The Encouragement To Go

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The Encouragement To Go

Sometimes we need the encouragement to step out and into, away or toward.  Sometimes we need a pull or push. The woo, the whisper. The invitation. A delightful plea.

Somedays we hunger for a call. A voice. Excitement. Permission. To hear the old spoken anew.
Somedays we need a new friend, an old friend too. A collision of yeses. A harmony of go’s.

Sometimes we need the repetition of the familiar played to the accompaniment of strings, not brass. Italics not bold. Gentle, not tough. The solo, not the symphony.

Some seasons we respond to age and wisdom not fleeting fancies or current trends. The rose with the thorn, not a re-constituted hybrid.

And we bend in to hear what may have been said all along. Yet suddenly we listen, and hear, and the invitation to go sinks down to the bottommost place of our soul.

To wander and wonder.
To run and soar.
To find and be found.
To discover and uncover.
To rest but not falter.
To store up but not hoard.
To enjoy and be joyful.

Some days we crave a soul full of poetry. To read and weep. To weep and exhale. To make art and be made by it too. To create and be re-created.

And so we go.
Whether out and beyond. To the new and to notice. Or close by to the familiar. Extending or pretending. Dreaming and imagining.

We go. Out and not in.
To others, not ourselves.
In charity and love.
With art and a song.
Seeking the beauty and beautiful. The grace and the gracious.

But in all of our ways, we long for the encouragement of another to just go.
From the Father, the friends, a poet, a child, another, a mother.
Go with glee. Go in love. Go to serve.
Encouraged, awakened, arisen, alive.
We go.
Together.
Never alone.

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Joining Jennifer and Lyli

The Reinvention of Cliches

The Reinvention of Cliches

Blow with me new life into the old stale words
Jump start the broken-down rust heap on the side
Of the road
Propped up on bricks
That is language we left for dead

Re-energize the turn of phrase that is stale
As an old loaf of white bread
That lost its twisty tie-y top
Corners blueing
Left for dead

And just because it’s cliche
Is it false
I would stand on the corner of Broad and Main
Placard in hand
Proclaiming the degrees to which
I loathe cliche

Pitiful they were in my sight
Perhaps It is time to
Re-think
Some of my favorites
Need a second chance.

Starting today
With thinking outside the box
And low hanging fruit
And the tip of the iceberg

Some of these are as old as the hills
I know
And I am frightened to death to even
Suggest to you that
Every cloud has a silver lining
Or that time heals all wounds

Only time will tell if there is
Merit to this

Maybe on second thought
Lemons from lemonade should stay
Dead and buried.

Maybe all bets are off
Afterall
On this idea

On second thought
Maybe I
Always look on the bright side
And am blinded by the light

When really what I had in mind
Was saving the phrase

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication
And keep it simple stupid
And simple is best
And necessity really is the mother of invention

And then again
Maybe banging one’s head
Against a brick wall
Is better left for dead.

Along with other
Blasts from the past

I was wrong
To try to build a better mousetrap
Hoping the world would  beat a path to my door
I cry uncle
And crawl sheepishly

Back to the drawing board.

The Door

Doors with cut out crosses

The Door

How lovely that you walked across the street
Knocked, so politely at my door
As I went
Walking ’round the block
My dogs and

I
Wasn’t even there
To greet you
But I returned
To knock
I almost skipped
To the front door of your white house
Joyously
I find you there
A little cat and mouse
We played.

How lovely that you live across from me
Poet
Lady Wisdom, friend,
Inspiration
Passion for poetry goes between your house
And mine
Giving  gifts of boxes and origami
Laying them gently into my hand
Your words like honey drop, drip, drop
I lap up every syllable I hear, I understand
You

Don’t stop living two doors down
Life is richer when you come to town

My friend I pray that it will be

A good long while
Before we see
Grief
Come knocking at our

Door.
Swing wide the gates of freedom
Between you and me
And sweet poetry.

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Joining Tweetspeak Poetry today for their poetry writing prompt “Doors and Passageways.”

Stretch Me

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Stretch Me

It would not be a stretch
To say
There is a world of hurt
On the other side of the
Street
The table
The pew
The world
This screen
That page

Or that for centuries
We have mastered the fine art
Of turning away

So I
Stepped off the curb
And ran into a couple of hurting
Women
At church today
Touched the tip of the iceberg

And I swear for all the world
I want to get my Masters in the do-over

People there are organs needed
And prayers needed
And children in the middle
Who are scared to death
Of families split apart
People walking, dragging, seeking
Scared

And I want to go pray myself into a frenzy
Enter a convent
And make up for lost time
Praying

I waited in line today
For prayer
And the prayer
Weighed heavy
He knew my story
Served to bear my burden
Because it was his too
Strength in numbers
We need each other
Body of Christ
I am the root canal
You are the hip replacement

Somedays it is a heck of a lot easier
To hide
And hole up
Hide from the busted
Put a Hello-Kitty Band-Aid on it

But man we are needed our there
Warrior
Women
Warrior
Men

I am blown over by the gentle winds
Of conviction
And mercifully
Yes mercifully

Tomorrow I can wake up
Hit my knees
And get a do-over
Get in line
Again

Pray to be stretched

Pray to be moved to tears
Moved to action
Moved to see
Every hang nail, heart ache
Busted lip and broken leg

Stretched at two a.m. for a sister
Soul in need

Finally awake
At last
Fully alive

Stretching arms to heaven
Like the rattling riggings on the Mary-Elizabeth

Dry bones arise, dry bones awake
Dry bones, rejoice.