A Tree Can Show The Way, If We Look Her Way

With division, warring strife
So real and raw through all the world
Penetrating open cracks, the wounds
I want to graft as trees
A heart for sweet surrender,
A spirit found in peaceful living.
Oh Lord, let me go around
In love
Like barked beauty rooted fastened strong.
And leave room for harmony
Like the mighty ones
Whose roots
Hold fast, but trunks and limbs
Bow down in love.
And a tree can teach me this
Love and show me how to bend
Not break
If I only look her way.
Grafting peace
Cutting deep
Bending low in love.
Wrapping as the Cross
All the way around
The struggle and the pain
In a sweet embrace.

Joining Ann counting quiet gifts here, but on my writer’s facebook page moment by moment, this glorious Thanksgiving week.

And with Laura.

Voices

(photo courtesy of moma.org – Pablo Picasso’s Three Musicians)

There was never meant to be just one.
The sole, the singular, the solitary
Voice.
Each designed, gifted, carefully chosen
Parts, pieces for the blending.
No island dwellers or stone cold soloists
In a community of art, no apart from others
There is solitary lonely.

There is exponential multiplying in a cord of three,
The pairs, the duets the circles of multiples.
A community of several and many has power.
And each alone, so beautiful, comes in
To blend, enhancement happens en masse.

Each unit grows stronger in the company of
Others,
Accompaniment and melody change sound when
Blended in, a melange a beautiful mix of mediums
More interesting than the lone wolf crying in the wilderness.

A haunting howl, in the separated from the pack.
Strength in numbers builds
The vocal cords, the instruments, the writer’s pen
Grows, grouped
In community, a fellow writer links the lonely.

So the artist lifts his brush
And the writer his pen,
The musician his instrument
And all the others their voices too.

The blending begins and the harmonies arise,
Like incense, an offering up and to and for.
Each a gift, each a treasure
Single beauty, facets on the face of a multi-sided gem.

Pop the cork on the bottled words,
Pull the plug on the hemmed in notes.
Let them float,
Sail off with a tune ,a song for the masses
Or the few.
But unfurl the sails and set free the voices of each who has something quite beautiful to say.

This month at Tweetspeak Poetry, we are exploring the word prompt, Surreal. Stretching and writing in community with others. The voices are beautiful over there.