life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the month “March, 2016”

open sesame

  
Yes
I stretch out

my arms
and bear 

your cross
Your fear

that wells up and overflows
your sorrow 

that haunts
the most awful pain

you endure
and you cause

I embrace
I gather into myself

with open arms
to swallow it

in love
I drown your No in my Yes

to a deeper Yes
The grave itself I smother 

in love
until there is

nothing left
but Yes

and still
even later and always

my open arms

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

 
Hearts out searching our for home
that one place where we belong
it’s a cold dark night my baby
but I have seen the light
home is your arms 
holding me tight

deeper and deeper into the beautiful 
waking my heart to sing this song
fly with me as flames grow higher
passion flaming deep desire
touching us on this dark night

there is hope in this moment 
there is hope in the sky
when days go dark and lonely baby
as long as stars are burning bright
there is hope
there is hope 
they burn for you
oh baby 
I burn for you

There are times when life goes hazy
that place we all fall down
life can be so hard my baby
will you hold the line tonight?
open up your heart and fight 

there is hope in this moment 
there is hope in the sky
when days go dark and lonely baby
as long as stars are burning bright
there is hope
there is hope 
they burn for you
oh baby 
I burn for you

we can do it together
love’s the place where dreams come true
we can do it together 
I believe we can make it
through 

❤️

AL

  

put a little trust in it 

Wendell Berry wrote, “Faith is not necessarily, or not soon, a resting place. Faith puts you out on a wide river in a boat, in the fog, in the dark.” 

 
The things that haven’t been done before,

   Those are the things to try;

Columbus dreamed of an unknown shore

   At the rim of the far-flung sky,

And his heart was bold and his faith was strong

   As he ventured in dangers new,

And he paid no heed to the jeering throng

   Or the fears of the doubting crew.
The many will follow the beaten track

   With guidepost on the way,

They live and have lived for ages back

   With a chart for every day.

Someone has told them it’s safe to go

   On the road he has traveled o’er,

And all that they ever strive to know

   Are the things that were known before.
A few strike out, without map or chart,

   Where never a man has been,

From the beaten paths they draw apart

   To see what no man has seen,

There are deeds they hunger alone to do;

   Though battered and bruised and sore,

They blaze the path for the many, who

   Do nothing not done before.
The things that haven’t been done before

   Are the tasks worth while to-day;

Are you one of the flock that follows, or

   Are you one that shall lead the way?

Are you one of the timid souls that quail

   At the jeers of a doubting crew,

Or dare you, whether you win or fail,

Strike out for a goal that’s new?  

          ~ Edgar A. Guest 

  
let’s do something new

me and you

let’s travel uncharted territory 

make new maps of all we find
let’s create a new heaven

and a new earth

just by touching each other’s souls

tracing hearts around each other’s scars
let’s do something extraordinary 

something spectacular 

 something world changing

something wild
let’s create a brand new star

just by loving each other

so completely 

it starts a supernova of epic proportion
let’s do something fun

something we can laugh at forever

something to bring joy into the room

peace into this broken world

😃

AL

  

 

No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new heaven to the human spirit. 

–Helen Keller

🌎

find photo sources at http://www.pinterest.com 

blinders off

 

 IN A FAR OFF CORNER

In a far off corner of a wide wide world

lies the circumstance that faces another.
A circumstance so abject that life

never really begins. And then it

dies quietly, announced by

an unheard whisper.
And from our corner of this world,

safe and secure under bejeweled roofs,

we pay our cursory glance of sympathy.
We forget that all corners connect, and

that the experience of each life lives

within us all. Albeit in disguise.
And we miss the possibility hidden

in the circumstance of another.
The possibility that compassion might soften

the edges of our own uneven experience,

and that the simple act of togetherness

might liberate our disheartened lives.
There are no far off corners

in this wide wide world.
And there are no separate lives.

💔
Nic Askew 

Home

  

I ride Greyhound

because it’s like being
in a John Steinbeck novel.
Next best thing is the laundromat.
That’s where all people
who would be on the bus if they had the money
hang out. This is my crowd.
Tonight there are cleaning people appalled
at the stupidity of anyone
who would put powder detergent
into the clearly marked LIQUID ONLY slot.
The couple by the vending machine
are fondling each other.
You’d think the orange walls
and fluorescent lights
would dampen that energy
but it doesn’t seem to.
It’s a singles scene here on Saturday nights.
I confide to the fellow next to me
that I suspect I am being taken
in by the triple loader,
maybe it doesn’t hold any more
than the regular machines
but I’m paying an extra fifty cents.
I tell him this meaningfully
holding handfuls of underwear.
He claims the triple loader
gives a better wash.
I don’t ask why,
just cruise over to the pop machine,
aware that my selection
may provide a subtle clue.
I choose Wild Berry,
head back to my clothes.

🌎

I Ride Greyhound by Ellie Schoenfeld 

  
I spot one. 

a coin laudro-mat

I feel blessed to be able to wash my clothes. 

towels and unmentionables. 

a small bag. 

I walk into the familiar,

yet for a while now, 

Blessedly Unfamiliar. 

I remember the years of this in my life

my most missed luxury in all of life

was washing and drying clothes

at home. 

So hard this part of life became. 

So challenging and humbling. 

$4.50 to wash 

a quarter for 5 minutes to dry. 

I struggle to adjust. 

I hadn’t planned on this. 

I don’t look the part today. 

I have to ask questions to reacquaint myself with this system. 

Here in the midst of 

hard working-and-living men, 

tired mothers and crying babies,

the immigrants and struggling,

These to whom I belong. 

those who make their living 

through making clean the dirty.
I stand and watch the circle go round 

Hot tears stinging my eyes

I remember. 

Those days. 

Those tough-as-nails days. 

Plunged from luxury to poverty

in a heartbeat-break of life. 

So soon we forget…

So quickly we remember…

I watch the water rise – 

  I didn’t put in enough soap. 

      There are no suds. 

I pray that hot water I chose 

for those 2 extra, hard-earned quarters,

 will do it’s work

and my clothes will smell good. 

I will not prolong my stay –

or use more of my precious coins. 
I pray each of our guardian-laundry angels 

will bless each of us

doing laundry every day 

in all types of conditions. 

This would be pure luxury in parts of this world. 

I pray for grace. 

I pray to remember. 

I pray to be grace. 

I pray to be The Words of God to heal the broken. 

I pray for grace. 

I pray for the crying baby,

and the tired man,

whose current outfit could use a good washing itself. 

I pray for the immigrant family,

quietly folding together,

speaking Spanish in hushed voices. 

I pray for the fabulous girl at the dryers,

with the faux Burberry scarf flung jauntily over her shoulder,

I hope to carry myself with such flair and dignity. 

We are all here –

Bearing the high cost,

and inconvenience,

of poverty in our society. 
I pray as quiet tears run. 

I stand in my washer’s corner hoping nobody sees my memories. 

I blow my over-productive nose. 

and give thanks for all things. 

Especially that I have known these struggles.

That I know how this feels. 

That I am part of this humanity. 

Not separate 

I am one with all God’s created people. 

All seeking clean clothes,

washing machines

and hope. 
The crying baby starts to laugh

I smile as well. 

God is always good

I am always blessed – 

If I am willing to see the blessings –

even if it takes years and years to see them.

🔘

AL

  

become the poem

 

1.
Have you ever been in the middle of things, not knowing which way to go? Do I move forward, do I turn back. Do I go left, do I go right. I oscillate between this choice and the other, turning and turning in place, which in itself is a decision, isn’t it.
2.

When I encounter turns in a poem, I feel the most delicious thrill. This is not a failure, this is a discovery. I have arrived at the centre, and now we are going to turn. Do we move forward, do we turn back. Do we go left, do we go right. Do we delve in between the lines in search for the truth, and is it a truth that will matter?
3.

The poem turns, and I’m either moved or not moved. Most of the time, moved. Most of the time, moved spectacularly, which finds me on my knees supplicating, more of this, yes, more of this.
4.

Day by day again, I arrive at the turning point. Do I get up or not get up. Do I live or not live. Do I let the body love what it loves, do I let the mind pay attention, do I lift my face from my hands, do I try being human for at least one more day?
5.

The poem and the world turns, both.

🌎

by T

https://readalittlepoetry.wordpress.com/2016/03/18/i-sink-back-upon-the-ground-by-david-ignatow/

  

God, lead me.

Your love is my morning star—awaken me;

my north star— lead me from what enslaves me.

I navigate by the star of your love.

I set myself for the long journey.
Give me courage to be led,

wisdom to let you lead me,

to follow and not stray, not turn back,

not go my own way.

Oh, pure star, save me from my own way.
I name those times I followed my own way…

and those times I followed your love…
May I see your star in my sky

and set my face toward it always.

Set my compass, God, 

and keep me from straying.

I let go of my need to know the way,

my pride that I do,

my fear that I don’t.

You lead me, and I trust, give thanks and follow.
In stillness I listen for your whisper,

I feel for your nudging,

I give myself

to follow. 

Love, lead me. 

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

  
I could write a book on that…
I’ll write a poem instead
I’ll condense the whole story
into a few lines
a word 
or two
and 
there you have it

my full story

best version 

🌎
AL

  

Hello + Welcome!

amazing grace

 

 God, save me from the lie 

of an acceptable death,

the heroic sacrifice (too many spent),

a crazed god’s scheme

to sell forgiveness for blood.

Save me from the anticipated gesture,

the deal agreed upon.

Deliver me instead into truth’s sordid lap,

the bewildering perversion

that comes of fear, and death its only issue, 

violence its only hands and feet;

the way we judge, the way we think we can.

Let me not blame this on you.
No: only in the jumpy torchlight 

of the unnecessary flames

of another lynching, another rape,

a war, an execution,

the tragedy of power,

only here in honest horror

do we see your awful love in all its range,

your inexplicable grace unbending,

mercy nailed and crowned with thorns.

Only here in our deepest depravity,

not planned, not paid for, but accepted,

can I know love strong enough

to save me and all this trembling world

not from that but this,

not from the fear of hell

but from the hell itself of fear.

Only in my deepest loss, and yours,

do I see love win

and raise me up to something new

and really alive. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

  
walking by faith
expecting miracles 
we rely on things to come
we hope in what is not seen
we stand on invisible ground
fly without evidence of our wings
we fight battle with foes from another dimension
we teach without seeing the whole vision
we trust what we cannot see with our eyes
we walk on 
knowing, 
for sure, 
we are going the right way
directed by the silence
in bright, beautiful pathways of grace
and dark, eerie forests of fog
somedays we are surrounded by fellow pilgrims, or foes, or strange bed-fellows,

other days we seem to walk alone
no matter
we walk on
or we sit and wait
relying on radical trust
we learn the virtues by living 
because we have truly learned
what we could never learn
by our own understanding 
faith is the victory
everything is grace

☀️

AL
 

 

history 

  
Every poem has been written before
at least fifteen times.
Every song
sung better.

The Neanderthals discovered caves
already painted with the story of their lives.
They invented fire
over and over again.

And you & I
whisper the same sweet nothings
we were born with.

💞

History by Andrew Gent
  
  
  
today is the 5th anniversary of Life: acoustic & amplified!! 

you do what you do

  
There Will Be Things You Do 
you won’t know why.

Maybe waiting to tie

your shoelaces

until everything else

is in place.

Could be you’ll slide

your egg yolks aside

eat every bit of bacon,

toast, whites while the forsaken

yellow orbs stare at you

from the side pocket

of your empty plate.

People will ask

why do you save

your yolks for last

and you won’t know—

won’t recall

the cousin from the south

came to visit one summer

ate his eggs so odd

your family said

stuck with you

like the way

you love to be kissed

on the back of your neck

can vaguely recollect

your mother’s kisses

after your bath

too gentle for memory.

There will be things you do

you won’t know why

like the way you look
up at the sky

when anxious or blue

it’s what your father

used to do

every family trip

when nothing else

was right

except those clouds

moving north by northwest
through the night

he showed you
 

what pilots knew:

factors for safe flying

are visibility

and how low

and mean the clouds are.

☁️☁️☁️☁️

There Will Be Things You Do by Kim Dower

  
 

happy birthday to my dad!  

St Patrick’s Day

 

 

  
To be so moved by a song, it’s lyrics, the music, a voice, by art, by nature, by a teaching, by a person. Moved to a point where your heart breaks open so wide that you know that the pulse of life is beating as One. It’s the Universal Heartbeat, of which can feel as if it is within you. Truth is, that feeling is us being of God. 

🎼

   – Robyn Whiteman

I see a light 

  
Please,

give me some inspiration 

away from the lights of retail obsession 

after that quick thrill is gone

the empty thrill of addiction’s lie

what is left but emptiness?

Inspire me with true beauty

kindness

truth

the deep satisfaction of truth

replace the illusion of neon lights

plastic glamour 

with the glory of what is real

to see my true self

the weighty value of love 

the only water to quench the thirsty soul

the only inspiration which keeps us seeking more

while being full 

at the same time

💞

AL

 

  Purchase amazing Stripy Arms inspiring art @

Home

❤️

 Find the good. 
   It is all around you. 

      Find it, showcase it…. 

-Jesse Owens  

spring fling 

   
    
 
After long icy months

the little frogs emerge,

thaw out and sing 

their joy to be able

to sing for joy, sing wonder,

sing their longing, and ours,

a more than mating call,

naively throwing their hope

into the air, and ours, 

not just for the more 

but for the someone.

There’s little to do about it

but to notice the longing

and make a habit of knowing it,

even without words,

trusting it, even just

the high, earnest sound 

of our mating call for God

and the faithful waiting,

married to the promise,

which has also been faithful

for millions of years.

You walk along the pond and listen, 

let your heart rise a little,

and wait. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

 

 As I approach, 
it comes to me quickly – 

all four seasons are flowing,

visible residents 

of this mornings beach. 

Here are bands of snow 

from this spell 

we call Winter. 

Here, layers of leaf-surf to shuffle through the memories, 

we called Fall. 

Which, seems to me, 

was just yesterday? 

The sands dna carries the Summer sun,

still warm, 

within its restless, shifting soul. 

It whispers promises of returning warmth and sunshine as I stand, here and now, in cold, driving rain, 

working through markers of time,

arriving, right here, at my favorite season, 

Spring!

Grief, death and hope are front and center,

as Vinnie’s beautiful, driftwood cross 

still stands as a memorial to his mother’s recent passing, 

as well as, the hope of springs arrival! 

Easter carries the sharp winds of death,

alive with the eternal mystery of resurrection. 

I realize there are many symbols of spring, 

on this mixed media stretch of grainy life: 

The all-weather gulls floating, trusting, 

eternally free. 

The rhythm of the waves forever dancing with, 

continually kissing,

the shore. 

Then there’s me,

aware and alive, 

with possibilities 

of love, 

music,

even that slippery word, 

happiness,

surrounding my steps!

It doesn’t matter

that you aren’t here yet. 

Knowing I am worthy of this is enough. 

There are awakenings,

rising strong on mended wings,

trusting the healing path taken, 

even as the work continues. 

Allowing these

shy, twinkling lights 

to glow and illuminate 

the most fearful, secret corners 

of the darkest rooms 

of my heart. 

I smile and silently shout, Yes! 

I promise to love and be loved!

I am willing to let love all the way in! 

Can you hear me, wherever you are?

Will your heart shout out as well?

I can’t stop smiling. 

March and Courage,

these fearless lions,

who will lead us all home –

right where we belong. 

😍

AL

 

  

 

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