life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the month “June, 2015”

bullfrogs and writing poems

  There are no creatures you cannot love.
A frog calling at God

From the moon-filled ditch

As you stand on the country road in the June night.

The sound is enough to make the stars weep

With happiness.

In the morning the landscape green

Is lifted off the ground by the scent of grass.

The day is carried across its hours

Without any effort by the shining insects

That are living their secret lives.

The space between the prairie horizons

Makes us ache with its beauty.

Cottonwood leaves click in an ancient tongue

To the farthest cold dark in the universe.

The cottonwood also talks to you

Of breeze and speckled sunlight.

You are at home in these

great empty places

along with red-wing blackbirds and sloughs.

You are comfortable in this spot

so full of grace and being

that it sparkles like jewels

spilled on water. 

๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ

From a Country Overlooked by Tom Hennen

 

 Some days the words flow
all day

pouring

smooth and beautiful

words dancing

in streams 

like fish in a pond

jumping in the sun

while bullfrogs 

talk –

their amazing 

deep bass voices

croaking conversations 

vibrating through the air

and grasshoppers 

scrape their legs 

like bows on violin strings

in that cool raspy sound

free form jazz

only they can make. 

these are sounds 

that define summer

for all of us 

southern girls and boys

who grew up in the country

where our entertainment 

was driving through town 

waving to each other

playing country music 

or Lynyrd Skynyrd

loud 

on truck radios

while coke-a-cola

and kick-a-boo joy juice

keeps us cool 

as we hold hands

and sneak kisses

yes, some days

words flow like a 

hot summer night

in the south

and some days

all the words fly north

and I am bare naked bones

searching 

bereft 

trying to light 

wild fires in wet fields

trees with bare branches 

scrape the grey sky

nothing is beautiful

no birds sing

the flow 

is frozen 

in time

I sit 

like a Bronte novel heroine

in my moldy wedding dress

alone

in silence

waiting

for my lover

to return to me

AL ๐Ÿธ

 

 Listen to Ella & Louis sing Summetime http://youtu.be/lnXLVTi_m_M
๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ๐Ÿธ

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com

 

Genius is only one percent cleverness and ninety-nine percent a very long endurance. Keep going and never, ever give up. ย ย  ย  ย  ย – Ann Voskampย 

 

And it begins to happen and nothing could be truer than what Pascal said: โ€œInstead of complaining that God had hidden himself, you will give Him thanks for having revealed so much of Himself.โ€
The darkness ebbs.
The shadows dim โ€“
and all the trees and all the thankful, they ignite, seeing and believing the true colours of now. – Ann Voskamp

  

How can we be so blinded 

by what we say we want 

that we fail to see what we have

Closing our hands

Closing our hearts

Closing our eyes to what we already have

It’s tattooed all over the world

Engraved into our hands 

Sculpted, within us as our heart. 

Ringing as a clear bell,

the soul within us sounds continually. 

We refuse to see. 

We become angry, 

because it’s not about us. 

God does not obey our wishes,

Fails to bow to our immature and selfish demands

Live up to our ego-centric standards. 

We aim so low, puffed up in pride, 

Camouflaged by our speaking lies of our love

Love by our standards is always a rip-off,

built on selfishness. 

Built on, I want. 

Our words, sounding brass

Our tongues, full of venom

Our arms 

Our words, are as empty as our love 

Words can be weapons 

used in machine gun fashion 

to kill those in our line of fire,

usually those we live with,

claim to love most,

bleed the loudest red. 

Joy is different than fleeting laughter. 

Peace only comes through recognition of our place and repentance,

Opening closed fists. 

Softening hard hearts. 

Seeing with new vision. 

Cleaning the green off the leaves

to become 

our true colors of holy. 

Our true songs of glory. 

Our words finally carry real truth. 

Thankful awareness changes 

everything,

Only death can bring in next years harvest. 

We are all connected.

We are all in season. 

AL

  

Listen to the Beatles sing Love is All You Need http://youtu.be/ydfH7iuLR0I

๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ž

Photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/al513 

That which is – is only grace. There is nothing else.ย ย  ย  ย  – Ramana Maharshiย 

  

Your prayers are not little,

         they are the cries of God.
Your power is not slight,

         it is the sun in your heart.
Your path is not through a city of strangers,

          but through heaven. 
You are walking neither on air nor earth

         but the hands of angels. 
God is not far off,

         but within.
You are not alone,

         but surrounded by love. 
This world is the bread,

         this moment the chalice.
This visible world is a window

         into the glorious world within it. 
This is not the last chapter.

         There is more. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

   
     

Listen to Seal sing I’m Alive http://youtu.be/RwwnxpBxiRo

โŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธโŒ›๏ธ

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/al513

 
 

go quietly

  
  

 Listen to Chris Tomlin sing Take My Life http://youtu.be/agROj9nTQP4

 

shiny things

 when Whitman wrote, โ€œI sing the body electricโ€
I know what he

meant

I know what he

wanted:
to be completely alive every moment

in spite of the inevitable.
we canโ€™t cheat death but we can make it

work so hard

that when it does take

us
it will have known a victory just as

perfect as

ours.

๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹๐ŸŒ‹

a song with no end by Charles Bukowski

 
Listen to Katy Perry sing Firework http://youtu.be/QGJuMBdaqIw 

 

God shows up

  Nobody loves such days,
everything smudged in powdered lead,
the whites all off, the blacks dull

like the bad side of a mirror.

Yet in a world of shadows

what matters are not the highlights

but the shades of grays.

This river, for instance, a sooty snake

mirroring an oatmeal sky.

But watch it eddy and swirl,

and gradually the lead turns silver, begins

to blaze from within, as if begging the sun

to bust out of its straight-jacket.

And shine. Which the sun very nearly does.

But in the end, it canโ€™t be bothered.

It says, Sparkle yourself.

And eventually we do. Van Gogh returns

to the sea-light of his youth.

Sews the ear back on.

Trades his magentas and cyans

for a # 2 pencil. It is all in the shading,

he realizes. The pursuit of raging hues

was madness. God, no longer

in the rainbowed flame,

but in this wan, uncertain earthlight:

this almost-shimmer on a river.

Whatever plain brown paper wrapper

the day comes in. 

โ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธ

Gray Scale by Richard Schiffman

โ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธโ˜๏ธ

 Listen and watch Gene Kelly Singing in the Rain http://youtu.be/D1ZYhVpdXbQ

every choice mattersย 

 
You could have grown cold, but you grew courageous instead. You could have given up, but you kept on going. You could have seen obstacles, but you called them adventures. You could have called them weeds, but instead you called them wildflowers. You could have died a caterpillar, but you fought on to be a butterfly. You could have denied yourself goodness, but instead you chose to show yourself some self-love. You could have defined yourself by the dark days, but instead through them you realized your light. 

            โ€” S.C Lourie

  

   Listen to Eva Cassidy sing Time is a Healer http://youtu.be/ttl-W-hVDpQ

๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/al513

         

God, 

sometimes I just want you to hold me.

I’m not asking you to fix me,

though I wish you would.

I’m not asking you to fix my world,

though I really wish you would.

Just hold me. 

The whole earth and all the galaxies

in one arm and me in the other,

held to you close,

where I discover who I really am.

Just for now I don’t need faith or insight,

don’t need to repent, don’t even

need to pray.

I just need you to hold me.

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

focusย 

 

listen to Eva Cassidy sing my favorite song…http://youtu.be/X6Oq-WQ-Sy4     

         No one can enter a strong manโ€™s house and plunder his property 

         without first tying up the strong man; 

         then indeed the house can be plundered. 

                  โ€”Mark 3.27
Jesus is able to cast out demons because he has already overpowered the โ€œstrong man.โ€ He has robbed the demonic of its power. 
What am I most afraid of? Is it being wrong, or being alone, or being powerless? Pain, failure, insecurity, being unloved, the shattering of my self-image? What is it? What is the deepest fear that will derail me today from loving perfectly? Take a moment to reflect. 
When I feel this fear how might I react? What behaviors are red flags to me that I am afraid of the strong man? 
Stay still for a moment. Breathe deeply. Be mindful of this: God has already overpowered that which I fear. Love has already disarmed it. Once, perhaps as a child, it made sense to fear it, but no longer. What I fear is now powerless to harm me. 
I am free to walk into that fearful house and plunder it, to take life and beauty and grace. I am free to live deeply, to love perfectly, to know joy. 
With trust, courage and gratitude I take this strength, this grace with me into the day.

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

Photo source found at www.pinterest.com

starlight…have you anything to say to me??

 
When Laurens van der Post one night

      In the Kalihari Desert told the Bushmen

              He couldn’t hear the stars

Singing, they didn’t believe him. They looked at him,

      Half-smiling. They examined his face

              To see whether he was joking

Or deceiving them. Then two of those small men

      Who plant nothing, who have almost

              Nothing to hunt, who live

On almost nothing, and with no one

      But themselves, led him away

              From the crackling thorn-scrub fire

And stood with him under the night sky

      And listened. One of them whispered,

              Do you not hear them now?

And van der Post listened, not wanting

      To disbelieve, but had to answer,

              No. They walked him slowly

Like a sick man to the small dim

      Circle of firelight and told him

              They were terribly sorry,

And he felt even sorrier

      For himself and blamed his ancestors

              For their strange loss of hearing,

Which was his loss now. On some clear nights

      When nearby houses have turned off their televisions,

              When the traffic dwindles, when through streets

Are between sirens and the jets overhead

      Are between crossings, when the wind

              Is hanging fire in the fir trees,

And the long-eared owl in the neighboring grove

      Between calls is regarding his own darkness,

              I look at the stars again as I first did

To school myself in the names of constellations

      And remember my first sense of their terrible distance,

              I can still hear what I thought

At the edge of silence where the inside jokes

      Of my heartbeat, my arterial traffic,

              The C above high C of my inner ear, myself

Tunelessly humming, but now I know what they are:

      My fair share of the music of the spheres

              And clusters of ripening stars,

Of the songs from the throats of the old gods

      Still tending even tone-deaf creatures

              Through their exiles in the desert.

๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒ™๐ŸŒŸ

The Silence of the Stars by David Wagoner 

 
Listen to Ella Fitzgerald sing Stella by Starlight http://youtu.be/xDQ-Erg3KlQ

๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒ™๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒŸ

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/al513 

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