the gravel bar stretches
to receding waters edge
tiny white shells grace the shoreline
angels wings left behind
I remind myself to pay attention
should the stones choose to shout out
or the mountains bow down.
Just in case a triad of angels
drop by the house for a visit,
I keep the sacrament of hospitality prepared.
My eyes are open
should I need to clothe the naked
or feed the hungry
or maybe have occasion to do justice
or show mercy.
Shaking myself to stay awake,
I have my eyes peeled
for the bridegroom
like the wise virgins.
to keep alert,
ready to hear that whisper
loud as a thunderclap-
*** This a poem written several years ago and posted on the first Sunday of Advent the past years.
As I am preparing for the holidays again, it reminds me to keep prepared in other ways. Things I should be prepared to do each and every day – feed the hungry, clothe the naked, be just, merciful, hospitable.
Should you be so inclined, these are the Biblical references: Luke 19:40, Habakkuk 3:6, Hebrews 13:2, Micah 6:8, Isaiah 58:7, Matthew 25, Psalm 46:10
wandering from oasis to oasis
in the high desert,
The days seem endless
with only the ravens for company.
Once I heard there was someone,
someone the old men talked about,
someone who could bring bloom to the dry places
and honey from the stone.
I thought that there might be a way,
a light, a star to follow
that would lead to the right place
where that someone would be.
And I thought I would know when it happened
and that person would know me
and would call me by my real name.
And the ravens would become doves
and rise into the light
like angels in the desert sky.
Joy leapt up
And ran and jumped and skipped
And fell into my lap.
Did you see it?
A song bright as a candle.
A light sweet as a song.
A star strong as a heartbeat.
Joy leapt up
And twirled about the room
About the earth
About the sky
Joy leapt up
From a promise
From a Word
From a womb.
Joy leapt up!
— This is a poem written many years ago and I love to share it each Christmas season – may you and yours be surrounded by joy every day. K
her small body
blue robed and speckled
covering a deep heart
beating beating beating
in time to the sound of wings
and the lift of Newtons third law
in full throated song
and rushing wind
Better with every telling,
the story of the night we met,
our creation mythology filled with revelry and beer.
My gemini to your cancer,
constellations sharing stars
aligned just so
with the conjunction of planets
perfectly formed in the cataclysm of desire.
Our saga continued with heroic deeds
and herculean tasks,
all spilling across pages of years. Tattooed on our faces,
deeds fair and foul,
most forgotten and some forgiven,
all returning to that original sin. Our garden
created and cultivated with four hands,
and, on occasion,
nurtured by an angel or two.
Willingly we return to that first moment,
revisiting past lore, embellished
golden with retelling.
The myth of our own making,
epic, comic, tragic-
the end will be as the beginning,
a story better
for the telling
and perfectly formed in the stars.
*** Written several years ago for Twelve Days of Angels, Day Seven