Love Listens ( My GraceTable February Post)

Join me at GraceTable. I saved a seat for you at the table.

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When I was a small child, my mother made certain I called my godmother to thank her for the gifts she gave me. Aunt Francis always gave me a piece of my silver pattern, her generous gifts a bit lost on me at the time. My stomach tightened up like a rubber band ball as I picked up the phone to call her each and every July, after the birthday gift arrived. I stalled and delayed, until Mother prompted me one final time to make that call.

Aunt Francis had a severe speech impediment. It manifested itself with long periods of silence between words. (Join me at GraceTable for the rest of my post.)

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Spreading Your Wings

 

 

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Spreading Your Wings

I read that the brain has an odd way of interpreting cliche
Don’t quote me but
We can do better
Recycling phrases until they lose their punch

And then I wonder

How do they rise up and take power
Stay around, refusing to leave
Numbing us with repetition
Like the pileated woodpecker
In lieu of the pecan tree, he chooses the neighbor’s metal roof

And then I grab one
Line of low hanging fruit

Because I am so weary from watching you leave

It is easier on my heart to go
There
Onto the well worn path of tangent
Paved with pithy phrases, past their prime

To speak of you in tired worn out terms

I am loathe to say you’ve spread your wings

You can not find yourself in my words these days
You should know

Darling, I could write only of my love for you

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In The Garden With Regret

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In The Garden With Regret

You left me here to tend and just think
I am under neither illusions nor weight
Neither false nor heavy

You had to go and win the bread
So I am here to water, a joint decision, shared
My intent, to steward well and leave my burdens

By the burgeoning beds of greens
(Radishes bulbous noses pushing through the richest soil,
I see you in their forcing. You mark this Earth, well

Well
But while there I found regret
Shame attended me while I mimicked the Summer rain

I can whisper while you’re gone
And you may never know
The way the garden shows

Just how barren were those days
Before the garden
Reminds me, of how old love can grow

You would hate a garden
Littered with remorse
I have fertilized the soil of ours

Seedlings will greet you
When you return
You left me here to tend and think

I’ve left the garden of regret

When Love Rides In Like The Calvary

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When Love Rides In Like The Calvary

Saturday afternoon in the Sixties there were still
The Lone Ranger re-runs running across the boob tube
Mother’s term of endearment stuck

And cowboy shows that show a world far away from the South in
1960 something

It doesn’t take long

For an image to sear
Burn like a hot-iron brand on a cow’s hide

Marked by the rancher, for life

This image of a calvacade of salvation coming right at you
Through the cross-hairs, intending to rescue you by overtaking you
Knocking you right out the saddle
Ambushing your soul
Coming out from behind the hedge of cacti
Guns ablazin’
Both barrells loaded oh,
Yeah and locked

The men in white win you over by a show of force

The names have been changed, and more, to protect the guilty

Those who surprised you with love

Who was that masked man? You ask, knowing full well they were women

And they loved you so very well

High, ho Silver

Golden, these girls.

Branding you with a mark of love for life. This is the body of Christ.

Take, eat, remember.

Away.