John and Lisa's Blue Skies Blog – Soaring with God

Round and round my mind
goes, perceiving and then
veering into darkness,
finding a hand-hold and
then slipping into voids
nested within each other.
Truth exists sure as light
exists; goes on forever
just as Love does, waiting
for no one to trust or
to feign belief. Here
my feet trace spirals
of green then red then white
promising flight thru dark
valleys of questions yielding
an occasional Aha! amid more
questions and persistent echoes
of solid footfalls. Listen.

The silence of the sanctuary
is so overwhelming I’m left breathless.
Waiting for answers. Will there be any?
If not, then what?
Silence

This poem was published in the Fall 2013 edition of WestWard Quarterly.

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Open Space

Cruising city streets,
sudden awareness
of open space

On a corner

Once boarded-up
century-old home
now a flat
brown rectangle
dotted by white
and yellow triangles –
glittering in the sun –
remnants
of walls, paint

All that’s left

To remember
lives born, loved,
died within.

Stories once contained
– now fly free –
in this world or
the next.

She said:
If I can’t be the things I want to be,
I’m not sure I want to be.
Ah yes, a dilemma for many years now.
That ballerina dream faded
and nothing else really appeals.
Nothing. So the task is to keep ego quiet
and just do what God wants done —
stick around on this earth for as long
as God so ordains, though all seemed
finished years ago. There are other plans
unknown but no less real. Indeed more real:
Dedicate yourself to sharing Peace, Love,
and Light in small ways each day.

I found you where you fell.
Your tale you tried to tell.
Did you come from heaven?
Were you heading straight to hell?

All sorts of random memories
come like brief snapshots from a movie.
Just a scene not the whole story.
Never any sound. Just something I see.
Never any intense emotions.
Without warning for a couple years
and I’m still not sure why.
Perhaps tiny pearls from meditation.

The inevitable
endless evenings —
we perched ourselves
on the overstuffed
furniture in front
of the television —
stretched months
into years. Yes —
we proudly built
perfected mediocrity.

The boring board meeting drug on
and drug on and drug on.
People wondered when the power point
presentation would EVER end.
Suddenly a loud clap of  thunder
sounded and the whole room went dark
except for the screen which read:
COMPASSION
GRATITUDE
HUMILITY
When the lights came on again
the presenter was nowhere to be found.

What time is it? God’s time!
What do I do? God’s work!

“Better is one day in Your courts
than a thousand elsewhere;
I would rather be a doorkeeper
in the house of my God
than dwell in the tents of the wicked.”
(Psalm 84:10)

Powerful glimpses of beautiful creation
from God’s intention and view,
but then winding, rocky paths gouged
by human minds and hands.
A moment of intense ecstasy at night
means daytime dirt seems a bit cleaner.
Yes, a tiny kiss of God is infinitely
more delicious than anything else.