Resist
Bone chilled cold
feeling the force of the day mid winter
I apologize to those tall and green
standing alone with promises of spring
I don’t know their grain within
holding promises that warm
resisting the frozen cover of ice and snow.
Lock the door on your way out….
I always remember my dreams. They reset and reframe the truth lying just underneath my daily life and struggles.
In anticipation of 2017, my sleep brought the terror of a whirlwind. Being swept away by the forces of nature, I woke distressed to say the least. This unsettled mood lasted through the last day of 2016.
I woke this am, however, on a journey abroad in the company of family and strangers . I was advising others on how to pack but also reorganizing my own bag.
Perhaps I am ready to move on.
Lock the door on your way out.
Daughters Sad Goodbye
His poverty of love betrayed every effort
and he settled for survival-
afraid even of comfort
a man alone in a mind framed by fear.
His death came as could be expected-
outside, nature fallen.
Along his years-
he was loved without knowing how to love,
embraced not knowing how to hold,
home not knowing how to father.
Yet in this moment, in this breath
he is today beloved.
photography courtesy of Sarah Vaughn
Birth of day #57
A year of days learning framed love circling hate
disease stuck and captured
with thoughts small and great.
Weeds purple miles traveled on mondays commute
pressed edges of asphalt
by wild flowered fruit.
Yet not many linger so driven so straight
bound to mark souls
captured and saved.
I wake now to birth from life to my life
from breath to a death
grace sun-kissed in now.
Reconciliation
The story deep in the marrow of my life betrays the simple touch of air to skin. Blood-spilt memories lay unheard, unknown but pulse with my breath and soul.
The stains of love and hate look the same in me and equally reflect the tragedy of my fears-
and I pray for reconciliation.
Photography courtesy of Ginny Hunt
1st position
with a call and response litany among the usual flight of birds
except geese in formation against the wind directly pointed
while the Lutheran’s sanctioned bell begs their ordered migration.
Is is Sunday.
It is the day the trees dance in 1st position to know the Sabbath’s touch
Eternal Life
Maybe it’s just restlessness
in the perpetual grind of a broken spirit.
Maybe it’s fearfulness
in the gasp of life without meaning.
Maybe it’s loneliness
in want of being home where I can be we.
It’s definitely unstable
with steps not leading to a lone path.
It’s definitely noisy
with doubts out-crying a rhythm in dissonant tunes.
It’s definitely me
in a space holding it all
in a matrix of twisted becoming
in quest for a soul – everliving.
photography courtesy of Pat Cegan
The Beast
I saw the Beast who bolted
through my safely tucked repose
and I heart racing with breath catching
awaken, now exposed.
Was he there from set of sun, joined in this space I slept?
Did I so warm this nightly Beast within my bed caressed?
I alone will wonder now as dusk blows through to day
what creature comfort darkens night and lays me down, I pray.
Photograph by Chris Johns
Easter
Smooth and loose inviting touch
…soft puppy-belly-wrinkle-like
not morning’s bite so crisp or cool
but Friday peaceful inside-out.
The sigh, drawn breath… pain and all
embracing life most tender there.
A gaze embalms the heart to flesh,
enmeshed triune incarnate life
…soft puppy-belly-wrinkle-like
smooth and loose inviting touch.
Photography courtesy of Pat Cegan
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