I have no words. Yet.
Love, to the desert places.
The more I hear of you, the more I love you. The more I love.
I have met you only in dreams, but sleep-dreams, not dreams I can control. In dreams, I have tasted your sunlight. I have been to your cities, in my sleep-dreams.
Love, to the desert places.
I have no words, yet.
Be anxious in nothing but in all things lift your prayer to God.
1/7/15
Taking Time to be Enraptured
Upon first leaving the house,
the world is silent,
beautiful.
As I take in the light,
I hear bird songs,
see cat footprints,
feel the crisp wind dance across my face,
smell a fire,
taste smooth wind between my teeth.
The day is very much alive,
my senses loud with celebration and wonder.
the world is silent,
beautiful.
As I take in the light,
I hear bird songs,
see cat footprints,
feel the crisp wind dance across my face,
smell a fire,
taste smooth wind between my teeth.
The day is very much alive,
my senses loud with celebration and wonder.
1/4/15
Love, to my brothers
Dear Brothers,
I look forward to heaven (I pray you are there) when I can tell you plain how I think of you, and you won't misunderstand or mistake what I say, when you won't misunderstand my care as a desire for you in any way other than as a warrior alongside as we storm the keep of darkness with the most beautiful of Light.
When it is all over and the beginning has begun, I will tell you, plain, your vulnerability was your strength, and we, your sisters, knew it.
We knew your brokenness and loved you. We loved you in a manner far too strong for Earthly languages. Our love was broken, yes, but we loved you.
Your words, brother, I always soul-smiled at your words. Your poetry, your prose, and the way you carried strong songs into sanctuaries and slums alike. You gave strength through your words, and that was beautiful to me.
In this life, if I tell you of your beauty, you will be suspicious, probably weirded-out. But there, when I tell you, you will know. When I say that you are beautiful, it is because I see in you the image of the King. You bear the image of the King.
I cannot tell you now, I'm not bold enough yet. But then, at the end and the glorious beginning, I will tell you, and you will understand.
love,
your sister,
me
I look forward to heaven (I pray you are there) when I can tell you plain how I think of you, and you won't misunderstand or mistake what I say, when you won't misunderstand my care as a desire for you in any way other than as a warrior alongside as we storm the keep of darkness with the most beautiful of Light.
When it is all over and the beginning has begun, I will tell you, plain, your vulnerability was your strength, and we, your sisters, knew it.
We knew your brokenness and loved you. We loved you in a manner far too strong for Earthly languages. Our love was broken, yes, but we loved you.
Your words, brother, I always soul-smiled at your words. Your poetry, your prose, and the way you carried strong songs into sanctuaries and slums alike. You gave strength through your words, and that was beautiful to me.
In this life, if I tell you of your beauty, you will be suspicious, probably weirded-out. But there, when I tell you, you will know. When I say that you are beautiful, it is because I see in you the image of the King. You bear the image of the King.
I cannot tell you now, I'm not bold enough yet. But then, at the end and the glorious beginning, I will tell you, and you will understand.
love,
your sister,
me
12/31/14
Welcome, 2015.
May you bring laughter and much dancing; rain in the spring and harvest in the fall.
May each sunrise shout the glory of the King.
May we taste and see, every day, that the Lord is good.
May our movements and breaths remind the world of Hope.
May our words be salty and generous.
May we always offer peace.
May we build strong walls against fear, and strong bridges into places where Love is needed.
May we have eyes to see the desperation, and may the Lord give us the grace to answer it.
May we remember to seek out the beautiful.
May each sunrise shout the glory of the King.
May we taste and see, every day, that the Lord is good.
May our movements and breaths remind the world of Hope.
May our words be salty and generous.
May we always offer peace.
May we build strong walls against fear, and strong bridges into places where Love is needed.
May we have eyes to see the desperation, and may the Lord give us the grace to answer it.
May we remember to seek out the beautiful.
May the uncreated One be glorified through our fragility and weakness.
Welcome.
12/29/14
They tell us
They tell us the war is over.
What does that mean?
They fold up the flag
and shake hands,
they tell us the country is stronger,
but still dangerous,
What does that mean?
They tell us the war is over.
What does that mean?
What does that mean?
They fold up the flag
and shake hands,
they tell us the country is stronger,
but still dangerous,
What does that mean?
They tell us the war is over.
What does that mean?
12/28/14
a spontaneous poem, december 28
Hibernation.
back to basics,
breathing softly,
taking in the smell
of snow
and growing strong from
my bones
to my lungs,
reflecting on a year’s
worth of dancing
a year’s worth of
sounds,
which have grown old
in the ground
they rest in like
roots
taking heart in the
spring
an oasis from fools
and the folks who inspire sadness-
can you imagine,
to take a break from
the cold
only to step into a
bog of old papers
and ideas sour to taste,
worst we speak in
haste
we speak in pain
we speak in
graceless sentences
and break hearts we
did not know existed.
For this, I hibernate.
Wait for the snow to
teach my soles to dance
again, renewed.
again, renewed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)