Everlasting Father

I couldn’t obey well enough to please 

So I rebelled

To be independent and divorce myself from the pain of missing the father’s gaze of affection

Oh but the true face of my Father is gazing at me now, fierce and tender 

His [all-seeing] eyes 

were [flashing] like a flame of fire [piercing into my being]

Affirming, consecrating belonging 

Enjoying 

Calling me into being

Just leaning, believing 

I am beloved and known 

Oh Papa, Abba, 

Arrester and wrestler 

Defender of my heart 

Soaking in your sweet and strong Presence is enough 

For me 

(Revelation 1:14, Isaiah 9:6)

He gives strength

I am so hardpressed

On everyside

Disappointment’s deathgrip

Seethes

And I await

.

.

.

You

.

.

.

Fighting for me

Delivering me

Unshaming me/claiming me

Above all, Sustaining me 

.

.

.

He gives strength to the weary and to him who has no might He increases power. Isaiah 40:29.

I stretch my wings

Who is she that unfurls such hidden majesty?

A gray cloak, somber and ashen, until the release

Of fluorescent fucia and magenta plumage

The dourness vanquished with the revealing 

Of hidden colour, lofted valour

I stretch my wings

Arching on the wind

Underneath the magnificent force,

Unseen substance billowing forth
Lifting roseate spoonbill songs
Majestically 

Crater [amplified]

Oh, rumpled heart.
Come to me 
And grieve [mourn, lament, acknowledge, release];
Perceive [understand, feel, see]
My love for you 
is Overflowing.

Carols

My God, he’s about feasting

Joy-filled remembrance, annual semblance, celebrating 

My God, he’s about testing

Sincerity revealing, perseverance keeling, heart wrestling 

My God, he’s about returning

Earth restoring, justice dealing, vengeance sealing 

Walking by faith

When great faith is required, great patience is required as well. -Henry Blackaby

Haiku - Diamond Trees

Diamond trees
Sharp edges, Companion
-ship With light

The right word

The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter. ’tis the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning. -Mark Twain

HT John Godec. 

Grief

this loss
becomes her forum for mourning
spoken, shared
and pangs, Oh
the w r e n c h i n g
shedding tears
payloads;
unloaded
unkempt
undone

such need
(as ever before)
just felt
with complete, oozing barrenness
stripped
grief’s acid dripped
across tongue and eyes
never to speak the same
never to see the same
never to be the same

the grief inside of me
different, but the same
crushing load
of loneliness
separation, keen
unspeakable
and such jealousy, burning
for reuniting
for righting
for healing

Cold, greeting November

The broken flow ebbs out of me, words like sneezes
reticent yet unstoppable
ignoring allegory and reason
letting loose a tailored tale
of flesh redeemed in a hopeless season

The words do matter
and I'll keep on
fiercest love glimmering like first snow at dawn
morning's breath caught cold,
greeting November
autumn's hasty retreat, another goodbye
another chance to choose
to live             fully alive

You are here

I had a vision: My hands were bloody and tear streaked after I held them up to his face, cradling his bearded cheeks. 

He said “I have seen the tears you have cried. Do you think I’m not here?” 

Oh, my God, you are, I am in awe. 

You are here with me.

unfreezing phrases

News reverberating-
Reciting,
Bracing

Reticent,
Hesitant,
To embrace the allegory

Bastard story
Uncommon, fresh
One in eight billion wounds to thresh 

Speaking to forget,
Listening to lead,
Hearing to see

Chasing autocorrecting identities 
Unfreezing phrases on 
Unkempt pages

Launching a disruptor
And showcasing 
Need.

Half moon

Silly half moon
Broken, ajar
Or are you awakening to 
Who you always were?

The first 1,000

Write, everyday
he says

no hesitation
just publication

consistency
for yourself, make a way

one post- it can be poor
it can be ignored


just push it
let go, share, click send

with or without
proper punctuation 

write, every day
right away, write now.

[HT SethGodin]

True prayer

[Jesus’] prayer begins where all true prayer must commence, with the spirit of adoption, "Our Father." 

-Charles Spurgeon 

Intuition builds

intuition builds
a sense of proportion and flow
instinct over cognition
wading under weighted words, slow
release of common grace
beauty or place
of knowing,
deeply sowing
seeds for growing
a love worth showing.

On Friendship: Choosing

A different kind of friend
one chosen

not for a natural chemistry of personality
or preference

not bonded through shared experience
and hardship

one sought out,
all other sympathies aside.

Still the imprint; indelible
the communion of memory,

vulnerability changing us,
Spirit remaking us

our kinship shaping us
this sharing, forming each of us

us forming us;
friendship is

us,
together

how precious, this connection;
marking a season.

 

The discomfort of the wind

feel unable to manifest
with words the rusty loneliness 
that is still more comfortable
than the new countenance

my yes
now strapped in like a roller coaster ride at the top of the hill 
regretting my pride  

this is not an exit point
this is a pinnacle
this is a testing
this is minimal

the car will move forward
this stance will end, until then
rest in the discomfort
of the wind 

Mined Light

mind maze
mined matter

darkened eyes lies disguised
patterns and shapes and kythes 

path of thought
forgotten width-depth-height; hindered sight
until crashing down, the weight 
of stone

crushing loneliness
evicting unworthiness
eradicating confusion

this costly cornerstone 
for the foundation, firmly placed
he who believes in It 
will not be disturbed

no haste or shaking
only panting for his saving
for relief from the burden
a satisfying of the yearnin'

come to me all who are weary
and heavy laden, 
and I will give you
rest

darkened night
sorrow-filled until
dawn's first light
thoughts put right

October 2018

balk
until i get the answer right
and written

crash and count off
narrowed vision and stubborn slumber
we are our own limiters
and i can't collect all the shattered pieces 

scattered leftovers, not a legacy
crumpled shafts of light
the voice raised 
to closed ears
still must speak 

puncture the pressure
the despair turning corners
as un-pragmatic as this, 
love.

The place (version 2)

the place i'm at with myself / not a physical place
though i physically feel my space
feeling and being 
at least in consciousness in this knowing instant
being; been and to be
my peace with who I am, who I’m not 
where I’m at, what I’ve wrought
i am more at peace with myself
lighter, righter
that is to say, my relationship with my heart? 

am i living from my heart?
am i trusting and believing
am i true to who you made me to be? 
am i authentically living out this life, this gift, as You intended?

oh fearsome failure,
repentance saves me, your grip never leaves me
alcohol burns away
and we are left with a fragrant remnant
like vanilla in the cake
indelible
it's the naming, 
it's the scaring- 
it's the proclaiming

my God you are a person,
in me,
my soul, you are, me?
do i believe?
do i name?
the place, the shape?
nearer, nearer still to you, my Love
though i know not where
i believe.

The place (version 1)

the place i'm at with myself / not a physical place
though i physically feel my space

the place i'm at is myself
the feelings about this shelf
of bones and sinews, hair and skin
of eyes and nose, tears and throat
of lips and voice, expressions
aging, weight-gaining and leaning
scarring, aches and pain, receding glory

the place i'm at in myself
the seed that makes me unique
the soul / location unknown: loins, heart, brain?
residing of mind, emotions, and will
mystery still
though, me?
at least in consciousness in this instant
being; to be

the place i see for myself
making a name, fame, a title claim
professional skills, CV, LinkedIn network
referrals and influence
power and sycophants

the place i'm at
My peace with who I am, who I’m not
Where I’m at, what I’ve wrought
Has increased, as in, I have more peace
I am more at peace with myself
The place I’m at with myself is better
Lighter, righter

The place I’m at with myself
That is to say, my relationship with my heart?
personality?
semblence of habit and memory
what is this construct, contextual concept
constricting
confabulating
circulating- body, yes
soul (mind, emotions will)
spirit
(let's hear it)

maybe it is my soul I speak of (speak to)
my God you are a person,
in me,
my soul, you are, me?
what place, what shape?
where to live on, to taste?

nearer, nearer still to you, my love
requires this
recognition
decision
of surrender
to Lordship
to the place, the grace
of self-less self-face

Nil sine Numine

yes,
you have learned
from a lifetime of breaking
shattered; rebuilding
kindness carving
dross removing

yes,
you have forgotten
weary alongside longsuffering and
disappointment

yes,
you have a hope
and a promise
surer than
the rising sun

How great

Traipsing down an aisle of no small promises.
This is a long walk.
Behold, He is with you both
to the end of the age.

Untitled

Trying to speak to you 
Words like slivers of light
Bright but never illuminating
Vocabulary won’t suffice
One sight; 
Undone.
Unburden this expectation;
One poem can’t contain
The expanse of your frame
Distrust every language to explain
The never-ending refrain;
Holy.

Hours to go

I feel my heart muscles,
Tense
And my jaw,
Clenched
That was decaf, really?
I’m wired, tired, sure-fired to publish this
BTW,
Did I disappoint you? Unlist
Unfriend
Reprimand
Except, the guilt slinging is so satisfying
I’d rather keep condemning and shaming
Unrelenting framing of this misbehaving
I.e. changing
Reminding me of old times
So many stains strain, these pressuring lines
A moving, a tent,
A meeting, plus rent.

So, perhaps a slight provocation: just begetting
The lonely universe
Poised and forgetting
Twirling past unrehearsed
The rusted moon and fused tomb,
Her ashes skating
Beside the spinning loom
Much ado about letting
Go.

Storying

“Mara” she said, call me bitter
Maybe instead of lamenting her life’s grief
And the hand that dealt
The thief
Maybe I should
Lament the story she told herself

Joseph told himself his story
He said “though you meant this for evil”
(And “this” was lying, enslavement, imprisonment)
God meant it
For good.

The love you felt at first

Reclaim the flame
The love you felt at first
The giddy jitter, butterfly twitter
The whole-hearted response unrehearsed

Come now, my love,
I bask in waiting
My name is patience
And I am never-abating
Unwaning
Unmovable
Never-surrendering
Ever-remembering
My rejoicing is unceasing
My Name is beseeching
Come, turn again, to Me

Reclaim the flame
The love you felt at first
I am unchanged and my affections the same
I love you whole-heartedly on this earth

Phoning my darling homophone

The isle's aisle
No longer taught but taut
Fled by ferry the fabled fairy
Playing chords on cords and casting lots.

Despite my dear deer's crooning
Flower petals shunned the flouring wisdom
Of morning dew due to do an undoing
Or was it at eight we ate 'dem?

I bare eyed couldn't eye the bear
Could only bye-bye my shelf by the buy
In a cell shelled to sell their care
The tie-dyed tie wouldn't lie there.

I like the sound of that, this confusion
Ram-shackled auditory oratory of disillusion
Identically, homophonic unity 
It's just two, too to,
don't you think? 

Send me a poem

Send me a poem
Write it yourself
Hand scrawled equation
Soul's syllabary

Send me a poem
One that moved you
Taut and unwraught
Scripted fervor

Send me a poem
A line without rhyme
Exhale; living rhythm 
Your heart's vibration

Istanbul / Proverbs 14:10

A day closing, submerged in preciousness beyond reckoning.

The sun is sinking into the Bosphorus,

Goldeness lighting the city, 
This historic, seaside place, a home familiar and ever-changing.

A reel of memories; family.

The sun sets and shadows enlarge: skyscraper, cypress, a cat chasing a halo.

The night comes,

And I rehearse in the last glimmers in the Havas.

Departure feels like dying, dreams deferred and barely surviving.

Love, come overwhelm.

Desire, breath in my lungs and Source of fire.

The river’s coursing,

The rhythm supporting,

The land in between.

And the heart, it knows its own, and this darkened city shares the joy.

Dust Remembered

This Cold, heat rising, 

Flushed cheek advising 

The tenderness of joint and vertebrae

The normally silent quorum holds sway

Involuntary space, 

Fighting the haze 

And head heavy, pillow meeting

In body, but not connecting

Mind lofted, awareness a sensation 

An invitation.

This frame, dust remembered.

With God

is he too weary?
is he unavailable?
is he overwhelmed?
can he not save?

is he confused?
is he anxious?
is he stewing?
can he not move?

if he is too “too”
then he is NOT God
Jesus Christ is a limitless being;
child, stop limiting God.

Is anything impossible with me. -Isaiah 30
Nothing is impossible with God. -Luke 2

Restoring the rosemary

Sick, supposed from roots
Wading in water, shoots
Swelling from over abundance
Would re-potting restore a chance?
We don’t know, the plant could still die
We don’t know, but we’ll choose to try.

Write, Right, In darkness, For light

There is an effortlessness
Of sound and rhyme, sometimes
The fully formed thought appears
Cheers!
The heart is relieved and hears

Other times
It's a wrestling match
It's a unweildy bush and the pruning seems hopeless
Unreachable branches and awkwardness

Why?
Sometimes the flow
Other times the turbulence?
Same plane, new disturbance? 

Still better to write, right?
Then to be perfect.

This is not my righteousness
It's probably just my loneliness
And need
Freed in stanzas
Unhidden agendas

Sometimes after hours of labor its not 'right'
But there is a kernel there
Or a phrase
An so I publish and go on with my days

Sometimes I look back kind of ashamed
Other times proud, "I made that flame!"
Did you feel that, the spark?

Just another dancer in the dark.

This kitchen

Through the kitchen window, 

Barb brisks about, here and there,

Shawntel fills up soapy buckets, Debbie organizes desserts,

Michelle makes snacks for the Sunday school children.

These women,

new to this kitchen,

With hands familiar for the tasks, 

hearts willing.

My eyes are spilling as I measure the legacy,

Cups and quarts, hundreds of meals

Generations, aproned and humming

The keys unceremoniously passed

To Clarissa, Elise, Danica,

from Darla, Mavis, and Margaret, 

From the ones before them 

and before them.

Arriving early in the morning, cleaning late into the afternoon,

the stomachs filled and the connections made,

hands clasped and prayers said

over this broken bread.