River remembrance (2024)

I'm by the river

One bridge of lit concrete,

One bridge of light, 

The reflection, a false

Horizon.

I'm alone here

Maybe just where I'm supposed to be.

-----------------------------------------------

Murky stank, but you can't 

Smell it in the pictures of the moon peaking, the river's cadence...

Faded intent, sad gleams, 

I've got so little in me 

its an instinct, a response.

Incredible, the support, 

I should have taken a picture.

If Dick could have seen that... 

so many turned up. So many cared.

Even when you were hard to be around, sometimes- 

Still, the river drifts on.

I am calmed, I am 

Claimed. 

Sure recommendations for a one day at a time life

I don't recommend wanting

or hoping

because you're sure to be disappointed

but I also don't recommend numbing

or giving up

because you're alive and made for living

what is there to do? 

One day at a time 

Moment by moment 

Grieve

             Share

                            Cry

Hold yourself in a cocoon of compassion

One day at a time 

Moment by moment 

Daily dose of sunshine 

Deep breaths to fend off the doubts and fear 

One day at a time 

Moment by moment 

Being present to the thoughts, feelings and emotions in your body 

One day at a time 

Moment by moment 

Twenty years - you betcha!

A blooger, a blogger, a booger 

Almost the 20th anniversary; two decades of writing these occasional inspirations 

Overflowing to the modern outlet, the cacophony estuary of the internet 

Inspired by a professor assigning extra credit if we "try out this new medium" 

And does it still stand? Yes, and no, 

We've got X and Insta, Youtube and TikTok and whatever is coming next, 

We've got to communicate that's the thing

Cave walls, tablets of stone, papyrus, printing press, newspaper, mail, electronic mail.... 

We've got to share to be alive, even if it's just with ourselves

We live in glory days, my fingers funneling focus (fragmented) - ciphering it through code into HTML into the world. Why a glory, what a mystery, 

Here we are- 20 more to go? 

Death in this house

This morning, a chipmunk beneath the kitchen sink

Months before, a mouse at the back door rug

A year ago, his body found on the floor

And before that? I know not; being born and dying happened at home,

So commonplace the endings and beginnings of this vapor life.

Why so much toil and tumult?

When the house has quietly stood for 85 years, unweighted by the suffering plaguing the children of men

Can I release it to the one who holds it all together, 

Holding faith that in the crashing markets and blockaded lands,

He'll never let go.

Even the chipmunks days were marked and spent well in their own glory. 

Couldn't I try to do the same? 

Greeting death as the doorway, not the enemy

To the true rest our sick bodies and stretched minds long for?

You know not when he will come; 

Welcome.  

Estranged

You are strange to me

I want to be familiar

Not strangers.

What is exchanged? 

Current states of mind in bursts of time.

Obligatory compliments;

An overflowing lack.

Quite a curse,

Carrying-on with this unfulfilled long-ing.

Stultified with sadness

Breathless with wind chasing.

Go, girl, to dig your own well 

And may it be well 

with your soul.

For Fears/Mad Lips edition

Everybody wants to [turn]

& Make the most of [sadness]

Everybody wants to [sleep]

& Make the most of [power]

Everybody wants to [fade]

& Make the most of [desire]

Everybody wants to [rule]

& Make the most of [nature]

Everybody wants to [last]

& Make the most of [indecision]

Everybody wants to [believe]

& Make the most of [isolation]

WE ARE

We are 

A date in time, an image-bearer 

from god-dust

We are 

boxes in the garage

ashes in an urn 

We are 

charmed fragments of memory 

carbon copies clinging closely 

We are 

cramped names bereft 

girded loins and fathomless bleak pangs

We are

out of the blue

& into the black 

We are 

blood bonds of ancestor landslides 

turned into lineages 

We are 

gone before a blink

faded grass and mist vanishing 

We are 

rotted out 

burned husk of rust 

We are 

not a failure, my son 

All you want now

when the salt has not yet dried 

on your cheeks 

and you've found a collapse in your chest 

of all your bravery

and hope seems so fragile 

from breaking and mending 

repeatedly 

and all you want 

is to see your enemy

kneeling down

in their garden

harvesting for their grandchildren 

Imagination unto shalom

All we are 
cells of mitochondria
composite of galaxies
resting within infinite
e x p a n s i o n to finite expression

To imagine imagination
fathoming, dreaming, sensing
seeing the invisible
what does not exist
calling into existence

This Creator created
attuned
endowing life
processes, systems
beauty

Perceiving
the delight
of watching a story unfold, characters
who will live out the questions
invited into partnership; shalom

Changed by love

How the winter dormancy wraps

    land in cold blankets, frozen foundations

    leafless trees and hibernating debris

How the spring awakens 

    there is a thawing, a washing 

    seeds and creatures roused into fecundity

How being loved by someone changes you 

    There is an enclosure, a security of boundaries

    Now I don't have to do everything, fled from the rancorous mob 

    Permission that I seldom granted myself 

    "be present and be loved" 

    initiate and respond with deepening wholeness

   

    

Process

It will take time, 

and it's a process of becoming 

in the flux of dismantling 

into a formless mass 

identity shifts, 

cocooned and unseeing 

reformed 

in newness 

from darkness, alight 

To be moved

 To be a lithe fishing boat, 

Curvaceous, turning with the rises  

Arcing brow, 

Luscious aged wood crafted with care

Dropping and lifting, so unlike

A barge, 

Slow, heavy, groping the sediment and debris not yet dredged 

Leaving in the tailwind a trail of oil

I want to have a brow that dips sways

I want to have a mast that catches the wind 

But I have a motor and I have a mission; port to port to port.

At sighted land unburdened;

I’ll pretend that the small waves can move me too.

Inner critic

Let it take the time it takes 

    Even thorough I want it done-

    Accomplished and forgotten.

Let it take the time it takes 

    For hope to rise again

    The recuperation of a disintegrated self.

Let it take the time it takes 

    Abiding the yelling threats that stopping will be fatal.

    If I’m not pushing, I’m completely failing. 

Let it take the time it takes 

    To rest in the proof of being insufficient

    Yet sufficiently held, and released.