9 Lines Disparate

April 9, 2017 by leximagines

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Day Nine

1.
Overwintered cattails lie down
under spring rain’s cloak.

2.
Ten boxes, three bags, trappings released,
that which no longer serve.

3.
I yearn for open space where
the only music I hear is of bird and beast.

4.
My knee swells and pounds
as I walk with dog, twice daily, regardless.

5.
How many pieces of cloth needed
to cover my nakedness, not highlight my ego?

6.
One red tulip awakens.

7.
There is food in the fridge,
what other is there to feed me?

8.
Why do I need to know the why,
may I reside in knowing it is so.

9.
Not so disparate, really, liberate the old,
not acquire new, just leave pause to grow.

Author’s Note:

Prompt for day nine of NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“Finally, here is our prompt (optional, as always). Because today is the ninth day of NaPoWriMo, I’d like to challenge you to write a nine-line poem. Although the fourteen-line sonnet is often considered the “baseline” form of verse in English, Sir Edmund Spenser wrote The Faerie Queene using a nine-line form of his own devising, and poetry in other languages (French, most particularly) has always taken advantage of nine-line forms. You can find information of various ways of organizing rhyme schemes, meters, etcetera for nine-line works here. And of course, you can always eschew such conventions entirely, and opt to be a free-verse nine-line poet.”

Soliloquy

February 22, 2017 by leximagines

Day 21: Peace Poetry Postcard Month

Little bird, you fly
from morning chant to evensong,
then rest in arms
whose roots reach deep and strong.

In peace of Self,
not body, mind, or ego,
I learn to rest in hushed soliloquy,
no need to wander more.

Lost and Found

May 28, 2016 by leximagines

I lost my religion…

…and found God

I put down the book
too many words flew at me
I read it through
sought their meaning
tried to unscramble code
designed by those
who deem themselves
the only ones who know

I stepped out of grey clouds
covering me with verity
I knew the rules
followed the letter of the law
ignored with guilt and hid
from those who judge
right from wrong

I took off my watch
too much time
spent in
defense

I let walls crumble
my lifted ego dropped
fractured into shards

A pause for breath
boundless freedom found
I don’t have to be
anything
but me

Now I peel layers
to reach the epicenter
one fragrant petal
at a time

There awaits
one canon for all

My beating heart
my dearest friend
my Beloved
always there

There the source
no addendums
explanations
no middle men to confer grace
no fear of doing something wrong
no ceremony where perfect words
grapple in contention
where right dogmas altercate
where gods’ egos clash

It is as simple
as yes and no
no shades of in between and
more difficult than it seems

As the gentlest shaman offered
…remember the root command
love one another…

I now know how to stand
begin anew
one simple movement
one simple thought

love God
love others
love myself

As I breathe out,
God breathes in
an immutable espousal

here I begin…

Author’s Note:

For more on this poem, visit JOURNEY/lex.

Slip

May 20, 2016 by leximagines

Spring awakens a childish impatience.
Cool moist soil calls for roots
to grow deeply, nourish
stem and vine.

My thoughts focus forward
on that first luscious bite,
a juicy veneer down my chin,
the cardinal tomato chaw.

I am revived each harvest
after officiating the seeding.
But it doesn’t start with seed
or harvest’s nosh.

It is not the action, movements
I repeat presupposing I create.
I step back, return within,
Earth issues the design.

Roots compelled to dig deeply,
take hold and fill themselves
to thicken stem to tenure leaves
to pop sweet buds where bloom
will ensue to offer fruit
to fill my belly.

It begins where I cannot see,
but where I yield.

The work is compulsory
not for product, but benevolence
for season of bird and insect,
tree and star – each morsel magnified
by one rooted slip.

I cannot propagate, help or heal
unless I have cultivated Me.

It is not what I do for the world to
see, ego pressing me on.
It is not bold and righteous
indignations, ego standing tall.

It is my small quivering voice
answering Your call that I
may fall in love with Me,
the one You created,
deeply and passionately.

In consummation ego will abandon
its lien and You will outbloom
my tender.

.
.
.

Author’s Note:

I am beginning to understand that it is not what I do but how deeply I love that will attend the shift. It does no good to step out armed with ego’s chatter to change the world. Too many are injured when ego is in control.

It is hard to quiet ego, keep it at bay. But when it can be wrangled into a bit of rest, leaving it aside, there is room for roots to take hold. Roots that will grow deeply and thrive in Love.

Even more difficult is where I have to start. That place can only be with learning to love myself. For if I am vessel for the Divine, there is only one way for me to honor that. I must love myself first, as I am loved. Then the Divine flows from me, not in my way, but in full compassion for all – even to those who are formidable. I must remember, they are containers, too.

Lexanne

If you would like to learn more about this post, please visit JOURNEY/lex.

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Today’s photos, the crow and the seashell, don’t seem kindred to the text. They are. My trip to Seattle a few weeks ago gave me a freedom to discover much in myself. Crow flew by me as I drove to beaches and along lush roadways, sat by me as I rested on driftwood, walked with me in small town harbors. I was alone for two days on this journey, yet crow was there at each turn.

The shell and tiny flowers sat at the edge of a forested area near a harbor on a handrail. It was a Sunday and the altar was set by someone, it seemed just for me and my ceremony.

There I confirmed my call to nature is the ocean, not mountain. Surprising since I am a Denver “native.” I will head the call.

Aho.