IT IS YOU AFTER ALL



Passers-by admire, oh yes admire.
Rich, moist, freshly-turned, seemingly yearning
For Your gentle fingers to push through
So many invisible layers with new seeds.
A perennial or two perhaps You’ll grace me
To stop this endless planting.

Ah, how no one knows
The rich, moist, freshly-turned
Feels raw to me, quite naked, 
Fearful of the winds, the rains
Flooding through to places in my soul
Where no roots abound
Only memories. Memories of untold,
Unplanned, unexpected up-rootings.
Memories of blossoms long since bloomed, scuttled,
Buried for mulch or burnt
Mercilessly in a pile of clippings, cuttings,
Pruned limbs, not even dead.



❦
It sometimes takes me days,
Sometimes weeks,
Sometimes many a conversation with You
To open my eyes and see and hear,
To notice this small patch “work,”
Is but a small patch in an endless garden 
Where I get to live with You
Forever and ever.

So now that I have come to my senses,
Will you please stop digging
Around in this patch work of my soul,
And find some other fool to cultivate,
Season after season, your forever changing dreams?
Can we not just rest together?
Forget the work?
Yes, let the weeds grow.

As I suspected,
Your answer is No.
So being the foolish dirt that I am
I guess I will submit,
And find some foolish pride
In being your prize patch work.

Or perhaps
My rich, moist, freshly-turned me 
Can foolishly alchemize my fear to love
Where I do yearn for
Your gentle fingers pushing through
So many invisible layers of my soul,
Remembering it is You,
After all.


POETS NOTES
     Today, is March 09, 2014, the anniversary of my Grandfather's death, killed in a seemingly unnecessary accident.  In my life, I sometimes feel like the dirt in the garden, and I imagine my Dad really felt like the dirt in the garden when the knock on the door came to announce the most awful news.
     I know my Dad struggled for years trying to give some meaning to this painful event.  I am grateful that I have people in my life, including my Senior Partner, who love me so deeply, which means sometimes they go digging around in my soul in ways I protest and do not understand, but somehow, someway. I keep recognizing that I get to be in their gardenS, and when the realization comes, I sometimes feel like that little kid looking over the fence, trying to take in the expanse of it all.  And I am learn to dream it all into the wonder filled  life that it is.  I AM.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

AN EASTER POEM: IT IS TIME

Image
We are born to love and be loved.  Our brain is literally wired for love.  But it doesn't take much for us to begin protecting ourselves from love.  It begins very early, sometimes from the beginning.    We are all imperfect parents, and sometimes we unwittingly abandon our children, sometimes with the good intentions of teaching them life's lessons, not knowing that the lesson we teach is to protect yourself from love.  As parents, in a moment of frustration, we have all said something like, "After all the terrible things you said to me, including that you hate me, and now, you want me to give you a hug?  Really?  Maybe tomorrow!"    I know, for myself, my almost 70 year journey continues.  I continue to learn how deeply I have buried my heart and my soul to protect them both from what seems to be the pains of love.  The reality is that love is not painful.  Love is wonder filled.  But by the time we get to a place in our life when we can experience mature love
Read more

MARIANNE BYER'S COLLATION

Image
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
Read more

THANK YOU MAYA ANGELOU

Image
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.
Read more