Archive | October, 2012

The Housekeeper

The Housekeeper. Illustration by Claudia Hallissey

There bellows a wind
around the turrets
of the mind’s house,
ripping under gutters,
sweeping under eaves,
leaving no residue.

Clean, chaste
as the sweet wind,
stands she exalted.
Prudently swiping at corners
to eliminate even
the shadow of contamination
on her brother’s name.

In good time,
in due time,
the world will be
swept clean
and her father’s house
will sparkle.

 

 

4

Come Into My Kitchen

Come into my kitchen
and use the back door.
Only dear friends are allowed to
walk right into
the center of my home.

Others have to earn the right
by walking through the halls
of my life to get to
the heart of my home.

But you can come
to the back door.

I will let you in.

 

0

nuggets

Your heart will teach in ways the world cannot.

 

What is not finished here will be finished elsewhere.
This is called the long view.   It is a choice.

 

When everything becomes a moral decision it
means that issues have been dragged through
the heart.

 

To suffer means to be aware of the damage
you do to the ones you care about.

 

Look always to where the sun rises and sets.  It
is but half a world.

 

Dimensions are but changes in perspective.  As
one world fades, another emerges where we have
earned the right to be.

 

As long as the eye beholds and another heart beats
to receive, there will be reason to keep breathing and
not give up.

 

The unfed Spirit is just as hungry as the unfed body.

 

Remember that when love does not accompany
the gift, there is no gift.

 

Uneventful is a merciful condition and that in itself
is a large blessing.
2

The Strange Bequest

There was a man, a slim man,
whose head was bedecked
with a white cloud
and whose eyes saw dreams
he could not articulate.

He sat one day staring into space
and when I questioned him, he said,
`I am sitting and watching the grass grow.’
I hesitated far too long
and have lived to regret it.

I wish the courage had been mine
to have asked him
to share his dreams with me.
For he bequeathed to me
a mind that does not rest.

I have the thought that his faher
and father before him
wrestled the same misty vision
which now is mine to set in motion.

I question this strange bequest,
for I have not
the staunch heart required
to lay to rest my ancestor’s anguish.

Papa, I plead now,
to replace my heart with hot ore,
inject me with a vial
of celestial courage
and fuse my spine with tempered steel.

There is so little time.
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