each time you end up burning me.

Broken tea cup, fractured deep,
     you hold so much but always seep.
     Wholeness is the illusion you cast,
     but you're not what you pretend to be.

Broken tea cup, such fine cracks, never to be repaired,
     one cannot correct what remains unseen.
     Tea you shall continue to spill,
     your purpose always unfulfilled.

But this other:
Broken tea cup, many shards,
     well beyond repair,
     who left you in such mean estate?
     Who showed so little care?

Broken tea cup, there you sit,
     in pieces, sharp and broken.
     Can it be you have a purpose;
     one, to date, as yet unspoken?

Broken tea cup, please join me
     in creating something new!
     A mosaic of new life,
     transformed, redeemed in Truth.

Broken tea cup?  You are not!
     It was never your true design.
     Now you're something different--lovely, wonderful and whole:
     something I want to claim as mine.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The Right Questions

Intimacy

I am more akin to a Pablo Neruda poem
than a Georgia O'Keeffe painting.
I am full and fleshly.
My genitals do not look like a flower.

What if my partner does not like the way I look?
     ...the way I smell?
     ...the way I taste?

(What if I end up judging myself by the standards of church culture rather than the standards of the divine?)



What if these "what ifs" do not matter?



What if I open myself completely to whatever the moment holds?

What if I invite my partner to see in me that which I see in myself?
     That I am beautiful, lovely, and worthy.
     That I am powerful and mighty.
     That I am tender and soft-hearted.

That I am the best there is
     and I share myself freely with my partner
as a gift.

Never to be diminished
     in either the offering or accepting.

Because I am still wholly me:
     tender and soft-hearted
     powerful and mighty
     beautiful, lovely, and worthy.