Poems

The Spark Of God From Whence I Came I closed my eyes just for a moment When the invitation came To travel beyond the darkness Into the rich velvety midnight blackness Stretching inward,  Reaching into the caverns The caverns of my soul. Against my customary clinging To caution and safety, The invitation led me. Seemingly reckless and dangerous, I continued to follow Deeper and deeper Into the rich velvety midnight blackness, Eventually fading ever so slightly, Giving rise to a faint glow On what I could only presume Was the horizon of my soul. A distant flickering spark Now grabbed me like a wave Pulling me ever closer Till I was immersed in the spark. It was inexplicably familiar Like I was home. And I knew, I knew, This was the spark of God From whence I came. I had no desire to leave. The need to conquer anything Anything at all, including evil, Slipped away. “This is the place to live Even in the

AUTUMN Autumn Was her favorite time, Time of year. Colors― Ambers, Burnt oranges, Deep reds― Warmed our home Which she adorned with leaves, Leaves preserved to remind us Of Autumns past and present. Now, She has passed far beyond Even the Autumn of her own Earthly life To a place not a soul here Knows about. And yes, It’s October again. And yes, I miss her so.

MY HEALED HEART “Thank you, God For my healed heart.” A prayer I have been repeating Over and over again  For the last two and one half years. And with the prayer the obvious:  excitement and joy. Yes, for the last two and one half years. You see, with God There is no time. So I will continue repeating Over and over again, “Thank you, God For my healed heart.” Feeling the obvious: excitement and joy.

Painted by Roberta Bradley A Possessive Lover Indeed As many todays As people on the face of earth. One for each of us. Have you claimed yours today? I’ve been wanting to give mine away In exchange for tomorrow’s catastrophes, Worse, next month’s catastrophes. “Breathe,” she tells me. I breathe in slowly. Exhaling, Blowing out the candles One by one, One for each catastrophe. “Hold me,” Today whispers, Close to your heart. I am yours, You are mine, if you wish. I’m all you need.” Taking comfort in our embrace I take a deep deep breath and another. “I’m so lucky I have you,” I whisper back.

A SWEET LIFE (however bitter) Sunshine trickling through The branches gently swayed By a silent barely-detectable breeze, Like your sweet life sifting Sifting through time Like powdered sugar, sprinkled-dusted On a dozen warm donuts in the cold Heat of winter, On a dozen warm donuts in the cool Heat of summer morns. Yes, sunshine trickling Trickling through Like sixty five years, Years of a sweet life.

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

Perhaps too late, Perhaps not, I really had no idea Who you were or who you are. I knew you were different Perhaps even divine. I knew I wanted to run with You, Well, until it came to this, And then I ran the other way. I never saw it coming, That you would be arrested. I surely wasn’t willing to take on, To fight the Roman soldiers. I admired Peter Drawing his sword and attacking, But you, for some strange reason, Insisted he put his sword away. Why was that? So many things you shared with us, So many things you did, None of them we understood. I woke this morning hoping Hoping perhaps you were here again, Hoping perhaps you could hear me. I am running now, Obviously not running with You. They killed you, they did. Well, I guess I killed You. I certainly abandoned You. But I’m running to where they laid You Hoping, Hoping beyond the beyond, Perhaps even dreaming, Dreaming I will find You

Photo by Istvan Markus. In They Need Someone.Will We Be The One? http://devotedconversations.com/they-need-someone-will-we-be-the-one/ As we approach Holy Week, We often marvel, Marvel at how much Jesus loved us, Loved us enough to die for us. We are moved Contemplating the face of Jesus, Blood dripping, crowned, Crowned with thorns; His body whipped and bleeding. Veronica's veil , by  Claude Mellan (c. 1649). http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Face_of_Jesus Finally, His body hung, Hung on a cross with nails, Nails in his hands and feet. The final insult of a spear, A spear thrust through Thrust through his side, into his heart. I pray us to continue, To continue looking at Jesus’ face, Jesus’ tortured body. Now, take the risk, The risk to remove our belief, Our belief that Jesus was crucified For our salvation. Take the risk to suspend our notion That Jesus’ body is tortured by our sins. It’s certainly a soothing be

Pinned from mentalalchemy.tumblr.com T ell me about the stars,” she said. “Their shimmering sparkling Scream shining.  Only remnants? How can that be?” she asked. “What perhaps is,” I said “Or perhaps what once was, Screams, as you say, across the universe, Finding its way to a minute opening In both time and space, Into the inner circle of your vision And beyond, where By the time you cherish the star, It may be alive in the heavens or maybe not. “So stars are different from love,” she said. “For love may at times Scream across the great expanse, The universe of you and me,  But unlike the stars, The love we see, The love we cherish, The love that plays rhythms, Rhythms on our hearts Is always there. Love leaves no remnants, No light years to calculate, No years at all. Like you and me, Love just is. Yes, we Just are – Love.

Huffing and puffing, Moving my feet at a quickened pace, Three and half miles per hour To be exact, The sun, Still blinding and irritating, although It had begun its decent to its hiding place Somewhere behind the ever-changing horizon, (It just never sits still that horizon), I rested a half-dozen times at least To capture the yellow beast in its daily twilight ritual. With my digital lasso, of course. My own twilight ritual. When only a narrow band of autumn-burnt orange remained, The curious specter appeared. Her bright venusian light Dispersed into five sparkling diamonds By my glassless eyes, Appearing like a distant marquis,  Called to me. “Who are you?” I whispered in my heart. “It’s me,” you replied.