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To See The Day. . .
From Psalms of Love is the following poem entitled ‘To See The Day.’ The emotions and the times were painfully immobilizing. The inner journey means different things to all those who attempt it. I did not realize there was a name for what I was thrust into. All I knew was that I hurt. Heaven…
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The World I Worked To Build. . .
The World I Worked To Build. . . Where hearts open to each other, where minds are keen on learning, and where love intends to see its full bloom. Where beings are intent on growing to their fullness and work becomes a blessing. Do I want much? I want only what I worked and hoped…
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In Memory of a Good Friend. . .
It is written that if you can count good friends on one hand, you are rich. I was right to count myself as a very rich lady. All have already transited, and another one or two still far younger than I, will follow long after me. I want to write what is a good friend…
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We Are The Music. . . .
We Are The Music. . . You say, pull the shade! Or the neighbors will see. I say, What will they see? Us dancing? I rest my head on your shoulder and am happy in the embrace. Us dancing in the kitchen too small to move much, but close…
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For The Holy Day of Heart. . .
Touch Me. . . Lean over and touch that part of me that shows you know where I live. Love me in the way that shows you know who I am. Vulnerable though I be, trusting I am. I love you, knowing the parts of…
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The Fairyland Was Real. . . .
This time you will mentally shape the thoughts for this poem. You will remember the child you were at heart and the times when the world became a fairyland. We all have these memories and we take them out when the world becomes brittle and sharp. With these memories, few that they are, it becomes…
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Camelot Moment. . . .eternity practicing. . . .
When given and we are present in heart and mind, it is a rare gift. I call it a Camelot Moment because it was perfect in itself and yet a confirmation to a philosophy in process. It met with great appreciation when first published and now approaching Valentine’s Day, for new readers, I wish…
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It Is Hard Being Human. . . but a privilege. . . . .
Love her, she is ours. . . . I am grateful for my readers who follow my work though they may not agree and sometimes not understand what I talk about. I overheard one talking to my son and he said he…
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The Heart Knows Its Own Amen. . . .
Oftentimes I have written about the cosmic importance of families and homes and many take this as opposition to the seeming greater importance of worldly concerns. The reality lists toward the impossible harnessing of worldly affairs by adults with hungers left unfed as children when they could have been directed toward good, toward universal…
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Coming To The Sainted Day of Heart. . . .
They are such simple words but for some people to say the words will cost them dearly they think. And yet to another, their lives hang precariously they know if they don’t hear the words soon. When one speaks from one’s heart, the Other intuitively must answer from one’s own, or not answer at…