Almanac Questionnaire.5

Day Twenty
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Sunday worship, a custom

child with hat and white gloves, black patent shoes
kneeling, hands folded, head bowed in supplication

guitars, women nearer the altar, kiss of peace

a pause, a long time gone

new words for old prayers, re-imaging Christ

no longer defined by Sunday or its tired form

In reverence of Redwood architecture
joining air to earth to that which lies beneath
I stand in awe of your strength
pay homage to your constancy

Three minutes down the city banded
alleyway, a wall to halt my vagrancy,
you press me to change my viewpoint,
look up instead of down, past high rise windows
my eyes ascend to glimpse a peek of sky where
buildings join air to earth
to that which lies beneath
In observance I discover
You are also here

Outside my glazed glass frame
a tree bows in reverence under snow,
crow, owl and squirrel, bees and spiders
await their spring ritual
Tree, oh Tree, you brush my face
in morning hello
tap my window in icy storm
wear that which I cannot control,
innocent release to what Is,
you welcome me to journey
enraptured I bow to You

Lilacs, lavender, iris
purple flora scenting air
fill my lungs with song
I chant Your being

In weep of rain,
I receive your indulgence
wash away quotidian dust
rain, oh, rain
a baptism of comfort issued
Your lullaby and caress

I fear of being homeless,
without a house to cover my form.
But You are home within my being,
a house not of cards to collapse
with slightest breath
but Spirit filled dwelling
where I rest and cry, sleep and love,
You place yourself within
to walk with me in holy sanctuary
all the days of my life

To be continued…

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Author’s Note:

Click for explanation of this growing poem!

What I’ve used so far…
Almanac Questionnaire
Weather: rain
Flora: lilacs, lavender, iris
Architecture: Redwoods
Customs: Sunday Worship
Mammals/reptiles/fish:
Childhood dream:
Found on the Street:
Export:
Graffiti:
Lover:
Conspiracy:
Dress:
Hometown memory:
Notable person:
Outside your window, you find: my Tree
Today’s news headline:
Scrap from a letter:
Animal from a myth:
Story read to children at night:
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: Wall
You walk to the border and hear:
What you fear: Being houseless
Picture on your city’s postcard:

Fusion, A New Year Hymn

The 7th Day of Christmas10885571_10204524793351781_5679912215840861996_n

Leave behind all that served,
a heart burst with love
used up, as it should be,
open and ready to be
filled once more

Stay voices that called out
to raise and crush,
for you are a new hymn,
the wren will defer to
your chickadee winter song,
a hint of Phoebe spring

Let hardened blows
cover in snow, leave them
forgotten, iced under where
hurt cannot escape, your muscled
spirit secure in constancy

Abandon vacant pods, hewn branches,
exhausted beds, carry with you only
wisdom gleaned, germination
unfolding a newborn empathy

All you were has crumbled
into earthly marl, open the gate,
no fear in choosing, for within you burns
a light for any passage, a light to
blaze a new you

A simple deviation
one foot in front of the other
through a yawning threshold
into unimaginable Being,
a fusion into One

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Author’s Note:

Happy New Year!

And gratitude to all those who graced my past year and made it shine, especially Stefan Andre Waligur, Kathleen Gorman, Scott Jenkins, Marcy Baruch, Kathleen E. Moore, Steve Bross, Mary Lynn Greene, and Niki Kessinger, and of course, my boys, Leroy, Dad, and Bremen. Without you, my light would not shine and my heart would not be overflowing.

Advent Geese, A Solstice Consecration

They were there.

In the silent sky early on my daily
drives, wings flapped. Although they
were too far away to see motion’s grace
or hear wind rush over and under
hollow-boned arms, I saw them.
A patterned V placed their purpose.

There were geese this fall with each
journey outside. It must be true
of this time of year, a thing
I never noticed.

Seldom did they make their voices known,
but they were always there. Gliding in front
of a full moon, a photo unable to impress
upon an iPhone screen.

They were there in afternoon walks, in
sun and grey filled skies. At night when
words flowed from my fingers in depths
of darkness. Then I could hear the cry,
in midnight still, their cry to me.

On this morning of Winter’s Solstice, four
times an Advent celebration, a new moon
soon to birth her smile, they were there.

Fireballs falling from a sky kissed by a
rising sun. A fairytale vision. Golden-winged
snitches raced across the blue, soared
over rooftops. The end of a fireworks
display, that last brave spark to shower earth
when all color has spent itself and drops only
burning embers to please the eye.

They were there. Not alien ships as misunderstood
by more fantastic eyes, but geese reflecting an
ascending light, pointing to a new beginning,
a path to take, a voice now heard, a song in
tandem harmony.

I stepped once again into this morning one last
time, three flew as one. In a moment’s breath
one departed on a path laid down only for a sole
navigator. Alone, and yet, eternally Three In One.

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Author’s Note:

I had quite an interesting experience this morning and wanted to capture it. However, I think the explanation below will help with understanding my words above.

I was sitting in the family room this morning looking out the top windows when I saw this big ball of light falling from the sky. I said to Leroy, “I just saw a falling star?” He said, “Meteor.” It’s a joke from the past. (Apparently, some amateur astronomers (not my husband) have little fancy about them. I was sternly corrected when I mentioned falling stars in the presence of one of these amateurs while visiting a local star night at Gates Planetarium a few years back.)

I looked up again and saw another. It looked like it was on fire. I know I will sound crazy when I say this, but it looked like a Quidditch snitch. It was a ball of fire with wings.

He stood up and as soon as he looked out the window there was another. Spooked, we went outside and looked up to the skies. One more and then nothing. After about a half a minute of searching the skies, a flock of geese in a V pattern flew past lit by the sun.

Even though these beautiful creatures were also ablaze, they were white light, so bright they didn’t look real. The other single ones were golden fire. We watched and realized that the falling balls of fire we both saw were individual geese lit up by this Solstice sun.

What a blessing to see these balls of fire flying through the air.

Petty Blues

Thunder snow rattles my senses
fragile flakes exit from angry clouds
weaving into pretentious city exhalation

On a day where sun was bright
and took its leave, winter’s chill
slid over mountain rim to prairie plain

Thunder breaking through gelid wisps
manifests
takes me off balance

A synoptic storm of power and gentleness
Eternal Purity and Lionheart Will
enfolds my existence into relinquishment

A remembrancer not to hold certain
or rest in piety
but sever the fetters of petty blues
and stand in awe of Divine Exposition

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Author’s Note:

Today it was 65 degrees in Denver in mid-December. Tomorrow the snow arrives.

Incarnation

Winter bright sun
throws itself reckless
across my wall
playing creator of shadows
not the real thing
but distorted views
of absolute

I hold my hand
to block its light
provoke a dialogue
become intertwined
in confusion
unable to distinguish
truth from forgery

Winter night enters quickly
more quickly than invited
blends shadow and matter
deeply into measureless space
solitude and emptiness
the same

When you come to me
Promised Light
not to reshape my tenement
not to quarrel over ordinance or creed
you come as first gleam
diamonding icicles
held in precious purchase

When you come to me
you stand in my light
bearing my shadow
I see the brilliance of
me in you
singular
not plural
incarnate both

The Animal Inside

I howl when the animal inside me sings.
I howl to let the world know I am,
the animal inside me sings harmony.

I wear red when the animal inside me wears blue.
Red sears hurt hurtling my way, spring water blue
calms my fear.

I wish for the moon to fall from sky. The animal inside
me weaves wishes braiding a ladder I climb to lead
the moon back home once more.

I collect sighs and sorrows from souls lost in wander,
the animal inside me collects dandelion puffs on which
to place each one, and blows.

I wait for Venus to rise and Sirius to spin out
of control, while the animal inside me twirls with
the stars in a tango of dreams.

And sometimes when no one is looking,
I lay myself down under the willow and cry. When no one
is looking the animal inside me cradles me to sleep.

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Author’s Note:

Our writer’s group met again tonight, hopefully a return to regular meetings.

We used a prompt from Bonnie Newbauer’s book, The Write-Brain Workbook, 365 Exercises To Liberate Your Writing. We used Day 105, Animal Tendencies.

Visit Thursday Afternoon Writers on Facebook to see what others wrote. (I know it’s Wednesday. We used to be called Wednesday Afternoon Writers, then moved to Thursday, and now we’re back on Wednesdays. Think we need a new name?)