Oh, stop thrashing
about in this custom-made
cage. Tail feathers and
flight feathers only break
in this madness and lack
of peace. Sit still,
maybe sing a few notes
while waiting. Rest awhile,
safe in this place
that only seems like
torture. Let it reveal
its true beauty; let it
seal a broken heart
longing for Love.
Let the unreal
fade to birth
Today is our birthday. Yes, it’s “our” birthday.
John and I were both born on February 28th.
How cool is that?
I wrote this poem in 2012. It was originally published at vox poetica.
Oh, he says, I’ll be 67 in February–
why move to a foreign country
where I can’t fly or speak the language?
Blue sky thermals give life meaning.
February? What day in February?
The last day of the month.
My breath held, I stare in disbelief.
My finger points to my heart.
You’re born on the 28th, too?
Astrologically improbable, but true:
We sweethearts share a birthday.
A wintery, lenten time of year–
but for us, full of warmth, love and cheer.
Today we have a guest post.
by Leo Campos
as ego lets go
(Resignation is resistance)
Sitting like a yard table covered in snow
Allows room for
Arising that I cannot create
The key: completely, absolutely
Without reservation allowing
To gain access to heart and mind.
The mind resigns; the heart surrenders.
Beyond the porch light
Immense darkness, unknown realities
A little light makes the visible yard real
Hides the trees, which hide forest life
This true power
Beyond small light
A great story of darkness
A great light – vast currents,
Hidden influences, possibilities.
Stretch, and hold that stretch
Into the full measure of your longing.
Be embraced by Love
the unknown context
Your job is offering
To unknown currents
A heartfelt surrender.
“In the same way, the Holy Spirit helps us where we are weak. We do not know how to pray or what we should pray for, but the Spirit intercedes for us with sounds that cannot be put into words.”
Dear Lord, I can’t
put my pain into words.
I lie awake and moan,
calling to You from my heart.
My desolate soul wanders and wonders,
seeking You but always getting lost.
Walking in circles for 40-some years,
I know the desert.
My true needs I can’t even express;
I only sense they haven’t been met.
Sitting here in hopeless confinement,
I know a cold prison.
My dreams died many years ago indeed
in a place where You should have been.
Struggling to grow with weak roots,
I know shifting sands.
My hope fades more each day now
as I confront my own dark confusion.
Glimpsing heaven only in a rear-view mirror,
I know a long exile.
“Taking her by the hand, he said to her, ‘Talitha, koum,’
which means, ‘Little girl, arise!'”
Twelve years of bleeding and crying,
hopelessness threatened to overtake her.
But hearing of You sparked new fire.
She drew near in faith, the overpowering
urge to touch You pushing her forward.
The mere touch of Your garments, not
even Your flesh, effected the sure cure.
Your power, Your love, met her need
then and there. Her affliction lifted
as a sensible weight never to return.
She fell at Your feet in gratitude.
Talitha, koum! “Go in peace.”
He pleaded with You for his young dying
daughter. If You just come and touch her,
she would live, his faith knew for sure.
But messengers said she’s already dead —
it’s too late now. Yet You perceived
the mustard seed of faith, counseled:
“Do not be afraid; just have faith.”
Amid weeping and wailing, Your calm voice
said: “The child is not dead but asleep.”
One who sleeps may be easily awakened
by You. Holding her tiny, delicate hand,
You say: Talitha, koum! She rises, she walks.
She lives for the very first time. She goes
in peace. She can even eat.
“In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth,
and the heavens are the work of your hands.
They will perish, but you remain.”
Human neediness is too much
for mere mortal beings. Our best
can never be good enough. Yet hope
beckons, a bright ray amid
swirling terrors inside and out.
Oh, but for what can I hope?
Alternately, I bleed
and freeze and drown daily.
Dear God, reveal clearer,
cleaner air where You —
Yourself — bear
your crying children.
Eyes: The windows of the soul —
I looked into yours and saw nothing,
found no support. You didn’t know.
Indeed you never embraced your own
emptiness, the inability to give, to grow.
You pretended, but I knew the truth.
Then: My daughter stared deeply
into my eyes while I attempted
to feed her. Oh, the deep terror!
Having nothing to give, I fled.
Was my response not more honest
than yours? At least I knew the truth.
Now: I know what our Lord Jesus did
for Mary Magdalene. He healed her
through His gaze. Yes, He saw
her and loved her out of His stable
wholeness in eros, philos, agape.
I’m there, struggling to trust this Truth.
Dear God, You cut
through nonsense and confusion.
You’re the One Thing
Necessary. Left alone,
I cut my own flesh and forget
to eat my daily bread. I am
hopeless. But in You —
all longings are fulfilled,
all illnesses healed,
all problems find solutions.
So I rest in You.
My gaze focused on You,
I feast on all Beauty.
A broken heart entombed in
parched flesh. Endless longings
spun and mixed in the dark abyss.
Down the rabbit hole, a foreign
country promises adventures
and new life. The rules bend
here, not as mirage, but
unexpected realities. Numbness
beckons, a sterile trap off
to one side. The loud party
over there merely distracts.
Follow the middle way:
It unfolds with each step.