Tag: Hope

Releasing The White Knuckled Grip

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

wpid-20140115_173809.jpg

Releasing The White Knuckled Grip

What would you say to a girl and her dreams
Teetering on the edges of time
Laced in every shade of hope
Fringed in simple, ordinary
Longing and love

How would you take her heart in your hand
Cup it and calm it
Fill in the cracks and crevices
Of dry rot
Questioning and doubt
Tuck in the ragged edges of fear

Where would you tell her to lay down her dream
The one that’s unraveling and
Two sizes too big

In love, I whispered this
Hold on loosely, release your hard-nosed, white knuckled grip
Unfurl your hands like a banner of peace
Let it wave and dance in the air where it’s free
Give it room to sway in May’s warm breeze
Let it linger, not languish
But let it out of your sight

On the edges of time
Time,
It will tell her
It always does

Quiet, she waits

Praying and hoping with fingers
Releasing their grip
She found it better like this
For this would not be the end of her dream

Or the death of her hoping
No matter
What they say
Ends and beginning and middles are funny that way

She chooses to hope hard, to dream big
Other and bigger and smaller and more
And less
Lead by the Spirit
Her new dreams will soar
Not because, but in spite
Of her

The sun sets and rises again and again
Set your soul dreams on new ones
Release the grip of the past
Press forth in gentleness, meekness and love

She’s been
Surprised by joy many a time
It may return, its likely it will

She heard me, I know it
For she nodded and smiled
And her spirit seemed freer
Because of release
I know that she heard me
Stubborn and headstrong
I’ve known her since birth

For
She is me and I am her
And we talk to each other
About these big things
Covered, protected
By Spirit and Truth

The Day Spring Almost Tied The Knot

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 1 Comment

wpid-IMG_20130814_190058.jpgThe Day Spring Almost Tied The Knot

The Earth just opened her new box, waxy smells wafting out, tips sharpened
Virgin points, aiming toward heaven
Like instruments of praise
Whittled odes of rejoicing
Wrapped in slick paper

Names like that of the new season’s OPI
Nail polish
So perfectly given
One cannot tell if the name made the color
Or the color birthed the name
And which, do tell came first
In any event
It is a birthing of new
And to her surprise
As she opened the box
With the ity bity black hole in the back
Low and centered
Round and welcoming
For sharpening, when tools become dull and spent

The whole box was 64 shades
Of green
And creams
Dual monochromatic offerings
For coloring the Earth in her
New garb
For shading the world
In new birth

The world was once again
Awash
In the hues of greeney new birth
Of shoots and leaves
Grasses and stems
Trumpets of new flora and fauna
Vines pressed through the layer
Of dark and dank

She closed the box
Hoarded and saved
This school-bus-yellow
New box of crayons
Perhaps it would be needed
On another day, Winter the tyrant
Has never played fair
Deliverer of death and dark
Cold and fear
Lights off
Lights back on
Mysteriously, again

Unsure, uncertain
And truly afraid
That this was a prelude, precursor
Preamble, only
To Spring

Her box of creams and greens
It may be needed again
To color the world
Brightly resplendent indeed
One day soon

But of one thing she was certain
With no doubt at all
The Earth was her loveliest
When dressed as a bride

Approaching the altar
Both timid and brave
Head bowed in her virginal
Expectant state, behind a thin veil
Of cream lace

She wore a gown of 1950’s Virginal White
And carried a bouquet of  The Grinch Stole Christmas Greens
Loose greens, free and just garden picked

Closing  the box this March Monday
She determined to
Wait patiently for
The Real “true” Spring
Spring Green to arrive
Followed by Pea Soup Green
And Grass Through Your Toes Green
And her favorite, Pistachio Ice Cream Green
Or was it Thin Mint Green

So she closed the lid
And placed her new box of Crayola’s
On the tippy top shelf

And waited patiently
For the bride of Spring

While painting her toenails
Moss At The Base Of The Pine Tree
Green
For the big event

Remind Me Again: A Lenten Poem

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 5 Comments

wpid-20140212_150824-1.jpg

Remind Me Again

Remind me once again
That facades hide reality
Deep behind a trompe l’oeil truth

That love melts frozen tundras
Of a winter weary soul
Taken to her bed, tired of it all

That invisible things mark,
Change and temper, unseen
Is Holy, Spirit moves through even now

That firm mattresses, hard wood and marble
Audi’s and big screens, gyms and gems
Lie about what they can do for man

Remind me, again that forgiveness heals
Like salt water on the back of a ruby red throat
What it is to be meek, humble and mild

Bathe me in a warm bath of humility
Wash me clean from pride and ego

Because truth be told
I am prone to wander, prone to forget
To stray to a place where pastures look green
But in fact are astro-turf
Wolves lie in wait for the lamb that is lost
Searching for food when plenty grows tall
Hiding the gifts
Show me eternal, again and again
And hide from my eyes the temporal,
Fleeting, the things that will die and lead
Me to the death of my soul

Because truth be told
I am prone to follow the mirage, the shiny, the glittery
Things of the world
On the desert road that leads to nowhere
And ends in the dark

And faith is a compass
With one true north

I was blind but now I see
You focus my eyes on the eye chart
The Big E was all I saw
Now the smallest line is in my
Plain view

You oh Lord, my strength and Redeemer
Turn down the volume of a noisy world
Let me sing the broken Hallelujah’s of my heart-song
Off key and shaky

And press pause and off and down
On the sounds
Of Diamonds Are Forever
And the false promises
Of the Cadillac commercials,  face-lift,
Cruise ship ads

Give me eyes to see
I am happy to remain with You, and
Ash Wednesday is not a hump day
And help me to remember

Oh Lord, I am prone to forget
Place my eyes back to heaven
And away from the green line
That leads to my retirement

Oh Lord remind me again
To ignore the likes, shares and follows
And to place my trust in You
Alone
Are Worthy

Remind me again
I give you myself
This Lent
Take me to the desert
And whisper sweet words of remembering
I am weary and I am not alone
Amen

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

Joining Lyli, Emily and Jennifer

If

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

wpid-storageemulated0DCIMCamera20140209_1411580-1-1-1-1.jpg.jpg

If

If I  bend, stoop and reach
At the sound of the cold North wind
And the rugged and raging sea
Harmonizing with the  creak
Of my wrinkled, old,  boney knees
A symphony of natural beauty
Stirs my soul as I search
For treasure left lying along the shore
For me
For me
For me

If the curve of my back is a bold black cleft
Or more like a twisted ampersand
And my heart beat slows
At the sight of gifts the generous sea has left
I wonder then
And now if

I raise the conch to my ear to hear
WIll the answers pour out
Or just sediment, sand and dirt

Will it whisper the secrets
I have walked here to find
Resting in windswept wet
And dry, brittle sand
Will it answer my questions
One at a time
Simple and clear
Plain for this wanderer
In search
Of clarity, comfort, forgiveness and
Peace

Or when the shell
Is pressed cold to my cheek
Will I  hear only hauntingly
Monotone whispers
Familiar yet coded
That sound like the sea
A white noise of shushing and whooshing
Moans from the earth, like a chant from the monks
Worshipping high in the hills

And if that’s all that enters my soul
By way of my cold pink ear
The comfort of a lullaby fresh from the
Mouth of the ocean floor
That is more than enough
For me
For me
For me

It is miracle
Marvelous
Mystery

And I am now no longer in need
I want nothing, nothing
More
I have heard peace be with you
From the lips of the Sea.

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

Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory and Emily for #imperfectprose