A Circuitous Route (At Burnside Writer’s Collective)

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I would be honored if you’d join me today over at Burnside Writer’s Collective. A poem of mine is featured there today. Wishing you a blessed and peaceful Sabbath rest. Today and always.

A Circuitous Route. Click here to read a poem which explores change, adjustment, shifts in paradigms, and finding joy in the right where we live. In and with Faith.

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Beginnings, Middles, Ends – A Trilogy

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Beginnings

One day in the middle of May
Some of the broken things lined up
And raised their hands and asked for a turn
To speak, step up to the mike and say their peace
And if history is any indicator of anything
Which she decided it was
She decided to listened.

On the day in May when the broken things spoke
Sharing autobiographically of course about the cracks and such
She bent an ear and heard them out
Let them air out their laundry
And hang some stuff on the lines
Full disclosure clears the air
And truth blows nicely in a Mid-May breeze.

After the rains come, the rain-air freshens the stale.
Companies bottle and sell the scent of new, after the rain.

In May, there were dances around the pole and piano recitals and
The broken got to say what pressed heavy on their minds.
They spoke of renewing and renewal.
And she learned a thing or two about tossing out the perfectly good things
Which only needed love.
Wasn’t this the way of the Saints, which was forgotten.
She longed to oil the creaking gate and quiet the banging cymbals
When the greatest of these was flushed, kicked to the curb
Cast aside, it had grown loud
Love come quiet, love come heal.

Simply loving the broken smelled different after the rain.
Regret proceeds reconciliation.
If you stand in the right direction, facing due north
With your compass set on mercy
And your heart prepared to forgive
Yourself
You can begin again.

A friendship saved is no small thing
Ask the circle of the broken, banged up and bruised
Women who have lost a few
To bad decisions, pride and myopic sight
Tunnel vision
And a short sighted heart.

She just never knew then what she knows now
But she can tell you if you have time to listen
That after the rain stops and the flood waters receed
You too may find beauty where there were ashes.

And you may raise your white flag and color it joy
That a friendship has come back around.

In the middle of May
Blooming blessedly on the bush
Where the pruning of pride and prejudice
Took place
The bloom is on the vine
And restoration looks beautiful
On a friend
As we begin anew.
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wheatfields leaving birdfestThe End

We drove side by side
It was a leaving kind of drive
Where the sad drips down the windows
And it is not raining yet
But it will.

We drove
Quiet settled in like deep fatigue in the bones
It moved through the muscle, ached with a deep soul
Fatigue
And yet the quiet had life.

We barely spoke
After all these years you can read a mind
Or you can read a mood
Of quiet content
And soft remembering.

We packed a bunch of memories
In sardine can sized moments
Enough to dip down into and draw up from
This well, stocked well
Smell a few, sip a few
When life is dry,
And the soul is parched
Remembering wets the edges of the brittle
With a faint recalling
Of dancing in the rain
Round the corner from the wheat.
We hit pothole and sinkhole

Deep ruts in the road
Of leaving.
As the rear view mirrored memories grow small
The sound of mandolin and fiddle
Still hang in the Panola air.
One note hangs in the cool May sky.
The note held long and low

The one that played for you.

We thought all good was left behind
In the tired and fatigue
But on the way home it waved
Goodbye
This field of wheat
And I knew this bookend
This book mark of beauty was a telling
Waving wheat promising more
Whispering this was not the end
But a field of beginning
Gold-leafed fields tell stories
Of glory
Glorious more waits
More than was ever left behind.

Held on the fingertips of memory
Grasped in the hands of the hopeful.

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The Middle

In the forming
In the blooming
Lives the Beauty
Caught in a state of unfinished
Unfurling
Unknown stories
Untold futures
Held by hope
Trusting in an ombre
Beauty mix of then and now
Joy and pain
The middle whispers now is
All
Now is life
Suspended in the shades of unknown
Mid-ways, half-ways and on-the-ways.
Beauty in the living
Now.

Joining Laura and Jen

Encouragement: A Prayer, A Poem, A Cry

Mercantile MCVL

One phrase haunts me, chases me down daily.
There is nowhere for me to go but stare at it steely eyed daily.
Wrestle with it, sit with it, stare at it, and ponder what it means for me,
To do.
My recent past dredged this up, dredges it up from the silt daily.
Once I penned some words here, scratched out some heart thoughts.
They have taken on a life of their very own, a heart, legs and off they ran.
All around this interwebby world.
Words can run fast as the wind.
Lace them up with care and grace.

One phrase echoes daily on these pages, behind the scenes in the land of stats.
I can’t come here without seeing them there.
I wrote a piece one time or two, boldly with the words
encouragement, tucked in or standing out front.
That is it – the beginning and the end of this prayer, poem, cry.

When I ask Him what to do with my words
They become my true north but I stray
Clothe in grace, wrap in love, encourage.

The number is big, so I won’t say it, it changes almost daily.
Someone finds me here,
My words and me
Googling, encouragement
A letter of encouragement, encouragement for a friend
Words have wings and I pray
They find good here.

Prayerfully, thoughtfully, deeply I cry out
Oh Lord.

Take the clay of my words, Maker of My Soul.
Grab my pen and guide it while it glides along the page.

She is writing
It’s a work of Wordsworth and poetry and nature and High School English
And I can stand in my mother stance over my daughter dear
And say these words to her
We are two and it is intimate and close
Write it like you want to, just say what you mean
You can do it spills from my heart to hers.
She makes art wobbly shaky on a page.
And I know.

If you came here on a trail of encouragement, following bread crumbs
Find it, friend and grab it
He is standing over you, before you and around you.

God is loving, reigning, holding you in the heavenlies this day.

She is writing,
And it is a work in progress
Clothe her in grace and love.

I am the launcher of words, clothe me in guided grace.

We, lover of You and lover of words, steady each mark of our pen and infuse it and us with You.

Encouragement, may it always live here.
Tucked within the lines of poetry
And prose.

Amen? Amen.

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Joining my precious and encouraging friend Jennifer Dukes Lee today.