Friday’s Poem: Time Unfinished

It comes nearer, ever nearer to an ending than

a beginning of this ramble about earth.

How many steps remain, how many breaths that

cultivate strength, resilience, the mouth full

of starbursts of air and puzzles of language,

of emotion that seeps and rushes from the center

over tongue and teeth to the world?

What are the answer I have not yet sought,

the questions not fully considered?

I cannot fathom enough of it, living

and shedding and gathering and more growing.

Perhaps I knew more at fourteen than I do now

it seemed a galaxy of matters and who is to say–

but if so it was somehow turned over and inside out,

spun apart, shifted, torn and rewound

so that before I knew it, there remained a frail layer

between me and baffling landscapes…

country and city made of people who shocked and amazed;

ancient outcroppings and tiny refuges of

animal, plant , mineral and water, air and fire;

and stories strewn everywhere

–they all pull me. Still call to me.

And a magnanimous Spirit is restive,

attendant to this path and countless others, with

divine wonderings and wisdom like markers as we go.

Therein is mystery: becoming one within the whole of it.

How deep dwells the meaning of all things?

When I come to one stop there is

a doorway, still, and that clarion beckoning.

Even a stitched and worn heart gives way

to a glance of compassion,

a flicker of fireflies, a rain dance on leaves,

and the slow laydown of sun upon sinew and bone.

That I meet face to face with such life, a miracle.

So I move forward into ever more

thrum and shush and jangle and slide

of each day and night, a holy human ride.

There is all that is still unfinished,

so much more to pluck out and love.

Friday’s Poem on Saturday: Rumors of Beginnings

The rumor is that the year changes.

Still, I breathe with my heart, earthen and
cosmic oxygen rising from conduits
hewn of shadow, light, water.
If it is a new entrance before us, also an exodus
that carries us to beginnings. A labyrinth, a journey
with pilgrims come round from afar. You and I.

I say, remand our treasures to the fire
of life, of loss. Plant random bits in good places
where springs quench deeper thirst.
Move among trees and mossy rocks, hollow and peak,
greet sea’s leviathans, guardians of earth, winged messengers.
We can recall such language; God recalls our names.
See, evening is seeded with starlight and the heavens
shed grace: mercy and knowledge given with no falsity.

I hope for a miracle of start overs. Righteous indignations and
angers loosed to be upended, disbanded.

For the poverty of fear and shame with their
failed assumptions, viperous words to be relinquished.

For the superfluous to fall away so ears hear
and eyes see each moment now with the best expectancy.

And fissures and fractures that divert us from
transformation to be healed, and lives that strain
from pressures of the world to be reinforced.

I call for a shepherding of our errant stories,
each one born of blood and bone, erupting with
a capacity for love: let us carry them to country and town.
And reimagine shards of beauty, breakage of sorrows
to remake and brace our living, a creation amid the harrowing.

This labyrinth of prayer is a minor strand of our tapestry.
We hail from a fathomless universe, crisscross earth
in designs of tender bodies. This is what is given us.
We are not ever quite lost as imagined. Nor alone in our cocoons of flesh.

A new time, the talk goes. A chance for reclamation, reaffirmation.

I give it credence, my face tilted to sky, then street.

May we grant favor to one another,
and hoist compassion, a torch from dawn to dark.
Greet peace upon entering and leaving each door, feet
casting off the chains of futility.

Here, my hands, joining the common circle.

Friday’s Quick Pick/Poem: One Love, One Life, One God

DSCN3876

Though health may elude me or
riches arrive, betray and leave
there is a wonder that visits
with a whisper, a deep ease of life
and folds me into gratitude
like a cocoon; it generates courage
and beauty that cannot wither.

For still humanity dares to be humane,
wild creatures birth and roam.
Sun watches like a merciful witness
and moon gilds our way through sleep.
Again, ripening harvest times
break open a splendor of change.
Rains signal to me like gifted
fingers over ancient drums.

Inside this breath, upon this heart
there is certainty of an etheric veil
which sways open and closed
like wings of rarest guardians
of one Love, one Life, one God.
I retrieve these gifts, bow my head.

 

(See you folks in ten days–I’m off on another small adventure. Be well.)

Friday’s Passing Fancy/Poem: The Charge of Mercy

Crystal Springs spring! 060
Photo by Cynthia Guenther Richardson

It may be that making room
for mercy, letting it take hold
of you, does so only at a price.
You may never again see yourself
or another without feeling
a deep release of tenderness,
an upsurge in benevolence
like a music unfurled by light.

Many suffer, pass by day or night and
you will recognize a hoard of hurts
and consolation will spill unbidden,
even in your smile or nod of your head,
a flash meeting of your eyes and another’s.
Charity rises from the soul’s wellspring,
and fills you. It will long to act.

Even if what is returned is
disconsolate anger, even if a
ruinous emptiness
you will offer a gentling of more mercy.
And when someone pains you,
compassion and forbearance
will take charge in spite
of unjust, fearful jarrings.
You can endure much in mercy.

Who knows what being merciful can bring?
Perhaps a revolution of wholeness: begin.
Who said our human lives will be a lark?
Can we be generous if we are lazy, only smart?
Can we be kind and be selfish, then hope to heal?
We learn to be humble, then wings can grow.

You alone know your true reflection
in the mirrored passages of time,
if you answered yes when
someone needed forgiveness,
if you answered no when revenge
bellowed your name.

Either way, mercy lives on

best when you claim it, free it, use it.
It moves in the power of opening hands,
in reverberations of simple, decent care.
Some may welcome it and perhaps even you.
Many will not ever notice.
You are the one
who will be
changed by mercy
reigniting your valiant life

Daily Prompt: Transformation (Leave Less Trace of You)

Transformation

If whenever you happen by my shadow
and believe it to be mere grayness
caught inside a moment, still do not step

into its fine boneless center
or let it drape or hide you as a shawl
nor fill it up with your notable charms.

It is not for taking or for trade.

It would no longer remain that filament
of my life’s breath, breath of soul.
Stranger, I welcome convergence
with passing shadows,
not a common thievery.