Being a Poet

Sometimes I wonder if I have the right creativity and calling to be a poet. I continue to write, hoping that somehow what I have to say is something someone else might want to read.

To be Poet

To be a poet,
a sacred calling,
to place a word
just so, to stand
for more than
the letters permit,
holding levels
of meaning,
curving the path
of thought,
as if bending light
into a second
refraction.

Mistakes

One of the things that get us so rattled and causes us to have poor self-esteem are our mistakes. We can feel as if they are crushing us. Yet there is another perspective:

Mistakes:

value them

not just

as learnings,

but as

a source

for mystics

who see

from

oblique angles.

She Comes into My Life

Have you ever been in love and found the experience a jaded experience? What happens when you rediscover love? Here is a reflective poem.

She comes into my life
as a complete surprise
a beautiful intrusion
into a complacent living,
undeserved, unexpected.

She casts a light, heaven-lit,
a new brightness over
an undiscovered space in my heart,
bringing something new
to rebirth in me, sating a hunger
now only realized.

I question, "Why?"
The eyes of my mind
cannot quite unveil the source,
the wholeness of her
giftedness to me,
some unexpected path
was opened and there she was!

Looking from now
i cannot glimpse our destiny.
It will subtly weave
into our comingled lives
awakening us to growth,
even pruning pain.

She is gift that has placed
me on a path of change,
before I realized,
unknotting some tangled netting
of my soul and releasing me
to a new fluency.

As gift she arrived in my heart
secretly and I rediscovered
over these years a giftedness,
and I am in awe. For it
reawakens the blessing
of who I am.

Longing For God

Have you ever touched that innermost part of you where the Divine dwells? Here is an experience that I had.

God's voice,

a tender whisper

into my inner self,

where my longings

now are woven

into a single strand

contemplating only

God's light.

A passion that drives me

to search for the radicalbeauty

that is God,

only glimpsed

in rarest moments

of intense emptiness,

deeper than thought,

deeper than the wounds,

into the inner sanctuary

of my soul.

Nature, The First Scripture

Nature is the first Scripture
where the sense of sacred
is ever before us, mystery of life,
death, growth and regrowth.

The trees hum it: the birds sing it
winging through the air.
What wondrous life beyond
the staid gravity of foot and mind!

How my heart soars
at the first bloom,
grows as fruit ripens,
and ponders darker death
when fall wains to winter.
Yes. Nature is the first Scripture.

Rising to A Greater Beauty

Sometimes our beauty is even more evident because of the wounds we bear. A wounded healer is one of the best examples of that. Enjoy!

In our woundedness
our healing, letting
the world enter,
beauty and grace
through the pain we bear.

the flaw becomes
the point of precious beauty,
the scar of love lost,
the bumps of moving on,
that spot,
which tells of adventure,
that swelling,
a new heart beating,
replacing
a broken sidewalk path.

In our wounds
we rise to a great beauty
living life,
allowing it
to shape us.

Stranger in a Familiar Body

Stranger in a Familiar Body

I am a stranger
in a familiar body
the silent part that
listens as I speak,
that travels,
as I stay home.

This stranger dreams
while I dust the house,
yet the stranger never moves,
is always waiting
to be invited to speak,
to tell the stories
of adventures and travel
that I cannot.

My stranger speaks
her mind,
tells it,
like it is, though
I keep her silent,
and seldom invite
her speech.