Bee

There is a beekeeper in me.DSCN0991
I wallow in time with
ebony and aureate sprites.

Begins a distant murmur,
then a brazen flirtation
as I ransack first fruits from
stems bent in honor of
summer’s engagement.

I have no reason to fear,
in holy union I still myself,
wings brush by, alight,
then return to job at hand.

I fall victim of honeyed wax
rich with sweetness,
almost unbearable
under harvest sun,
citrine nectar drips
through my wanton fingers.

I am a beekeeper’s
granddaughter, bold in my
passion for garden, bee,
and Keeper, all oned
in awe of bounty exuberant.

Someone In Your Name

Nibbles here and there avow success.SomeoneInYourName
Seeds quarried, treasure consumed.
Autumn squirrels breach leathery pods,
mine sweet meat encased until
embryos are undone from their womb.
No spring sprouts for my garden.

Unknowing, the vessel has more
than one purpose I demand,
serves to honor more than I accept.
Envy rends, bit by bit,
until Your nucleus is devoured.
Lost in my narrow sight
a dried husk remains.

In release of exclusive eyes
harvest is abundant,
an unceasing yield by Your hand.
Gleaners in union with our Holy One,
regardless of title or status,
all are sanctioned at Your banquet.

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Author’s Note:

38 John spoke up, “Teacher, we saw a man using your name to expel demons and we stopped him because he wasn’t in our group.”
                                                               – Mark 9:38-50The Message (MSG)

In Sunday’s reading the disciples are upset that there are others, not within their own special group, who are claiming to do works in the name of Jesus. The disciples only see through their narrow vision, not through the wide berth Jesus offers to all.

Envy gets in my way quite frequently. It takes away my focus, doesn’t let me see the whole picture. My ego is exclusive. Passage meditation is one way that helps me loosen that tight grip.

And the weekly newsletter, Word From Below, by Street Psalms always offers clarity. Thank you.

Harvest

The generosity of earth unfolds,
opens wide its arms,
as summer days fade into chill.

Harvest wealth tumbles from luscious
vines and stoic stems.
Trees pregnant with bounty
bow in offering.

Cicada song my lullaby.

The gracious earth
does not demand
but freely gives itself to me.

Oh, Holy Mother,
Creator Exuberant,
I revel in being your child blessed.