Here – A Guest Post, A Poem, Holly A. Grantham

 

wpid-20140119_143950.jpg

 

 

I am honored to have my poet friend Holly Grantham guest posting here today. She and I have been friends through poetry, writing and blogging and have even partnered together on a poetry series entitled Adagio: A Poetry Project. Holly and I played with words on the page from miles upon miles apart, penning three poems. (The offerings in this series may be found at the end of Holly’s guest post). While the project is on a pause of sorts, Holly’s words continue to bring me joy. She is an artist and crafts beautiful poetic prose and poetry.

In her poem entitled Here, Holly’s words sing of her unique perspective on this life. And yet we hear, feel and even crawl into the space Holly inhabits. Holly invites. She delights. And her art is extraordinarily crafted.

+++++++++

wpid-20140119_143800.jpg

Here

I’m cooking dinner and
only because the days are getting longer
does the light still filter in
through the clouded window that
needs replacing
The pane is nearly opaque
but not muddled enough
to keep my eye from catching
the fluttering of a bird at the feeder
repositioning himself
to find more seed

While I cut broccoli
the baby sits on the counter
flapping his arms
like the bird outside
screeching with glee
drool dripping like honey
from his mouth
the bud of a tooth peeking
out from swollen gums

I set down the knife
and sip my wine in the pause
while through the tilted glass I can see
the edges of the room stained
crimson and swirling
catching light
glowing

Floating atop the life noise
clattering within these walls
a quiet song sways with being here
now
and I freeze
because something down deep
is stirred and righted
and in a twinkling the words of
Buechner that I read earlier today are
tangible and throbbing
framing the moment
as miracle

I’m remembering now
how every morning
glory pools in my lap while I’m
nursing my babe
legs crossed and warm
eyes still drowsy with sleep
and I’m afraid I miss it most days
in the wanting something more

I look back out the window and
the light has dimmed
but is tinged with orange now
the bird has gone but
the baby shouts a loud hallelujah
and I turn to him
his eyes flickering candles
Yes
I am here
now

 

++++++++++++++++++++++

blades of grass adagio project

 

Holly pens beauty at her writing home A Lifetime of Days . Follow her on twitter @HollyAGrantham .

photo

Adagio: A Poetry Project is currently comprised of three offerings. The first, entitled Writing Across The Distance may be found here, the second entitled Black Night Of Hope may be read here and the third Les Mains

A Sea Of Humanity

sunset over jeremy creekA Sea of Humanity

I dreamt I dove into the sea
Amid a throng of voices
Singing wild and free
Where echo upon echo of happy
Babble broke
Rippling wave on wave from lip to lip
I closed my eyes
And drifted off into the dream

Each scene appeared as memory
Of years before
Where nothing changed
Yet everything had
And you were there
And you were too
I turned off my light
And sailed off into my daydream
Or was it night
I was not sure

The fog rolled in
Then out again

The sea was calm
The sun was out

And redemption played
A symphonic and melodious song
(Does it know any kind but this)

Of this and that
Of years ago
And days before
When Winter’s blues
Were providing cover
Before the days when
Spring crept in
And drowned out
Winter
With her love

I was there and so were you
We swam in calm and peaceful
Seas
Of friendship
In an ocean wide and free
Made of all
Humanity

You were there
And so were you
And I was too

I dreamed I dove into
The sea of greens and blues
Of foam and salt
And crying gulls and diving pelican
I floated on my back
And sang a song of
Coming back
My eyes were closed
But not my heart

I heard you whisper
Welcome back
Into the calm
No longer raging seas

Of humanity
Wave on wave
Of grace
We swam, together
You
And me

Into the deepest part
Into the depths of our
Humanity
++++++++++++++++

On Mondays I am with Laura #AtTheWellspring

 

Surprised By God

wpid-20140119_143950.jpg

Surprised by God

She wasn’t speaking the obvious, really
It was a bit confessional
Or whining
Or a primitive guttural prayer
This is the problem with memoir
She thinks
Or believes
Or was it just musing
Truth was she did say, no typed
She hoped to be surprised by God
Or that God would surprise her
Do they mean the same
Or does that slight turn of phrase change things up a bit

And then it occurred to her
That what if the gift, the surprise
Was one of omission
Not physical or plain
Touchable or here

What if the gift was in what never happened
Like the absence of pain which never occurred
Or calamity or catastrophe which was averted or
Blocked
Saved by grace, shielded by mercy
Loved in the mystical marvelous way
That He does
Love, us

She thought maybe the surprise was in the silent step
Paw by paw of her tuxedo dressed cat
How can weight be silent as she creeps
Or the birth of a daughter one day in December
Oh joy, oh gift
Or the comfort of night, after the raucous and rowdy
Day
Or falling to sleep praying to be held
By him who is Comforter, buried under the
White down duvet
Seeking refuge and finding it in prayer

She remembered the camellia with a white blossom
Mixed among the red, a pearl in the sea of rubies
Miracle of nature or grafting of man
Either way, joy came her way
By God’s hand

The day she spoke it to her friend
The words of wanting, longing for Him to make himself known
She was empty
No filled with pain, loneliness and doubt

She sat waiting, trusting
Hope attending her soul

Time is a curious thing
She surmised
She had been surprised by God
More than seventy times seventy

It was in remembering back
On faithfulness
Not longing forward
With desire
Or is it
Both

Comfort comes
To those who believe
And who find Joy
Ushered in by the light of
Any moment now
Hope is a sliver
Of light pouring in
Reminding her of all the
What has been

wpid-20140314_094658.jpg

+++++++++++++++

Joining my friend poet herself, beautiful writer and weaver of words, Laura for Playdates with God #atthewellspring and Michelle 

Rest, Restoration and The Golden Hour

pond scarf hammock faveI took myself on a bit of a wild goose chase. Wild goose chases are exhilarating if they are productive. And I was in need of a wildly curious wondering off into the blue. Off into a land of discovery.

Good health had been mine for a very long time. Rolling along for what seemed like an eternity, I had not been sick. Until I got sick. I am not sure what “under the weather” means or from where it originated. I could go on a wild goose chase and uncover more about this expression.

But where was I. Oh I was sick. So sick. My ordinary became scrambled and my body and soul cried out for rest and restoration. And when one enters the land of blah and stays there for what feels like an eternity, self-pity can creep in.

And that is where perspective-changers come in. You know them. And you have them in your own life. Friends who break through the dark and dank. The dull and gloom. They change your perspective with a word or phrase of encouragement and offer hope on a proverbial silver platter.

I was admittedly wallowing. Feeling less than poetic. Uncreative. And sick and tired of being sick and tired. The sun was coming out on the outside but the insides of my world were deeply entrenched in winter. So as any good self-pitying poet would, I felt pathetically left out of the bright and sunshiny world. And fell into the land where the blah trees grow. My world was blanketed by rest and restoration. Hmmmm, sounds like an enviable, vacation like place in which to linger.

I didn’t see it that way. I saw through the lens of pain and sadness.

A friend sent me a well-timed text, a quote and a word. And I latched on and sped off in pursuit of wild geese. And I  fell in love with the words of J.M. Barrie. She texted me this quote late one afternoon as I lay in my bed, sick and tired. And it was like honey on the back of my throat, and a warm bath drawn for lingering, for soaking a weary soul. It was simply, medicinal.

“You must be warned against letting the golden hours slip by; yes, but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.” – J.M. Barrie

And then she, my friend, said these words:

“So rest and restore and live to play another day.”

How simply profound. These words found me in a place of soul fatigue. Feeling like I was dormant, passive even and that life was actively passing me by while I was hurting and trying to heal.They revived my weary spirit. And that lead to a bit of a goose chase. (You thought I forgot about the goose chase.)

These words lifted me, gave me hope and I became ravenous, not just hungry for more. So I went in search and found wonderful quote upon quote from the author of Peter Pan. And I accepted and received the implicit permission I was given this particular evening, to rest and restore and prepare for the healing. To sink down into the dormant time of sickness, to lean into a time of rest which would give way to healing. And to save up and expect the beautiful, the wholeness and wellness  to return to my living.

I could see that passion and beauty would return. With the smallest of shifts in my perspective, ushered in on the wings of a friend’s words.

Words are that for me. Agents of healing. Life-affirming and life-giving.

So as I read more of Barrie’s words and reflected on my season of sick and ick, I came to the thought that perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give is the gift of encouragement to one another. And I love the picture of the Golden Hour and its various meanings. (I have been on a goose chase discovering the meanings of this phrase too. More on that soon.)

I have uncovered some words for you. May you be encouraged by his today. And perhaps one day or some day even mine. Because I think I was made to write and encourage. And maybe I got well so I could continue to do both.

For goodness sakes I had a sinus infection, though I felt I was a death’s door, I would clearly recover. But in this time of sickness followed by healing,  I realized even more clearly, as the passion slowly came back: I do desire for my own art to be life-giving, to inspire, to encourage and to whisper a call to see beauty and to shift perspective.

Sometimes it takes a period of pain to regain perspective all over again. To redeclare what our art is called to do. To define more clearly our purpose and our call. Pinpoint how it is we are to use the gifts, well. Not just good. But well. Perhaps very well.

Enjoy these words from J.M. Barrie. And if you need to rest and restore, take care and do. Perhaps we can play another day.

“Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.”

“God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”

“Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: always try to be a little kinder than necessary?”

pond scarf hammock fave

Thank you for allowing me to bring my words here. May you be encouraged to find the poetry and the beauty that is uniquely in this day.

Joining Lyli, sweet Lyli