War and Rumors of War

wpid-IMG_20130830_200328.jpg
Men wag tongues, wave swords
Raise the roof with arguments for truth
And God help us
A pink sky slowly burns
From color bombs bursting in air
Hot and cold
Colors contribute to the mixed up
Majesty of celestial art
Peace prevails
All is quiet on this Southern front
Where the other cheek turns
And we delight in
A salty peace
Brown pelicans thunder overhead
This is the world
In which I work and play
But world’s away
Mankind connects, threaded by one flesh
Linking hands around a fallen
World, awaken by grief
Thundering loud
A cry of war and rumors of war
One solitary broken heart for peace
His

Postcards From The Ordinary – Letters From The Village

look left look right
on an ordinary day in an ordinary life
there was once upon a time a once in a life time
came an ordinary moment in an ordinary way
to an ordinary girl
with an ordinary way
of waiting on the ordinary things to happen
in their just plain extraordinary way
so an ordinary day in in an ordinary life
is actually extraordinary after all
and all the ordinary moments are framed by a lens of grace and become extraordinarily beautiful
and she sees art in the ordinary
because he replaced her lens on life with the lens to see anew
and it was good. very good.

pond scarf hammock fave

close up cotton

Joining Lisa Jo for and her five minute friday community. today we are writing around ORDINARY ( and I am in need of grace as I did not time my writing and as I ordinarily do, I exceeded the egg timer which was never set.)
5 minute friday-1

Dearest Blank Page, White Canvas, Nothing

God's Grace shrimp boat
As I embrace my one word for 2013, ART, I put on the lens of story through the art form of letter writing. And  I  humbly bring my offering in the series “Letters From The Village”. This is the one in which I write to the white space that faces the creative and the writer, before the work is born.

To read all the penned letters in the series, simply click on the tab at the top of the home page entitled “Letters From The Village”. Thank you for walking out this series with me. The overflow of my heart.

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

provider mcclellanville

I could sit and stare at you, frozen in a place of uninspired repose. And wait. And wrestle and gnaw and rail against the struggles in this place.

And wonder why I come to gaze into the void. The stark unformed sea of empty, bleached white stares at me.

The option to leave empty, me emptier. Choice crouches, hides and waits. Tempted to raise white flag, in defeat

There is no forced march here. I don’t go hungry or want for sustenance if I am turned away from you with hands wide open but filled with nothingness.

Cold. Bare. Bareness winning out.

You intimidate, or try, on days, dry days of drought.

But then and that’s the important part. But then. The passion ignites and meets your white empty, with inspiration fueled by writing’s impassioned delightful flames.

White nothing, step aside, fling open your gates, your doors, your portals for a word or two. The overflow of the heart.

Make way. Make room. Prepare your blank for the artist’s hands. For when the flames are lit and ear has heard a word, a thought has birthed a poem, the brush strokes fill the sea of white with teeming life, with words.

And what goes there has subtle strength and power. To bring encouragement, beauty, whispers of delight. Stories told of life and living, bold dreams dared to break free, overcoming leaps of faith, and battles won on life’s messy stage. Lines of love and life, sweet prayers of hope and amazing grace.

Once you yield your canvas to the hands of writer, poet, the weaving thread on thread begins. And the looming work of writer’s heart pulls threads of thought by thought to form the messy message on a page. Praying all the while for beauty. Leaning in to hear and write with wrist and fingers, hands and heart a piece of written obedience, the delivery of her art.
OneWord2013_ArtBl

Conquering the fear of blank. Wrestling with the fear of steady void on page. Because of grace and truly, truly it rides on grace. The words, they dance or sing to souls and hearts carried on the backs, lifted by strong arms of grace.

Releasing all control and bending low to hear anew, the inspiration she longs to capture in her web, to weave on strong and bold, with a knowing that the inspiration will come today. And trusting it will come tomorrow. And knowing all the while the gift is gift. The privilege humbles. The heart trusts the stops and starts but longs for constant steady flow.

Of words.
mary margaret 2 mclellanville

So I will come to you white page, with my palette and my paints. And cast my net into the sea and count you friend, not enemy.

And we’ll make art until the words dry up. And we’ll write poetry and maybe even songs one day. Songs that sing with notes or without. That cause the heart to dance a bit.

You’ll be my friend and sing encouragement to my soul, as white noise comforters me on sleepless night. And you will represent beginning new, potential, promise hope and good.

You redeem a life on page. You hold grace within your pure white boundaries of unending hope.

And I will thank you for your company, the beauty rests in white delight. And calls me to come play and pen. Calls me to write a love song, poem or prose.

But white page, blank canvas my heart writes this love poem to you.

And seals it with p.s. its all because of Grace, sweet amazing Grace, and you.
shrimp boat sunsets HM

Ask A Poet Why and He May Say


Why do you tell the world just so,
Why do you speak unplain?
What is the push and pull within
That wraps the word along
In patterns, rythme and weaving, or a  threading?
If you can write in paragraph and line and write as plain as day
As others speak.
Why do you say these things just so, that beg some time
To sit and think,
And pull apart like child at play.
Like dough in hand, forms and shapes,
Flexing and extending.
To see
Just see what shapes and forms, what beauty
Will come from void?

Why do you tell the world just so?
Why do you speak unplain?
What is there in subtle hiding or buried hidden thought?
Why tuck inspiration or creation in words
That speak like puzzle piece?
Why does a child sit on the floor, hours spent
With block in hand or lego piles, to see what he can make
From void, from nothing, make something beautiful, wild or wooly
When on the shelf sit hundreds of toys to grab in seconds flat.


Why do you tell the world just so?
Why do you speak unplain?
Why do fields hold wonders and whimsy and skies and seas
Do too.
A lifetime is spent in discovering these
That lay in the world He made.
What joy in telling of all He does and makes and gives, in
The world and in a life, as seen by eyes inside a heart.
Can we see the mystery in the hidden hummingbird nest
So small, so buried in the limb
Or see the cross which cotton bears when burst open right at  harvest time?
I knew not
They were there.

Until I look still, closer, still
And listen with my heart
For small and subtle, nearly lost in a frenzied,
Shouting, clamoring,high octane world.
When some are screaming, writing tomes
Is there a place for poet’s voice, a home?
It takes a moment longer, you linger or
You’ll leave, impatient with the telling.
Many say, say what you mean and say it fast
And some say simply short is sweet.
But the poet winds and rambles leaving crumbs to gather
On a page.Saying rest awhile and seek the deep.
A world is rushing by, but you
May slow your pace and rest your eyes with me
Let’s talk of life upon these lines.

And seek the hidden things.
Let’s look together at this life, find beauty
And amazing, the wondrous and the plain, lying in the shadows.
The world made mysterious by His hand, the smallest  subtle intrigue
Try to understand the intricate, He’s artist Creative God.
He’s buried complex things, they’re hidden in the deep.
Let’s hold our breath and hold up time  to find, to truly see.
Come explore with patient eyes.
The deep, the hidden marvels in the space
That lies between you and me, us and them.
And hold on traveller, pilgrim friend
Just ask the poet why and he may say
There is simple beauty in the hidden things.

Joining Emily, Duane, Jennifer.