Monday, April 13, 2015

Open Vowels

I look for A...
    in the Amber glow of a coy sunset
    Altruism hiding behind a grey shadow of pride
I look for E...
    in the Everyday moments
    Easy-listening for a still, small voice
I look for I...
    in the waning Innocence of my little girl
    Inches above me, teetering a jaded tightrope
I look for O...
    in the Opulence of others
    Only to find it hovering in a hal-O above simplicity
I look for U...
    in the Understanding uninhibited me
    Unbound, untidy, untethered
Help me to look for the Y...
in You so much more than sometimes.

"You'll welcome us with open arms, when we run for cover to you...
You are famous for decking us out in delight." 
Psalm 5:11-12 (msg)

"While we have been pursuing God,
He has been rushing toward us with reckless love,
arms flung wide to hug us home." 
Ken Gire

Monday, March 30, 2015

The Gallery

When He first touched the brush to my canvas,
He pursed His lips in a smile
Tickling me with vivid greens
playful yellows, baby skin pinks,
lily whites and river blues.
He scribbled my name
"Water Lily Pond"
and I knew who I was,
a love note to the Painter of my painter.
Then they brought me here.
This gallery
so much colder than His backyard.
Some stop to look and smile.
A mother and daughter even paused to marvel,
silently taking me in inch by inch.
I could feel the sunset again.
Many walk by, not noticing.
Some saunter and sniff a smug indifference.
One boy stared at his phone while his Mother asked
"When's lunch?"
I wish I could show them what the Master meant.
He wants them to imagine.
To fill in the blanks with their eyes and minds.
He left room for them in the painting.
To smell the lilies.
To hear the water flowing.
To feel the sunset on their faces,
the wind that swirled around His brushes that day.
He's not photographer. He's a painter.
He's not a dictator. He wants them
to discover.
Then came the critics.
Loud and multiplying. Echoing off these stark walls.
"What a mess. I'm not impressed."
"Who needs impressions when you could have clarity?"
"Too bold. It should be more subtle."
"Too subtle. It should be more bold."
"Too loud. Too soft. Too childish."
"I don't get it."
Their voices trying to peel the paint.
Squinting, wincing, rolling eyes.
I heard them, and it hurt.
But it doesn't take me off this wall.
It doesn't take that satisfied sigh away
when He put up His brushes for the day,
grinning to utter one word,

"Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God’s handwriting — a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Psalm 139:13
Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother’s womb. I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration—what a creation! You know me inside and out, you know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something. Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, The days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.

"I write from my soul. This is the reason that critics don't hurt me, because it is me. If it was not me, if I was pretending to be someone else, then this could unbalance my world, but I know who I am."

Tuesday, February 03, 2015

Falling Up

ZigZag questions, seasick
Yoga Zen fallen flat
Xmas once a year
This wrinkle in time
This heroic villain, down to get up
Undermining the minds in the mines
with Trapeze daydreams
To stick to the sky like a Starfish
Regeneration in a riddle
The quiver of a promise
Order nailed down deep in the chaos
The murmurs of a muddy hope
A lamp for the lost
A kayak skimming surfaces
A jet that zooms above it all
Or just an inch above ground
To howl or hush here
This quicksand gravity of change
To build a fence and hide, outside
Until my echo and I become extinct
A piece of driftwood tossed aside
A dancer asked to crawl off into the wings
Losing her balance 
In this dizzying About-face
This Z to A
moment of
falling up.
Perhaps a better stage awaits.

"A lot of people resist transition and therefore never allow themselves to enjoy who they are. Embrace the change, no matter what it is; once you do, you can learn about the new world you're in and take advantage of it."Nikki Giovanni

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9 (msg)

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

So Close

memories perch
in the palm of my hand
a snowflake on mittens
barbie sunglasses looming above
plastic bodies preaching ideals
that nightmare of a spider
I woke up; it creeped up and bit my thumb
dandelion fluff ashes of wishes
a rebel crayon looking for front lines to cross
a glass shard reflecting mom's first cuss word
a bumble bee by the slide, "just stand still", sting, teachers lie
wax worm tickling before dad's hooks pierced
communion cup, upturned, suctioned, tap-dancing a pew
milk dud trios in tiny boxes under a Lucy mask
a deflated balloon after a party I wasn't invited to
a golf ball when dad couldn't teach me to swing anymore
popcorn kernels on the stove, mom's oil, timing
erasers in raised hands, rolling eyes, prank calls
a key to the dorm room, old carpet, a kiss under a blossom tree
stamps on letters from Frankfort, palm to chest to quiet the pounding
a diamond ring, a question
an eggshell, arguments, payments
mini-rubber ducky, tiny palms around our pinkies, bath time
a red pen cap, stories in rows of desks and eyes
a grape and a walnut, a temple of why
a raindrop on a run, or a teardrop, the same
a paper clip removed, a manuscript tossed to heaven
empty, cupped, two creases
You with scars in yours
and me the line below
so close

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..." Isaiah 49:16

“To see a world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palms of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”
William Blake