Tag: Sandra Heska King

The Laws of Physics

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

one word 250

The Laws of Physics

A thimble holds my knowledge of
Science
Physics baffles me, ties me up in knots
Not knowing an atom from Adam’s house cat

But I know the basics
Of power and might
Of David and Goliath
Of small things with enormous will
And
Endless possibilities

Strength, reconstituted
Condensed
Boiled down to the root of the matter
Exponential greatness
Found in the most unlikely places

Go found me
I can turn it on its head
Flip it around, upside down
Add and subtract from the core of what it is

I don’t need a PHD to know
The power
Of
Two
Small
Letters
And
One
Small
Word

Go.

Watch it go. Add a d, and see
Diety.
Double the o then see
Goodness and mercy
Get really crazy and beautiful things appear
Gorgeous, it all started with a g and an o.

Physics spins me in circles
But I know get up and go
Simply step and step again and there you
Go.

Go with me
To a playful place
One Dr. Seuss and others know
The places we’ll go, oh the places we’ll go
You and me and the letters”G-O”.

 

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Feel encouraged today. Place your name behind the word. One comment on the blog yesterday stirred my soul and I saw anew the power of encouragement in “GO”. Go in love, Go to serve, Go empowered by God’s mercy and grace. Go outside. Go tell it, go sing it, go make it, be it. Simply “GO”

one word 350

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Joining Sandy at Sandra Heska King dot come for Still Saturdays

Back In The Day

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

box woods and bench WH's

Back In The Day

Circa 1908
You left ghosts
Good ones
Memories
Mark corners
As a dog every tree and bush
Buried bones
In cracks in floors and ceiling
Bust open, every door
We escape
The heat
Of the day
Going out then in
As if it were an Olympic sport
This sitting on the porch

If you can’t stand the sitting
Stand up
Get outside awhile
Air your dirty laundry
Everyone below can hear
Your voice carries

Rising up and through
The oaks

Down the road the sanatoriums
Sprang up
A million mushrooms
After the rain
To house the sick

Breath deep
The air it heals

Did you sit as long as we
You visions of the past
Rocking back and forth
Trapping every smell of lilac,
Rot, wet earth
From the hills

We identify every waft
That wanders by
Anchoring our living
Senses fully engaged
Right here, right now
Frozen
On the edge of boxwood and vine
Perched like birds for hours
Watching them

Watch us
Lose all track of time
The train will whistle
Wakes us up

You left us more than memorabilia
But a metronome
Set on slow
And barely moving
To pace our days
Tasting wet rain mornings
Pallet cleanser

Come and linger long
On the edges of the sides of hills
Anchor here
Upon the slippery slope
Lingering
Life
Measured in the sightings of the finch
Don’t blink you’ll miss the high point of the day

How strange
We may live  even slower
When we come through the gate
Than
You, ghosts of
Circa nineteen hundred and

oh eight

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Joining Sandra Heska King for Still Saturday

Playfully Pretending

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall

c.s. lewis quote

sometimes
after a long time of forgetting how
a solemn soul stands down
gives way to play
and rises up to say
that after the dark nights and winter days
the shortened hours of living lasted long but did not linger
and now is the hour of our play days
the ones where to do lists are short
but full
of things like fill the vase and light the grill
stare at stars and wish for fish
laugh too loud and eat three ears
of corn or more
and forgive what needs forgiving
forget the what is past perhaps
put forth a ball of clay out on the counter
roll it into scenes of wonder
let the cat in let her out
and sit back
and write a poem
playfully pretending you remember
how to play

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Joining Sandra Heska King today for Simply Saturday

Serpentine Grace

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 8 Comments

serpentine grace

Before the sleepy’s rubbed and wiped away
At the start of  day in early May, leaves kick their feet
do a manic jig
Fast as the boys jitter bugging
when they returned from war

They tell through dance,
communicate the language of the trees
Leaves look like fingers too, another way
through the panes with sleepy eyes
I am deaf, they are signing
mysteries only trees can know

That with the winds comes a shakedown
It is the way of howling air, blustering power
and might, a change
Words that say what oaks, they know
the bending delivers strength
The branches carry messages for me

braille, for me, the blind one
The one who can not see
Planted in the eye of  storm, in the raging winds

That the dusty blows away
Hitches a ride on the tailwinds in the sky

Before the plans are made and prayers are eeked
And worry settles in the folds
At the outset of  new day

Grace is carried, dropped and settles
On the house, in which I live
And all that’s left for me
The one who simply cannot see

Is wind-blown trust
from the Grace Giver
Golden leaves now dance instead
Gentle musings out my window,

Wind and trees a joyful mix, whispering words

To walk the way that winds, not straight
It’s serpentine
though paved with grace.

Joining Sandra Heska King for Still Saturdays

and Emily for Imperfect Prose
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