-
One World At A Time . . .is enough?
Our focus is a small world. . . When I read this poem I take on another perspective. It is a small world that we focus on here. Never aware that there is another world to the left and one to the right and beneath . Vast. . . I see me holding tight to…
-
In The Quiet Of This Night. . . . . .
In The Quiet Of This Night. . . In the quiet of this night, come to me and we will hold hands and talk, and I will show you from how high up you jumped. The night will love you and envelop you and you will find that in the cold moon there is a…
-
Worn Like A Second Skin. . . . .
The Teacher says do not worry about what others think. They just think differently. And this difference lends a diversity to life that will peal our heart and make us wish to be among humans living time and again. We will wish to work within the limitations, knowing that the things we have learned are…
-
Across The Mind’s Eye. . . .
Across The Mind’s Eye. . . . Laying like whipped icing on the wedding cake, the drifts of snow across the mind’s eye left a clear path to the heart’s memory of the other winters when love closed the doors of the world and cherished me. What were the winters like when the snow stood…
-
Where Can We Go?. . . .
When I was in public grammar school and we were let out for weekly religious class to go to our places of worship, I sat on my hands in the basement of the old church and sweated. I was not answering the priest’s question and knew I would be punished but what he was…
-
We Are What We Know. . . life everlasting. . .
When we reach the point in time that we feel there is no energy to meet another challenge, we relent and let go, we hope lightly, and prepare to depart. We have lived our lives in preparation of our next address. Those who love us know we won’t be disappointed. We, ourselves, probably not so…
-
The Crucible For Memories. . .
We, the each, are nothing but memories. We are the Lord of Memories for ourselves and for those of our commitments. And what we as the crucible for those memories have made of our world. The painful we hope we have overcome and forgiven and the good will have repeated itself forever more. For the…
-
When The Gold Shows. . . .
I wonder how many of us met last night, during the night in the class of Broken Pieces 101. I woke up thinking it was my friend Maria’s (fullmoonfiberart) post I read awhile ago on how we seem to become friends with others who are broken. Perhaps the broken pieces of us want to…
-
Proof That We Came and Were. . . .
‘what is eaten at the table for conversation will determine the digestion of the world’s table.’ the teacher. . . After The Gathering. . . . I take the lemon wax and spray and wipe to a fine polish, the table where food and love have been served. I take the memories from the…
-
For Sitting On The Porch. . . .
Few of us have means to hire out the prep work necessary to maintain our homes. And getting the porch stained and ready to enjoy the summer is ours to do. To sit at night, to wrap up the day, is such a simple thing and yet it is food for our souls we are…