Category Archives: poetry

Poetic Justice … you can take it with you

Journalism reports yesterday’s news.
Like the weather,
it needs no re-cap.
No sense keeping that around.

Fiction tells a good story.
Entertaining, but unless
those characters make a home with us,
one and done.

yet…

Poetry bears telling and re-telling,
reading and re-reading.
Poems speak newness,
reading into us, as we are new.
The one we are (the me who reads)
is new, with each reading.

peotry words

Yesterday’s poem
holds no sway over today’s me.
Perhaps, a look and see
at how it affected me.
How I landed there. then.

But today lifts off into a new wind,
under new weather conditions.
Today the poem is a completely new flight.
New flight plan, same pilot.

There is no quenching living words,
they continue to speak:
to draw the heart out
to fill the soul up
to still, no activate, no ignite, no…
distill … can’t make up my own mind,
must let it make itself.

These are powerful words that propel me:
to places I’d never go otherwise,
with people I’d never meet otherwise,
except
that I came to the poem,
and it met me there
but didn’t leave me there,
didn’t leave me at all.
It stayed.

What is a poet
but one who lives a life that speaks?
Your life speaks.
It’s poetry
as you write it —
see how it changes you,
as you write
and they,
as they read.

Write that.

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Punch holes in your fears

Fear hovers like fog.
It gathers, hesitates, stays.
We read what confirms.
See, I am right to be afraid;
I have reason to fear.

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Light dims
Pulling up our covers, to
our hideout, our cocoon, our tent.
Safety suffocates…
if not self imposed,
then self-perpetuated.

Punch holes in what frightens you.
Not with fists,
but with learning,
with truth,
with prayer,
by conversation with a trusted confidante.

Pepper your fears with puncture.
Then, look through them
to what they’ve been hiding:
the life God imagines for you.

Step into it.

Still, not stationary

Still.

Is it even possible
to be still,
in the presence of one who
is never still?
Mirror neurons, they
are a-buzzin’

How is it
that God,
who is stillness,
is strength and power,
endurance and accomplishment,
rest and calm,
undiminished all?

While I,
overtaken by sorrow at the weeping,
muffled by the world’s accounting,
leaden with the weary travelers,
am overcome by the task
of stillness.

Stilled by God,
Ah, stilled by God,
I am still, not stationary.
Poised in power,
Coiled in crouch,
Ready and waiting.
Neurons, they
are a-buzzin’

Still.

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