Milk Glass

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Day Eighteen

 

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Little you, that piece
of you, first bud
on lilac’s branch,
will bloom forth
without burden.

Little you, that
sadness you hold,
a milk glass trifle
of memory past,
will fade.

Little you, those
tears, rainlets to wash
away abandoned hope,
sun faithfully dawns.

Little you, you are
as vital as the least
imperceptible cell
and the most
eloquent planet.

Little you, rejoice
in you, for you are
perfect, simply
by your creation.

And that is all
that matters.

 

Author’s Note:

Not following the prompt today, but borrowing a word. Thank you, Vandana Bhasin.

Where Shall We Meet?

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Day Sixteen

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I’ll meet you
on the hill
near Mother Tree
just before dawn.

And what day is this
we shall meet?

A day like any other
when sun rises
above cattails
and stream.

Well, what month
do we meet?

This one or that,
anyone that suits you,
simply the one that
brings you to me.

What shall I ferry?

A candle to light your
way until sun throws
her wisdom
along our path.

And herbs to scent
the air, and a book
of holy words to fill
our bellies.

What else?

A bowl for water
to wash away
dust of the past,
to hold precious blessings
for the present, and
discern a crystal view into
future’s quest.

Is there but one more
thing I should bear?

Your heart,
only that vessel
empty and open,
ready to be filled
with awe and wonder,
joy and reverence,
for this moment,
our union,
we will never
chance upon again.

Author’s Note:

Prompt for Day 16: NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“And now for our prompt (optional, as always). Today I challenge you to take your inspiration, like our featured interviewee did in the chapbook she co-authored with Ross Gay, from the act of letter-writing. Your poem can be in the form of a letter to a person, place, or thing, or in the form of a back-and-forth correspondence.”

 

Root

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Day Two

 

 

root

Gently it unfolds.
Just before dawn
a sweet call
announces your
return, your nest
in preparation.

Reassured, I mark
his parade. Four small
wheels turning under
aluminum scaffold
bent and formed to catch
his unsteady slant.

Another winter passed and
he remains fundamental
to spring’s element.

From tip of bud
it is not extrinsic
ingredients we fashion
into seasons, but
from root below,
those we do not see.

It is finesse of ancients
who came before to teach
us how to assemble.
Their wisdom of time.
Their refinement
into patience. Their
passion to endure.

This our recipe of
transfiguration.

 

Author’s Note:

Day Two prompt from NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“And last but not least, here is our prompt (as always, optional). Today, I’d like you to write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.”

Archeology

 

Join me at JOURNEY/lex, a weekly pondering of poetry, mystics, and the world.

 

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1.

It is a madness where I dwell
deep within myself,
a place where some say
heresy resides.

It is the archeology of me
wherein the Echo of the
Universe dances.

2.

I do not turn You aside
or hinder as Creation yawns
a grand breath each dawn,
unfurls into every corner.

I come to You an empty vessel,
a mosaic of broken pieces
composed from night’s release.

Your golden hue haloes
a new beginning.

I am yours in this every day
spring, your beloved,
as You are mine.

 

You can read more at JOURNEY/lex.

Clean Slate

The longest night is past.NativityFinal2015

Within its dark, a frightening
place to be, I opened
my eyes to face my frailty.
There I see your Light,
growing gently
with steady breath,
never to be extinguished
by my uncertainty.

And again, You come to me,
take me by the hand anew,
warm it with yours,
remind me of Refuge,
a place where I once more
learn to stand, accept
my mistakes, walk
lightly, shine of me.

When I become that
child, crying under a
star so bright three
could not help but follow,
we are newly Oned,
at the beginning,
slate wiped clean.

In this growing Dawn
I see I am the gift given,
You the Reminder.
I am the Beloved quartering
the Light, a precious
vessel empowered
by Boundless Devotion.

I am One with You,
let us shine together.

Merry Christmas.
Happy birthday.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

Lexanne

Jacob’s Axis

God lives here. Trembling, my heart falls
into depths so deep, so dark I fear the possibility

of vacancy. Jacob grappled, wouldn’t give in,
paid the price, a chronicle to keep his

axis. God lives here in me. I will not fall
too far, tumble into waves that wrap

their arms choking out my breath. God lives
here in me when dawn takes down night

and consumes my being with her fire. God
leaves no room for war. The voice of God

whispers and even lame-legged Jacob stays
without a wobble. The edge of hatred melts

in the blistering of where God lives. God lives
here in my stillness, where I stand like Jacob,

wounded and cradled in such precious
hands. I know where God lives.

.

.

.

Author’s Note:

Psalm 46