Quietude

wpid-20140611_095308-1-1.jpgQuietude

And I imagine underneath
What seems to be a placid sea,
Life churns the silted sands of time
Years and years
In the making
Marking
Grains of brokenness
Teeming now with signs of life
Cycles of  the salty chains
Concentric circles
Connecting
Old and new, life
In the quiet, creatures spin
Watery webs of
Sea life, below a murky grey tinged
Surface, ceiling to their room
Dwelling there in the
Quiet

And I too
Live
Underneath a paradox of quiet
Swirling, churning, cycles of this
New growth
Birthing
Beginnings
Witness to ends and endings
Too
Too
Many to recount
In this space
This
Quiet

Preparing
I design my own
Land-locked home

And words leak out in advance
Of a watery avalanche
Story-telling prepares
To wash ashore

It will come
Perhaps
On the next high tide
Or the high tide after that
Perhaps

But waiting in the quietude
Life teems with
Pregnant thoughts

The words won’t wait forever

Quiet holds its breath
But for a season
Tides wait for no one

Won’t you come ride the swells
With me
Fueled by
Weeks of
Quietude
The dam prepares to burst

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Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory

 

 

 

One Day

Clock at C of C

Today is Day 12 and 13. I hope you don’t mind. I am compressing time, two days into one. As I think about the days behind. And dream about the ones to come. This is quite a journey we are on.

Thank you for being on the 31 Days of Noticing Journey with me. You are a gift.
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One Day

At one  o’clock I looked up and asked the world to stop
As if I were the only one
Who’d ever tried to stop a day
Or seasons of a life
As they go racing quickly by
Quite a selfish soul am I
Who wants to take control
Of rates of speed by which they go

One day at one o’clock I looked up and asked the world to stop
It had been my deep desire
To freeze the quickly passing hours
For me the moments had become nothing but
A dizzy blur
I do not need to tell you here
That I did not succeed, I’ll make that clear

One day at one o’clock I made peace and let the world go on
And chose instead to notice all
To go with it and not be left
Not stop the whirling, twirling spinning ball
As if I had that power at all

I will tell you once again
As plain as I know how
That there is such a  sweet release
In letting go
And giving in to Him
Who created, loves and holds
Mercifully
Every single minute, day and hour

Amen
And amen again
Time and time again

Lord give me grace
To passionately embrace
The one o’clocks and also the two o’clocks

If I were in charge of  time, the speed, the rate

We’d all be chronically
Chronologically backwards, sideways and
Running perpetually five minutes  late.

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( You may click here to read the previous posts in this series, The Art of Noticing)

The Vigil

come unto me

She swears the color yellow soothes a soul
So you will  find her staring at the garden
Fixed gaze on the yellowest flower there
In the yard
She guards
Her heart
Holding vigil over one who gives her labor pains
Though eighteen years have passed since birth
Holding hope for one
Who birthed her too
Traumatized by screams of pain
She is ripped in two
She finds the field of yellow calms her nerves
Between her shifting gaze she lays it down
And takes it up again, her sinful self desires to stir the pot
She rakes the coals, red hot
Searing
Bloody
Mad when stirred
Hotter when  she pokes the fire
Fear finds fuel in oxygen of snuffed out hope
So she’ll return to yellow on her color wheel
Where quiet and calm soothe her aching soul
Now she knows how He must feel
Father of a million times a million times a million, no more
And lover of as many souls
She will pick a single yellow stem
And give it all to Him
The Perfecter of Her Faith
The One Who Never Sleeps Nor Rests
She lays the flower down
She’ll rest
Reciting: Goldfinch, Monarch, Black-eyed Susans
Over in her dreams
Calmed by yellow memories and hum
It is well with my soul
For He has got her back, cradled in His arms
She wears the title
Mother, Daughter, but
No longer
Tender of a  flame that burns
Her heart consumed by fear.

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Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory

The Art of Remembering

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The Art of Remembering

In a home
Frozen
In time
You will remember
Funny the fragments
That break apart
Aren’t we
Bound by memory
Remembering
While
Picking up the pieces
Remaking a life
Re-ordering the pages
Living in reverse
The mind rewinds
In fact
You can go home again

You too have a
Docent
Telling the story
Slant it lovely
Slant it real

Sift it in remembering
As you go home again

Virtual remembering
Physical changes in time
For us to pick up the pieces
The smallest of detail
Left in the dust
Off the places with the Pledge
Soaked cloth
Light as a feather
Dust off a memory
Here
One over there

All in the home
Housing your memories
You can look homeward

Angel
All of the memories
Are yours

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