It Turns Out – A Children’s Story For Grown-Ups

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It Turns Out – A Children’s Story For Grown-Ups

It turns out
The shallow end
Is where the mud puddles are
And snakes creep
Each step taking her ankle-deep
In pluff mud and oyster shells
Razor blade sharp
Leaving her both bloodied
And muddied
A yucky combination
Of grime and blood and more
If she were a hippo
Grand and glorious it might be
Or even a alligator stalking his prey
Instead, she is a soul in need of a Savior
Sinking further and further
Up to her neck in muck
Paralyzed in wet, brown, slick
Ick
Like a child stuck in fear
Mud baths are for pigs
Not for grown ups
Alone and afraid

It turns out
The deep end is where life is
Best lived
In the waters far from shore
Waters cool, crisp like
Green apples, mountain grown
Bittersweet,
The waters run
And she should too
She was made for deep places
Never found the shallow
Had much to offer her
In life, in faith, in love

Equipped, she is
Created for diving off the end
The high dive made for the Bravest of souls
Into the dark cool, water
She shall dive
Freedom replaces fear, there
In love
Ocean of grace
Wait for her

And it turns out
The edge of the dark
Is the edge of the light
Thin veil of faith
Separates the two
She, quick to forget
Quick to unlearn
Sinking, not swimming
Setting for muck
Instead of a cleansing bath in
Warm Mercy waters, lapping her soul
With salted grace

It turns out
She would need reminding
Again and again
Child-like faith
Bold and brave
Seemed out of reach
Hers prone to
Sinking at the first big wave

It turns out
He knew this about
Her all along
And loved her anyway
And saved her anyway
And chose her anyway
And redeemed her anyway
It turns out

This is not the end.

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If

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If

If I  bend, stoop and reach
At the sound of the cold North wind
And the rugged and raging sea
Harmonizing with the  creak
Of my wrinkled, old,  boney knees
A symphony of natural beauty
Stirs my soul as I search
For treasure left lying along the shore
For me
For me
For me

If the curve of my back is a bold black cleft
Or more like a twisted ampersand
And my heart beat slows
At the sight of gifts the generous sea has left
I wonder then
And now if

I raise the conch to my ear to hear
WIll the answers pour out
Or just sediment, sand and dirt

Will it whisper the secrets
I have walked here to find
Resting in windswept wet
And dry, brittle sand
Will it answer my questions
One at a time
Simple and clear
Plain for this wanderer
In search
Of clarity, comfort, forgiveness and
Peace

Or when the shell
Is pressed cold to my cheek
Will I  hear only hauntingly
Monotone whispers
Familiar yet coded
That sound like the sea
A white noise of shushing and whooshing
Moans from the earth, like a chant from the monks
Worshipping high in the hills

And if that’s all that enters my soul
By way of my cold pink ear
The comfort of a lullaby fresh from the
Mouth of the ocean floor
That is more than enough
For me
For me
For me

It is miracle
Marvelous
Mystery

And I am now no longer in need
I want nothing, nothing
More
I have heard peace be with you
From the lips of the Sea.

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Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory and Emily for #imperfectprose

Letting Go: Releasing Our Art Into The World

Letting Go

Go poem,
Words, go
Whether it be early or late
Or timed with perfection
You were born in a heart of passion
Raised up to be released
Born of the seed of God gift
Never formed for staying put.

Go art,
Poems, go
Go make your home in a heart
That weeps for encouragement
Cries for beauty, is starved for it
Longs for healing in a wounded place
Land and light and harbor in
The refuge of another’s sight.

Go lines
Art, go
Go and make your way through dark and lonely
Streets and hopeless hearts
Spark a flame, fuel it, fan it
Heat the cold and frozen places
Be a word that thaws
The soul, the frigid place within another’s heart.

Art,
be what you were called to be.
and be it away from me.

Fly on the wings of dove, in peace
And great horned owl, so wise
Hitch a ride on strong brown pelican
Strap yourself to wings of  great blue heron.

Go in peace
to the place
You
Were meant
To call your new

Home.

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Joining friend Jennifer Lee today

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The Bicycle

The Bicycle

A ride waited, pregnant
It would tell me when it was time
To labor
Pedal up and down
Run over a million sycamore balls
Like dollhouse sized
Speed bumps

The ride would woo me
Invite me, tell me when it was time
To roll through town
Just in time to see the children scream
In sheer delight

And we are one today
One age, one child
One girl, one woman
Metal melds the years between

I passed the lumpy dog, lazy hound
Looking like a lost coat piled up in the yard
I announced that I’d lost mine and they grinned
Everyone’s a child today
Or plum tuckered out
From play

The sky called for a break
The blues and grays
Announced
We had time
To run outside and play
The town seemed to have a fire-drill
Everyone spilled out at once
After the cold, the threat of rain

And I have my bicycle
On which I can forget that I am
Not the child
Who’ll be called for dinner in awhile
Tucked in post-prayers
And seven requests for water
After the bed-bugs and boogey men
Are scared away.
And I love’s you’s are said
And I love you to Jupiter and back

No I am woman
With handle bars in hand
And a seat at home
Warm still
From meeting with a friend
Who’s cancer is in her breast
And uncertainty is lodged in her chest
But hope clings, spills from her lips.

I can sit up on my seat

Closer to the heavens
And pray, intercede
With the whirl of wind in my ears
Making noises like the empty conch at the sea
Making tears as
The wind splashes on my ears and in my face

I hid the fact that I wanted to stay and play
My bicycle and I

We are all children
Sitting perched upon our bicycles
Pedaling as hard as we can
Just trying to

Make our way back home.

In time for meatloaf, again
And
To find our lost dog in the yard.

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