Tattooed By Grace

hat on the boatTatooed By Grace

All fades
Sun drenched  life reduces Technicolor to sepia
Brown is beautiful
A memory lingering
Is a memory
Still
No tattoos in my mind mark my mind
But ask me to recall
And I will
Reconstitute
What is there
Resurrect
What my senses bear
And remember
We are saved, sometimes
By the faint and faded
Waxing and waning
White ink tattoos
Branded, blazed
Dimmed by pain
Flood with memory
Rest, then leap
Remain
Dormant, changed
Ingress and egress of tidal
Pools, float, then swell
Framed motion, still life, and movie reels
Shift the pace of going back
And forth
When we can
Peel back the skin, reveal
A healed
Scar
Hold the remembering
Then
Maybe
Not before

A life
Tattooed
By grace.

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Joining Tweetspeak Poetry for their poetry prompt this month “Tattoos”.

And inspired in part by writer friend Sarah Markley at Sarah Markley dot com, her words and heart in today’s post “Hope and Grace”. Thank you Sarah, your words are always a gift. And today’s so very very lovely.

Swallowed Up In Time

wpid-IMG_20130430_184203.jpgBuried in the moments like pilings in the pluff-mudd, anchored in the sea, the weight they hold, they bear as
I am
And yet
Carried out in waves of tears, these child years washed me over too fast so fast I fear
I am
Marking, filing, data while I watch these scenes played out of children coming in and growing ones go out
We are
Safe in piles of snowy down and laughing on my bed at something, nothing
They are
Traveling moving on through portals of a life and years are catching up to me, beginnings tagged as endings
I am fighting against
Time
Drowning in an ocean of bittersweet
I weep
A mix of tears
More joy than any other, mingled in the salty mix.

Jesus and The Barefooted Man

IMG_20130506_105114

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Jesus and The Barefooted Man

In the sixties she sat on red-velvet and stared at dead mink eyes
Staring back at her while she listened to the sermon
Teased hair, hats and some white gloves, confetti sprinkled among the faithful
The South, the  Methodists,
The pearls, sprinkled on a few
Folks listening or planning lunch at the Country Club later
Prime rib or fried chicken, thousand island or blue cheese, sweet tea or sweet tea

And now she wonders about the man with no shoes

He told me the day he went to the Episcopal church without me
I cocked my head and tried to get a visual on the thought
We walked to church a few Sundays later, together down a tree- lined street dripping with moss
On more than a few, old oaks
Passed him, smiling big, he not us
You’re going the wrong way aren’t you?
Headed away from church
He not us
Yeah, going to teach Sunday school
Cheshire cat grin on the barefooted man

And that was the man with no shoes
Seen through the eyes of of the lady who wears the pearls, sometimes
And we sat and rocked and smacked some jaws and asked some questions
Later with folks on the porch
Because this is our sometime home
Who was that man in the barefeet
We asked

And there were opinions and there were things said
And it is still the South
And that is good not bad, but true
Really, we all have a story
And this was an old Episcopal church, after all

Suits and ties, after all

The more I thought
And wondered and took myself down to the deep soul places
I had to dream and cry out to myself
Come Lord Jesus and teach us
Now, how to love all the barefooted souls
Who  sit among the mink and pearls

Show us how to love like you
And smile like we are all barefoot
Walking in the wrong direction

Heck, I think every man Jesus touched
Back in the dusty sandal days was barefooted
Walking

I want to walk beside
And wash and love

All the feet
And know the name of the barefooted man

I loathe labels
But I do love a Cheshire cat grin on a barefooted- man running after Jesus
In the “wrong” direction.

Encouragement: A Prayer, A Poem, A Cry

Mercantile MCVL

One phrase haunts me, chases me down daily.
There is nowhere for me to go but stare at it steely eyed daily.
Wrestle with it, sit with it, stare at it, and ponder what it means for me,
To do.
My recent past dredged this up, dredges it up from the silt daily.
Once I penned some words here, scratched out some heart thoughts.
They have taken on a life of their very own, a heart, legs and off they ran.
All around this interwebby world.
Words can run fast as the wind.
Lace them up with care and grace.

One phrase echoes daily on these pages, behind the scenes in the land of stats.
I can’t come here without seeing them there.
I wrote a piece one time or two, boldly with the words
encouragement, tucked in or standing out front.
That is it – the beginning and the end of this prayer, poem, cry.

When I ask Him what to do with my words
They become my true north but I stray
Clothe in grace, wrap in love, encourage.

The number is big, so I won’t say it, it changes almost daily.
Someone finds me here,
My words and me
Googling, encouragement
A letter of encouragement, encouragement for a friend
Words have wings and I pray
They find good here.

Prayerfully, thoughtfully, deeply I cry out
Oh Lord.

Take the clay of my words, Maker of My Soul.
Grab my pen and guide it while it glides along the page.

She is writing
It’s a work of Wordsworth and poetry and nature and High School English
And I can stand in my mother stance over my daughter dear
And say these words to her
We are two and it is intimate and close
Write it like you want to, just say what you mean
You can do it spills from my heart to hers.
She makes art wobbly shaky on a page.
And I know.

If you came here on a trail of encouragement, following bread crumbs
Find it, friend and grab it
He is standing over you, before you and around you.

God is loving, reigning, holding you in the heavenlies this day.

She is writing,
And it is a work in progress
Clothe her in grace and love.

I am the launcher of words, clothe me in guided grace.

We, lover of You and lover of words, steady each mark of our pen and infuse it and us with You.

Encouragement, may it always live here.
Tucked within the lines of poetry
And prose.

Amen? Amen.

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Joining my precious and encouraging friend Jennifer Dukes Lee today.