Poetry

I did not think I would find it in me to do any more work today. I am not well settled with myself, and I am sorry if it disturbs you to know this. Worry not. Days are challenges, always, just some tear at me worse than others. I was reading and realized a poem wanted to be. For me, when the words shimmer and trill, I better busy myself, or I will be more ill than ill. So be it…

Poetry

The graceful leap of ideas –

Casting lures aptly baited
With irresistible word
Gathered, (stolen), from dragon hordes
And memorized vocabulary of
Spelling Bees.
Late nights, (early hours), spent
Flashlight reading
Under covers fresh warm surround,
Pouring over dictionaries, encyclopedias,
Maps, travel brochures, thesauruses,
As many as would be found.
Studying Bible verses and ancient poets
Until meaning is engraved on who one is,
Seeking images, highlights, making
Adventure in every visited space,
Harmonies, lyrics, melodies lightly stored,
Every experience questioned, explored,
Each day providing, proving mystery,
Reasons, motives, dissected, laid bare.
Love throughout it all, yet doubt, fear,
Dual vines growing untempered,
But love more potent than any adversary
Filling heart, mind, soul with those
Sensibilities needed to become complete –
Writing the poems acquired for the desire
Of the choosing to sufficiently compete.

An instrument, malleable, beloved
Desiring to encourage, inspire, love,
Through the application of gifts.

I am most fortunate. There is much for which to be grateful, many graces we never realize. It is my hope that all of you remain safe and well. That you take this time while some things take a time-out to renew relationships and do some of the things you often don’t but enjoy.

Maybe the lesson for us is appreciation, sometimes we are so caught up we lose sight of blessings. Gratitude is a beautiful way to honor love and life.

Create. Creativity is destiny.

It’s Alright

You don’t have to hide
You are not called to carry
It all alone deep inside;
The fear, the struggle, the hurt,
It is okay to break the silence.
There are places of safety
Some people care tremendously,
Even when you feel broken
Mending can happen, scars
Can stop festering and heal.
It is hard to tell the story
Of what you have become,
But to find your freedom
To secure your peace, you
Need to share what is real.
Others can wipe your tears
They can hold your hands
Hugs can give security to wail,
Then you may find the strength
To go on, prevail, and flourish.
You can be surrounded by
Support, understanding, and
Love enough to lift you up
Helping you realize, even when
You are weak, it’s alright.

No Wrong Answers

Creativity provides
Space, time, for the expression
Of all Love’s dimensions
Without failure, only learning
Gaining foundations
Of practical experience.
Every endeavor undertaken
Projects an aspect of truth
Leading imagination deeper
Into the molten heart
Of what possibility transmutes
When volcanic forces pour.
Explosions harnessed
Incur the success craved
When visualizing potential
In an environment of hope
Cultivated despite perceived
Calamities, dysfunctions, mistakes
Which contain probability kernels.
Questions generate no wrong
Answers only unbarred doors
To worlds wherein falling
Is profit moving forward
Because it encourages increasing
Attempts until mastery is acquired
And eventual satisfactory completion
Providing an upswelling surge
In the sense of peace and tranquility.

As a prompt, grab a Thesaurus or Dictionary, physical not Google, open it up. Take a trip around some pages, maybe jot down a few words that cling to you. Create something.

Attempt At Why

Where the words come from
The space that births each piece
Hallowed heart healed soul
Running warm as bold passion,
Cold uncovered Winter lands
The catch of a cough, hard,
Smooth tones of a close melody
Sung by a Spring roused dove,
Careful magic, Handwritten,
Secrets all given nearly away.
Yet, few discern how, what,
Is seen through such window,
As the aquamarine and white
Delicate lace curtains breezing,
Pull revealingly, appealingly
Aside, for puzzlement dominates,
But a writer may invite
With effort, join the reader
Such that minds meet, release
Lofty innovations, wild free thoughts,
So essence transmits, is caught.
However, the life of words
Is tied to a far foreign shore
Where there are difficulties
With innocence of travel
In the trouble of this technical
Ridden, cynically inclined time.

Wield Love

The world is sore, hurt,
Hearts are aching, some breaking,
There is a need, more;
A light to shine against darkness,
A love to restore hope, dreams,
A requirement here, now, to meet,
To wrap snug comforting arms
Around those who weep for peace.
We each are an answer for doubt,
Fear, pain, hurt damaging, deranging
Others, liken to who we are,
We give the hands, hearts, lives,
Provide at this moment
And wield loving care, ample goodness
For the benefit of every soul
Residing in this troubled world.
We are chosen, given faith,
To stand for love, sharing blessing,
Finding delight in the company
Of those presently escaping night.

That is the last of what I have so far written. Maybe I will relax, but I do not count on it. When the words wish, they come. I cannot turn them away as if no one were home. Did I, I might later find they would stop. Yes, I have some superstitions about this gift, talent, that makes no sense being given to me. I let it have a place and time when it chooses. I think my life would be a desert without it.