I read poetry

Reasons for writing. And more reasons.

I read poetry

To see what others have seen.

Hear what others have heard

Taste what others

Have tasted.

I write

For different reasons.

Some I know.

Some I don’t.

Sometimes I bounce

Off others’ words.

Sometimes I watch the birds

Or cats

Or the lady in red.

Sometimes I mine my soul,

Remember dreams.

They give me hints

Of what’s going on

In there.

Oh yes

I say

That’s what it is

For now.

For now,

That’s what it is.

We form new churches

I know this may not be a popular thought. Still... I believe it is true. Everywhere... is holy ground.

We form new churches

With all in whom we see God,

With each new blessing.

All of this

We don't get to decide what counts as treasure.

All of this

Has nothing to do

With how many binders

Accumulated

In the closet,

How much grain

In the storehouse,

How much money

We leave behind.

All of this

Is not about

How much,

How many,

Even

Who we know

Or don’t know.

All of this

Is simply

All the possibility

Its realization.

All of this

Is

Our treading

Our dancing

Our writing

Our seeing

Our hearing

Our caring about

Our loving

That one thing

Which no one else

May even notice.

All of this

Is treasure.

Steps

I write this so maybe I will believe it eventually.

One small step still leads
To the very next one
Even when I can’t see

Morning mosaic

I admire people who work on their writing. I don't. I place words in an order which seems right. Then I leave it. I am concerned about worrying something to death. So I don't. I figure tomorrow's mosaic, or collage will be different.

I approach writing

Like a morning mosaic

The words are colored glass

Maybe a rock

From the backyard

Maybe a leaf

From the redbud

Maybe more like a collage,

One picture among many.

I have no idea

Which ones are good

In anyone’s eyes.

I write in the morning,

A morning mosaic,

Write down the words

That come

Put them in place,

Leave them be.

Tomorrow will bring

Something else

Another mosaic

Another collage

Different colors or maybe

Another in a series.

I never know

What comes next.

Taking pictures

I admire those who capture what they see on film, and somehow, even add to the seeing. Amazing. I am in awe.

Taking pictures:

It’s not a strength of mine. No.

Not a strength at all.

Keep watch, dear Lord

And so the bedtime prayer begins. Both children are mostly grown, if anyone is ever mostly grown. I anticipate this begins a series of reflections, but then again, I never know. I, too, am mostly grown.

It is mostly a comfort

To ask this,

To name the One who watches:

Lord;

To know Someone

Has Her equivalent

Of a baby monitor

Next to the bed.

Heck

She doesn’t need such things.

Her Mother’s ear is tuned

To the world,

Her Mother’s eye

Catches everything

In that way

Good mothers do.

She has eyes

In the back of her head,

And in front.

Her peripheral vision

Is next to none.

Heck

She invented peripheral vision.

Keep watch, dear Lord,

The way only You

Can do.

Action

Action. Stage three. The first stage others might see, even though we have been considering it a long while. This is the stage for which the world gives some credit. Action is the only stage which allows reimbursement of most any sort. Two cookies and milk. So much work already under the bridge, over the dam. So much work to be acknowledged. Two cookies and milk.

The first step

Outside the box 

We have been living in;

Or perhaps the first step

Outside the box

We have been dying in;

The first step other people

Might see

When they are watching.

Of course we started

So long ago

And now

And now

Perhaps we hear

A duet or a trio

Of

Atta boy

Atta girl

Two cookies

And milk

And then

Keep coming back.

Perception

Discovering more and more what is meant for others.

We never know

If what we hear

Is meant for us

Or perhaps

For someone else.

This is distinct

From giving advice.

This is different

From naming the mote

In our neighbor’s eye.

This has nothing to do

With defining the thunderclap

As a sign of God’s wrath

Against someone else.

We never quite know

If the purple columbine we see

Is meant for us

Or perhaps

To be shared

And then shared again.

Seeing

Yesterday was difficult due to the weather.  Being foggy, it was hard to see outside.  With my brain challenge, it was a struggle to see... inside.  I took it slow, saw what I could, took breaks in between.  Even so, I counted many good connections between breaks in the fog.  When I opened email this morning, Kelly Flanagan's post was a meet and right start to the day.  Thank you, Kelly, for a good beginning.

http://drkellyflanagan.com/2013/12/04/what-joy-to-the-world-really-means/

Under a prayer blanket,

Warm cup of coffee in hand,

I see more clearly.

Who will I see today?

My beloved

My daughter

Certainly.

Who will I go out

To see?

My calendar holds

The prayer group,

A friend for lunch.

Who will I go

Out of my way

To see?