life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

a buzz

it happens every time this year…

some form of mystical madness

that seeps through …


even raptures the atmosphere…

something waiting,

anticipating, announcing …

I often go off the grid, around the corner, deep down in the layers of my life…and sit there, pray there, waltz with God…

and then I review the pages of the calendar

heading back to Dec. 24th and leaving the main stream,

while never able to remove myself from the

Road to Damascus

and falling off horses,

falling off logs,

awakening to the fire in my cells…

the interruption of human and divine

blind radiance that makes the unknown, Known.

I could flip to October and the birthing of babies,

or back to January and the beginning of the end with mom;

or June 7th and Ordination

Whether it be babies or bumblebees,

or prayer walking in the trees,

kayaking on Lake Cunningham,

no one has the same God

or just the right story,


the journey through all of eternity

now that is truly yours,

given freely for you. Forever and ever,

kind of like fairy tales

or the mystics and giants.

You find the Light when it’s time,

when the messages click,

and sometimes there is that horse

or the conversation with Hildegard

– the twirling with Rumi

the sunset that opens the inner eye

the cool morning breath as you walk around the block…

the prayer that seeped through to the other side…

the baby you rock to sleep every night…

finally you can say,

we are dancing in paradise

God’s rumba is ALIVE…


Rev. Donna Knutson

Only calmness will reassure

the bees to let you rob their hoard.

Any sweat of fear provokes them.

Approach with confidence, and from

the side, not shading their entrance.

And hush smoke gently from the spout

of the pot of rags, for sparks will

anger them. If you go near bees

every day they will know you.

And never jerk or turn so quick

you excite them. If weeds are trimmed

around the hive they have access

and feel free. When they taste your smoke

they fill themselves with honey and

are laden and lazy as you

lift the lid to let in daylight.

No bee full of sweetness wants to

sting. Resist greed. With the top off

you touch the fat gold frames, each cell

a hex perfect as a snowflake,

a sealed relic of sun and time

and roots of many acres fixed

in crystal-tight arrays, in rows

and lattices of sweeter latin

from scattered prose of meadow, woods.

Honey by Richard Morgan

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love. 1 John 4:18

When love’s got hold of you, there isn’t a lie in the universe that can hold you, or pull you apart.

Let the broken say: when you’re bruised by lies, believe truth and whisper it louder: I am my beloved’s.

– Ann Voskamp

There are bees all over

making love to the lavender

I, the daughter of Eve,

think about my bad choices.

revel in grace abundant,

that gently saves me from my self.

shy sunflowers

remind me of forgiveness.

the garden gnome and the smiling turtles

remind me of when I used to try so hard.

nothing was easy.

I worked for two.

carrying a load made to share.

Love…is a holy experience

Yes and Amen!

so is life!

the sparkling red bird feeder

keeps reminding me

to stop and just relax.

The birds come,

when it’s full they eat;

when it’s empty they fly

to find provision

at the next place.


there is provision.

they never whine or complain –

they just fly!



the cool breeze makes me smile.

I think about sharing the empty chair

with someone

who prays for me.

who prays with me.

who could sit in silent company

with me.

breathing it all in.

loving it all out.




speaking these miracles

in new ways, to open me

to more wonder,

while sharing

the same heart,

the same thirst.

There’s intimacy in the air tonight

God is walking with me

in the cool of the evening

Eden is ch-ch-changing

Welcoming me home.

Well done, my child

Amy Lloyd

Bee Blessing

The night

the bees came

was a cold one,


sharp and

frost tipped.

They arrived


swaddled in

smoky slumber,

lost in the deep humming


of the hive.

The signs had been


the Beeman told us,

and a dark night

before the new moon

was perfect.


they would

wake to a

new world,

like toddlers


their journey


knowing only the



rhythm of the

car engine


Scouting ahead,

like a faithful


the Beeman

had checked the


and pronounced it


“They will like the

old ivy and

the heather”,

he said,

“It will make

the honey sweeter




Locked up in the

old orchard,

high walled,


open skyed,

they will work

their ancient


and turn pollen


liquid gold.

Leaving their

wax worked


at dawn’s daily


to gather goods,

their wings

a droning


upon the wind,

they will


blooms and blossom,

alighting with

a touch

that dusts them

with the yellow

gift of

new life,

as they seek

the hidden


of the


So these,

our new


stalled in choir

combs now,

upon this

whole and holy

land of


will make,

with us poor


one great

monastery of



bees and brothers


seek the

sweet nectar

of the now,

and are in our




and become


(Written to celebrate the arrival this month of the new Beehives to the Ards Friary Walled Garden)

By Richard Hendrick

Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: