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Showing posts from 2014

VERE DIGNUM ET JUSTUM EST

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When I look into your eyes, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. When I feel the gentle drumbeat of your heart, The rhythms of your soul, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. When I sense the timber changing, Your heart sounding the call To your passion and mine, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. When I feel your luscious lips Just barely touching mine, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. When I feel our bodies coming together, Dancing in sheer bliss, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. When our hearts are open, no strings attached, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. No rules, no score to keep, Not even words to understand, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. No fear, no judgment,  Your hand in mine, mine in yours, It is truly right and just to give YOU thanks. Truly right and just to give YOU thanks, O Lord For YOUR gift of us.

IN THE EMPTINESS

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I remember finding You, Completely unexpected, In the emptiness, In the eternal emptiness, The emptiness of my heart, Beyond the shadows, The shadows of dreams and disappointments, Beyond the horizon of expectations, Far from the mirrors of what I thought Love looked like. Oh how I remember Finding You there, Completely unexpected, Finding You there in the emptiness In the eternal emptiness Where there was simply, Simply and only You. You possessed no height nor weight. No hair, n o boobs, No waste line to measure. You harbored nothing good nor ill. Yes, there was simply, Simply and only You. And of all places, In the emptiness In the eternal emptiness. Of course, I found you there. Where else could I find You? There was no pumpkin No carriage No horses nor mice. I was not a Prince Nor You a Princess. There was no slipper That fit or not. No clock to strike twelve. Yes, there was

WRITINGS OF MARY MAGDALENE

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WRITINGS OF MARY MAGDALENE Archeological digs!  Oh I dig them!  I especially enjoy traveling the back roads of my soul and into the dark nooks and crannies that are so similar to the Qumran caves along the Dead Sea.  It is here where light often erupts into incredible “finds,” treasures never before discovered.  And it was here that I found the Writings of Mary Magdalene..   From what I can gather, these are Mary’s reflections as she lives each day of her life without Jesus’ physical presence.  It becomes obvious that Jesus was the Love of her life.  As I translate each of these reflections from their ancient language, I so identify with Mary in my yearning to be with you all the time.  And the YOU can be anyone your yourself yearn for, including God. Here is what I have translated to date.     How I remember, Lord, Walking with you, hand in hand, Dancing in the temple courtyard Early in the morning. Precious memories, alive, treasures, What I ho

ROSES FOR THE OCCASION

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Not sure I really know you inside ‘n’ out. I know you. That’s for sure. Kind of like sniffing, Smelling, cherishing, Guarding a rose, Being careful not to wound Even a petal. Yet I will never know the rose completely. Even if I gingerly take the rose apart,  Piece by piece, I will be left with only Pieces and parts. But no rose. I know there are places inside you That others judge as flawed, Imperfect, Character defects Not covered by the warranty! And I know there are places inside you That others judge as beautiful, Perfect, twenty four karat. For whatever reason I have no need to take you apart. I only see YOU. I’m careful not to wound Even a petal. I am so grateful You showed up in my garden And insisted we journey To a new garden. One that belongs To neither you nor me, A place where we can plant our love, Where we can grow and blossom Together. And be and become All of who we ar

THE GARDEN

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He genuinely strives for peace, Peace within his soul, Peace in the surroundings of his life. Yet he is hell-bent, Creating a careless clatter, A clatter of fears actually Invading his peace, Snatching it away, Leaving behind barren turmoil, Sadness. At last, He silences the clatter. Resting finally, He admires his garden. There is no barren turmoil. He has to wonder if the clatter of fears Is just a dream or nightmare. He can’t help but notice The many plants and flowers Bearing his Lover’s touch, Her heart-print, Her scent. He vows again to thwart off The clatter of fears, To hold onto to the peace, The peace that Love sows, The peace that forever blossoms In the nooks and crannies of his soul. He smiles at Her scent, Knowing full well She is here, Still here, Is always here.

A POEM FOR YOUR WEDDING DAY

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Like a faithful sentinel I stood watch day after day, Impatiently waiting for the sun To run its course, to trip over itself, To, at last, tumble backward over the horizon, Giving way, of course, to the sky To light my dreams, one by one, Each and every night. You were there in every dream, Your luscious body next to me. Sadly I awoke, day after day, To the sun, the empty space next to me. Once again, I would rise from my dreams, Impatiently stand watch, Waiting for nightfall, so I could fall, Fall in love with you again and again Each and every night. When I told a wise man, My dreaming would soon be over, He warned me Of the darkness that would befall my soul Should I no longer live in my dreams. “Love does not exist in the light of day,” He warned me. “If you insist upon coming to your senses, Love will only fade away, just like the stars. “It is time, now,” he said, To live in your dreams Even when you are awa

FATHERING

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Fathering: A little bit of instinct, hidden In that treasured pocket of your genes. A  chunk of love The size of your heart. A life-time supply of self-respect, Needing none from your children. A memory overflowing with compassion,  Remembering well what it is To be angry, hurt, Withholding, stubborn, lost. A precious soul all too familiar, Familiar with the blasphemous fallacy: So-called tough love, Too often indistinguishable From abandonment and cainful revenge. A beloved heart, perhaps broken  But healing, Healing one’s own father wounds. The ingredients of Fathering. They are always there, There for your offspring, Perhaps even for a stranger, Perhaps even for yourself. No matter, The ingredients are always there, There for the trying on, for the wearing, for the taking, For the being. Happy Father’s Day To all who choose to be Fathers In the many different ways we can be Fathers.

THANK YOU MAYA ANGELOU

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Photography from   http://www.womenscouncil.org/cd_web/Angelou.html   Intense, Rhythmic,  Ah, elegant, Fully resonant her voice. Her creations Perhaps not for the eyes But for the ears only. From deep within the caverns of her soul, Her carefully-chosen words Put bow to those Godly strings Harmonically vibrating like a cello.  Sounds, yes music, we shall miss, Yet etched forever  Deep within our own poetic souls.

MARIANNE BYER'S COLLATION

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I endured my first steps into the morning. The cold pavement greeted me. The Son soothed me. The road led to the first meal of my day. Christ in his entire filled my gnawing heart, Like gentle morning dew, He awakened me from my sleep. Returning home the Son blinded my eyes, Encouraging me to see the path In which he was leading me. Suddenly,  Sounds and smells of my childhood Engulfed me. Sparrows, Lilacs, Blue jays, And doves, Summoned me. I consumed the second meal of my day. And the longings, Mother Father Brother Sister They arose Serving me bittersweet treats, I struggled through the third meal of my day. And then the Son, Sparrows, Lilacs, Blue jays, Doves, Mother, Father, Brother, Sister, Ushered me up the walk. The welcoming smell of sausage Brought a smile to my face. I was home. My husband