A Family Christmas Gift


Sometimes what has been said once needs to be repeated.   There is a substance to the word that speaks not only to the young but to the ones who care mightily for them.   It is the kind of family gift that will bridge generations and allow the young to try their wings no matter their age.    It is with this in mind that I repeat a poem that brought response from many.  And to my readers who celebrate a holy day(s) or holidays, I wish happiness and the desire to care deeply for life’s lessons. In them are the keys  that will open worlds to view.

A Christmas Gift

I lay the swords
beneath the evergreens,
but you knew that.
I also lay old grievances upon the swords,
for we have outgrown them.
They will be buried
low beneath the branches
so there will be no weapons to carry.

I will not burden my own with my dreams,
for in another world they have taken root.
The pattern of my days
with intensity and desire, shaped them.

There will be new dreams
for the young to fulfill.
No reason anymore for the old
to lay upon the freshly crafted heart
the chafings of their envious spirit.

Life is weighted gold,
so sacredly guard it.
I wish to lay to rest the long held grief
that each new generation
must assume the ancients’ maladies.
If anguish resides,
let us undo what we have done.
We give birth to those we hope
to be the best of who we are.
Children are no one’s property.
Their gift is to find and renew
their own sense of self.
To be given life in any dimension,
is to be hugely gifted.

Come,  lay your swords beneath the evergreens.

photo by John Holmes

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To Begin Again. . . .a Christmas Gift

IMG_20140904_134406_039 (2)

To family and dear friends who have been married for many decades and wish to give each other a gift with much hope attached,  I give to you this gift of words to tuck into your card of love.   Do not concern yourself that these words will be misunderstood.  For love speaks in waves of gentle understanding to smooth harsh smudges that would blot years of hard work.  To find oneself leaning now when one has been a tower to be leaned against appears to dwarf one’s legacy.   There is much yet to come.  Whether here or elsewhere, hearts will always be grateful for what has been given and so well received.  Take these words to heart.  It is a Christmas gift to you.


To Begin Again. . .  a Christmas gift


Come,  sit with me awhile.
Let the anger of bygone years
bury itself.   Put your hand in mine
and let our fingers twine.

Let us sit and talk of slights
made uneasy in the light of laughter,
of the grief that burned the heart
fan itself into flames
to kindle a million stars.

Let us look to the God in us
that unites the Thy in Thine
and the My in Mine,  happily.

Where can we go from here?
To where the sun need not warm,
the moon pales and
nights and days are quicksilver.

Come, we shall dance.
Across the moonlit waters, we crest.
We leap higher than the horizon and soar!
For we have taken on invisible wings
and spurned the dailyness.
Together we’ve buried the hurts and grief
to allow them their natural death.

But us, Us!
Together we scale mountains
we one day will build.
And set fire to a sun that will warm a heart
and light a moon

that a new world can love by.

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The Loving Place. . . . .a Christmas gift


The Loving Place

A home, a hearth,
the loving place that nurtures
the fragile psyche,
granting each the right
to perceive the universe
as is his to perceive.

Building memories
year upon year,
granting courage
for the hurting moments
and bearing them.
Yet yielding to
the greater truth that life
continues to be good.

Granting the right for each
to leave and grow away,
knowing that the warmth and love
of hearth and home
can be reached by going inward
to the loving place

you helped me build.

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With A Glad Heart


The question was put to me, how does one teach an Other how to envision the larger picture? Especially when it comes to work? Sweaty work. Weeding gardens or fields of cucumbers? How does one teach another that to look at work from another perspective will give the person a different feel for what it is they do? I spoke to a younger about these words I put on the wall quilt. If I could not see the forest I said, I would not see the beauty of the trees. I explained that only by looking at the greater picture of humanity, could I see the beauty in the person. Yet I wrote about trees. It applies also to all things. Only by seeing what it is we do or see as part of the greater picture, meaning that what we do for one person we do for all beings, will we see our individual input as meaning something. It is only then we see our uniqueness in the fuller scale of earth life. But we need mental footwork to be able to see this. It requires an attitudinal change as well before our perspective changes. It means that our effort will benefit all as well as be for our own sake. If our attitude only takes us to our own end with nothing beyond, it becomes of utmost importance that what we do here will benefit those who come after us. They will be our progeny and they deserve the best we can do. Our world becomes smaller each day so our perspectives must grow to include the larger picture. We are charged with a sacred duty.  Let us do it with a glad heart.

Effort Becomes The Way

Take ye and do likewise He said
and I believed Him.
When effort becomes the way
and in a blink of an eye,
becomes a pleasure, nay fun,
one becomes suspect.

For in layman’s terms
work is not pleasure
but desultory means
of making a living.

Woe is the pilgrim
who in life respects
the physical means
of procuring sustenance.
That in its secret
one finds the ultimate answer.

The Virtue is in the labor
and Beauty in the doing.



click on wall quilt

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Give A Moment of Thought. . . . .



What it is we desire, is often delivered in spades.

Trophies do not always hang on walls.  Often they hang on the heart.

It is more than all right to feel kindly about oneself.   It is the only home one has for this space in time.

Oftentimes what we call a mind set is an actual location of the spirit on its route toward its destiny.

Yield always to the heart.   It strongly upholds when argument does not.

Race the night to its completion for the morning will arrive and demand something from you.

You are everything your god is.

Angels appear disguised in everyone’s frame of reference.   Their robes and wings are now other costumes.

She told him,  ‘I cavort with the gods and my soirees are on Mt. Olympus.’
‘Jesus Christ,  Mother!’  he shouted.
‘Ahhhh’. . . she said.  ‘I know him well,  too’. . . . .

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No Need For Words




No Need For Words


The silence is comforting.
No need for words because
we have said them all,
have we not?

The I love you has been
our greeting for centuries past
and our eyes speak
the loving endearment now.

Hands become numb
in the slightest chill,
needing gloves, nay mittens,
even while the sun still warms.

Sad, you think,
old fools to need comforts
which no longer comfort
and do not need words
for they have all been said.

There will come a time
when new ventures in new worlds
will pale in comparison to the
honored words saying I love you.

But will we remember
the feelings that raced our hearts
with unthinkable speed,
taking our breath with it?

The ways to love will be new, you say
but I will still

need your arms to comfort me.

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We chanced from the wellspring to become living water. We were poured from a pitcher and flowed into a cup. We are the cup and we hold the living water. The part that stayed behind we call our God. . . . .not knowing we are the God that came. And what our heavenly counterpart we pray to do for us, we can do also. We work in tandem for this we vowed to do. And we do.

 If we are not proud of who we are, we can change that attitude. If we do not like what we do,we can change what we do. If we do not love as much as we think ourselves capable of loving, we can love more. We can be more caring, we can be diligent and persevere. We can be more capable, we can sweat and work harder. We can only press ourselves, but this we can do, responsibly.

 There is no one responsible for our actions, but us. There is no one to blame for our carelessness, but us. There is no blame to place on anyone, for our unhappiness, but us.    Our God is helpless when the God in us cannot be reached. It is one body of God as we are one body of Man. The face of God blends all faces of Gods as the face of one man blends all faces of Man. And they are one face.

 It is not useless to pray our prayer to our personal God, for God will reach the rich open bed of the God in Man when ready. And then responsibly we work for change. In ourselves, for then our success in being at one will be the only example other men will need to change themselves.

 And thus the Great Experiment we call Earth Life may succeed where we are. Great lessons will be learned and we will have stressed ourselves. And laid groundwork for a life we die to and rise in place in another, knowing we made it home after graduation. Neat plan, but already we were given these directions many times before.

 Many worlds, many lives, many lessons, for life is a continuum and it is everlasting. And if however far we go and our life on earth being not one minute too long nor one minute too short,  we will take what it is we require, so we can begin to give again.  For giving is what it is about.

 With the living water in us, our well never runs dry when primed.

photo by John Holmes


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Dear Emmy. . . . .



I have long had a deep affection for the poet/philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson. He has been a faithful friend for more decades than I dare to say. His essays have been a wider lens for my world and worlds. I have dog eared my books and still they are companions. This relationship gives me the privilege of calling him by a dear name of Emmy. He much preferred Waldo to anything but that has had a hard time catching on. Many years ago I wrote the following poem. It was a mind duelogue and still is in process.

Dear Emmy. . . . .

You say,

When the soul of a poet
comes to ripeness of thought,
Nature will detach my poems and songs
and allow not the weariness of time
to ravage them. . . . and allow them
to lodge within the heart of man.

Do you tell me then
that my words will soar
on the wings of the eagle?

Will the black holes swallow
them whole only to come out
on the other side?
Will I meet them face to face
and say these words speak to me. . .
and I would wish to meet their namer?

And what dear Emmy, will they be?

‘that I saw a butterfly dart into a spider’s web
and lift him up and carried him on high. . .
and I wondered . . . how heavy is a butterfly
on a spider’s web?’

My eyes were made to see this
as my heart was born to wonder.
I hear the words the muses speak
and wonder how the world
can be deaf to these silent shouts.

The rain silently nourishes the surrounding lands
and fills the lakes and clarifies the ponds. . .
as the water fowl speak to one another
and marvel their gratitude to their Maker.
I stand before your words and hear you.
You dumfound me for you speak my thoughts.
But I know there will be few who ponder
their meaning and many who will not
have heard of you.

And yet dear friend, I’ve treasured you
since I found you aeons ago
and held your words fast to my heart.

Keep on writing, I hear you whisper
on the chance that a few words will find a home
in a one and say, aha, that is how it is with me.
And a life will be changed and they will live.
And the muses will continue to speak
to a one who has kept the pipes free of corrosion
and the word kept untarnished

for you will have cared enough.

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Because I Know

Angels We Have Heard - DetailThis is an idea spoken of since man first began to think about the purpose of life.   Or perhaps his purpose on this planet.   It deals with the idea that  everything is connected throughout the ethers.   That nothing happens in and of itself but is the result of an action happening because of a previous action elsewhere.   However long ago.   Our purpose,  however wrought with meaning as we think or not,   is the result of perhaps a stone let loose on some distant hill, rolling and crashing onto a field.    The storm in the night is the result perhaps of an argument lamenting the arduous activity of sea lions in some obscure waters.   The idea remains cleverly innate in heads looking for reasons to believe that of itself nothing exists.   We are connected,  one to another and one event tied tightly to all of life.   It is with this idea in mind that this poem came to be.

Because I know. . . .
I see worlds in motion,
taking a portion
of each one’s talent
for their own survival.

This is what I do with my hands,
this motion of knitting yarns
to form a piece of world
to fit the mind of an elusive soul.

See here, I, content in what I do,
I free a soul to do
the Great God’s bidding
in keeping a world in motion.

See again. . . I give of my Self in this time,
to free an Other
to build what may be
the perfect Universe or many.

So content, this that is mine to see,
a great plan, a strategy,  yet unheard .
It may not be for centuries that
my knitting fingers will alert the senses
of a soul to keep in motion,
a Life, a Being, an Idea.

Sit here with me . . . and
show my hands what to do
and they will do . . . . .
The task, so simple will gather
other talents and make for itself
the grand design, futures down the line.

A bidding,  the nature
of what has never been seen before.
I know it and because I know,

you will know it also.

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A Deliverance


I don’t know where I either heard the story or read it somewhere it has been so long that it lay within me. It goes like this. There were three wise men. They were in a huddle deciding where they would hide God. One said let us put Him in the sky. No one will find Him there. No, another said. Let us hide Him in the ocean deep. No one will think to find Him there! But the third one said, let us hide Him within Man. No one ever will think to look for Him there! So that is where God is hidden. Within Man. And the idea that within Man is the Divine still waits to be uncovered. And waits and waits and waits.

 A Deliverance

 There is a deliverance into the journey of self.. The deliverance will deliver and the God within will use whatever means to bring forth courage using the talents of the individual. It works this way. When we least expect ourselves to rise to the need, our Divine Self will nurse what little talent we have and with a courageous thrust lift us to the bar and over it. The bar will be what we have set for ourselves and in that secret place where we think we cannot meet it, we will. We do. Maybe not a whole lot that we would aspire to but more likely, more than what we thought possible.

Society wishes to keep one forever young. A grinning and jolly soldier for profit. Society would have us jumping up and down with excitement all the time in a reality show that has no basis. They would have us striving for the latest in gadgets and want us to believe that we cannot live meaningful and rewarding lives unless. . . .whatever the latest catch phrase is. Only releasing oneself to oneself will one be able to grow up and by doing so, be given the whole world. And that definition will not be thought ever again to be the toys of the world.

How do I know , or how will one know what will be the correct way to grow and be? By their fruits we were told. Or as a very dear and wise friend said, by the pattern of our days. The fruit does not fall far from the tree. When what you do is good, and we all know when we do what is good, for your brother, for your Self, it will be good forever for everyone. You will do good not only for this world when you do good for one, but for all hearts and hearths and for all worlds. That is the way it works and why have we forgotten this very important lesson?

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