life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the month “January, 2018”

not all who wander are lost

when the clouds part

I’ve long had trust issues with You

We both know the truth of it

Sometimes I don’t like poetry’s punch

sometimes it reveals my own sordid secrets

my prejudicial biases despite

my walk of shame through trash-filled parking lots

hearing howls from next doors graveyard shifting

willows always weeping

fake flowers decomposing in the worm laden grass

My faith starts the morning

feeling a bit wet and soggy

I keep leaking all over my day

trying to lean into the heart of it all

the end of the innocence was over long ago

still and yet,

Jesus always willingly

lays down on the proffered cross

even as the daily crucifixions continue to be demanded

by mobs and masses

the known and unknown

(I keep desperately wanting, expecting, something different from)

carried out in-spite of the pain inflicted –

possibly because of the pain inflicted –

we are violent people

so ready to kill

to proudly prove our way the only right one

even so, love knows no boundaries

chooses to soften on in

courageously receives the wound

lies there calmly bleeding out

dies over and over

in-order to rise again and again

the face of the lover cannot harden or turn away

always faces forward

sees with second sight what is possible

else all will be lost

soft answers wrung from the broken, bleeding hearted

are the only way through the hate wrung words

of the wounded little birds

defending their own lostness

we can never be whole if we refuse

to lay down and hand the nails to the other

…I know it makes no sense…

…It’s never my first choice…

even with practice it’s brutal

to get on that rugged tree

…Hence the trust issues…

All I somehow know is

it’s my only shot at truly living a life of joy

A life that matters even a little bit

A life that carried the weight of eternity

and so I try every day, all day,

just a smudge,

a smidge,

a smattering,

to doubt myself

and trust the Greater,

the One True Love and Lover

the Maker, Creator and Guardian of my pathway and only hope

of getting what I truly want

which has always been

to truly see and love another

to be fully seen and loved by that other in return


Amy Lloyd

view from a road trip

I drink the sweet right out of the day

mile after mile Im astounded

the way I ride right into the blue shadows of mountains

to find them 3 dimensional

I wonder at the way skeleton trees with bushy tops

fill these rock edged mountains

so many trees

this world is so very full of abundance

so much to share

why do we grasp?

why do we hoard?

I notice the way the road is cut through layers of rock

I notice crows the whole way…

even a named exit, I’ve never noticed, before leads me to them…

magic is certainly afoot

it calls my heart, soul, mind

into beauty places

I stop for the scenic view

I drink deep of this honeyed panorama spread before me

The sun sets gracefully

in-spite of my dirty rearview mirror

I gratefully arrive safe home


Amy Lloyd

every day wonders

I wake up with 606 miles to go

I remember to remember

this day is my gift

let me not forget to wonder in the ordinary

to see beyond my own tired eyes

gazing into the language of mountains, valleys, trees and hawks

let me not forget the beauty behind me

this time with friends and family

these celebrations of blessed union

this music, the love of my heart

let me be grateful and lighthearted for the beauty yet to be

this time with children and making new friends

this place to carve into home

the music playing always

ready to walk into the room with me

yes, this is an ordinary day

I will drive so many miles

I will be exhausted and ready to land

well before the end

but, really, this in no ordinary day…

there is no such thing

every day is a wonderland

full to the top with gifts of goodness

let me see each of them

let me scribe them into my soul

let me bow and say thank You

let me share them with another

let me wake tomorrow to find another ordinary,

not-so-ordinary day


Amy Lloyd

believe in the fire

This video doesn’t exist

You must not think that what I have

accomplished through you

could have been accomplished by any other means.

Each of us is to himself

indelible. I had to become that which could not

be, by time, from human memory, erased.

I had to burn my hungry, unappeasable

furious spirit

so inconsolably into you

you would without cease

write to bring me rest.

Bring us rest. Guilt is fecund. I knew

nothing I made

myself had enough steel in it to survive.

I tried: I made beautiful

paintings, beautiful poems. Fluff. Garbage.

The inextricability of love and hate?

If I had merely made you

love me you could not have saved me.


The Ghost by Frank Bidart

Some folks are sure there’s no God there—

the one, of course, who never was.

Abandon proof of what you know to be imaginary.

Instead: Have you ever known love?

Have you ever felt the wash of a stream

flowing through you from the impossible?

Have you felt a surge of self-giving

not of your own making,

toward a neighbor, a lover, a child?

Has water ever flowed unexpectedly?

Have you ever followed a silent Voice,

from a dry rock drunk deeply?

Don’t argue over someone else’s fantasy.

Believe, not in the treasure in someone else’s field

but the gem you stumble on in your own.

What mystery allures, believe in that.

What deep root sustains, believe in that.

What births love in this world, believe in that.

You may doubt you have been provided for—

but are you here? Are you breathing? Are you—

your hands, your thoughts—not a work of wonder?

Ignore the idea that has nothing to do with you.

Turn to the One who draws you into wondering,

who gives you this thirst, who is this asking.

Drink plenty from this deep-welled strangeness.

Throw your life into the fire of love

and whatever catches fire, follow that,

and believe in the fire.


Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

… there isn’t one of us who doesn’t need people who believe that the broken are the most beloved, that the busted are the brave, that the limping can still lead. It’s always the vulnerable heart that breaks broken hearts free. The world has more than enough people who live a masked insecurity.

It needs more who live a brave vulnerability.

We in this vulnerable communion of brokenness and givenness, will simply keep surrendering again to love because God is love and this is all that wins. No matter what the outcome looks like, if your love has poured out, your life will be success-full.

Because in the end: What matters most is not if our love makes other people change, but that in loving, we change. What matters is that in the sacrificing to love someone, we become more like Someone. Regardless of anything or anyone else changing, the success of loving is in how we change because we kept on loving.

Am I brave enough . . . to live not afraid of broken things? First steps always seem like not enough, but they are the bravest and they start the journey to where you’re meant to go. It takes great trust to believe in the smallness of beginnings.

So today? Be brave. Your bravery wins a thousand battles you can’t see because your bravery strengthens a thousand others to win their battles too.

⁃ Ann Voskamp

#TheBrokenWay #BeBrave #LetYourselfBeLoved

A few seconds before happiness

tore poems from my heart

it occurs to me

once again

that everything is grace

both sides of the gift are equal

that to fly free and ride the shining sunbeams

means trusting your pilot completely

even in the uneven spaces pushing against us

knowing my pilot opens my soul to sheer beauty

to rivers of adventure cutting through my grids of protection

through my grasping of thin shreds

through unnecessary issues of control

I am suddenly aware

the gates to the kingdom live right here

open when I step forward

in this confident level of knowing

in this bursting moment of joy

in this perfect snowflake of eternal beauty

created just to melt unseen by mortals

forever imprinted into this worlds history

just because

all because

in every which way

because of love


Amy Lloyd


What more, you may ask, do we want? Ah, but we want so much more – something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and the mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words – to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

– C. S. Lewis

the full red moon, more

than breathtaking,

moves the waters

to and from the shore

perfectly timed waves kissing

sand and toes

like tongues exploring

moving deeper and deeper

building into crescendo

pounding wave after wave

riding us into passionate ecstasy

rhythms naturally moving within

circles swirling higher and higher

until we fly into the rainbow

of pure beauty

as close to God as we can come

on this sphere of terrestrial grace

walking for these moments into sheer timelessness

within the milky way

borning new stars with the heat of our sacred connection

light lighting light

forgetting the questions

we arrive at the truest goal of our living

in the fires of the first universal truth:

we are all one


Amy Lloyd


Meanwhile, back at the resurrection

night has turned to day

here I stand amazed

at my own rebirth

dazed and a bit confused

eyes blinking in the morning sun

attempting to adjust

I am completely changed

from my life to death

back to life experience

more than a bit claustrophobic

due to the burial, no doubt

I am no longer sure

if my bank account is active

or my passport still relevant

how will I go on here in the world now?

what will my friends and family do with this who-is-now me?

they who have done with grief

and moved along with life in-between

I am, for sure, no longer the way I used to be

I have, for sure, experienced things they will never understand

I have flown with angels

and seen what lies beyond the Milky Way

I have, for sure, left my fear behind me in that fresh, unmarked grave

I know, for sure, there will be no turning back,

no compromise of this wild and exquisite thing beating within me

this life of mine is mine

this heartbeats miracle will be never forgotten gift

I can only take this first step

away from this boneyard

named and dated final markers

a place I no longer belong

I can only start close in

in silent revelry walking

along this uncharted path

which will only be revealed by my footsteps

I discard my grave clothes

and turn to see the colors of my new self shining

I take a small shaky step

and find the ground holds my weight

I breathe deep

inhale – exhale

soon I will attempt to speak

with my new voice

there is a song being written

which must be sung

a beauty seeking to burst

which will no longer be denied

a love now known

which will never be unknown

I raise my hands and kiss the sky

I bow my knees and kiss the ground

I rise and begin the journey afresh

through this narrow gate of now

that leads home to LIFE


Amy Lloyd

hen Lazarus heard his name<
e took a sudden breath.<
ith visceral trembling blood resurged.<
ut then, as when awakening some days,
e lay a moment, mired,<
eluctant to rise from the familiar<
waddling of his death<
ising, even more than dying,<
here could be no return:
or if he chose to stand,<
ll he knew would then be lost<

nd still now every morning,<
ach momentary wish for healing<
s a risk, a wakening call<
o change, to choose,<
o leave so much behind,
nd be again made new.

teve Garnaas-HolmesUnfolding

airy ponderings

Respectfully given,

exalted being

full of grace,

remember to forget that:

surrender struggles to catch it’s breath,

then falls soft

as evening prayers at twilight,

gathering into the corners of our hearts

before falling full onto the center of our living circle, free and happy as Friday night.

next morning’s sun fills us,

each day, each season.

nurture moves with grace, evolving slowly thru

our caring hands,

our grieving hearts,

our shared experience,

our acts of courage,

the healing salt of our tears.

with pieces of our true love,

we fly flags,

of prayer,

of peace,

of poems,

of our own making

to heal the worlds –

within us/

without us.

we allow –

simply complex.

we understand –

clearly unclear.

we stand and fill our world with the beauty

of sound,

of hum,

of voice,

of music,

protecting us

from lesser gods,

the terror all around.

love is the shield,

love is the answer,

love is the choice,

love is our glory,

our salvation,

crowning us

sons and daughters

of the King.

at times,

in spite of our broken pieces,

our refusal to believe,

even our darkened hearts.


isn’t it?


Amy Lloyd

You thought your inhalation

was nothing but air.

Now, through the Master’s grace,

you know that every breath

is an ocean of stars.

You thought that your mind

was an electric ghost

in the neurons of your brain.

Now, through the Master’s grace,

your body floats like a thistle

in the blue sky of awareness.

Your heart overflows the golden

galactic cup.

There is no difference at all

between silence and creation

when you drown in the Master’s grace.

Your stillness is seva,

the storm-like power that

sweeps the earth clean.

Even when you sleep

that eye does not close

whose gaze is your Being.

Now dream and sing, dance and cry,

die and be shaped like a tear again

in the womb of a fearless love.


Fred LaMotte

What a woman wants

we are here to impact the world

in special ways

each of us play some small part

in the greatest story of all

…and God spoke…

God created…

God keeps creating….

we keep creating…

It’s who we are…

our design is to design…

having impact takes destruction

from chaos comes order

beauty in every part of the process

Can you see it?

Can you live there now?

step into the blasted uncomfort-zone?

stay there for as long as it takes for the mud to settle,

for the bones to pop back into place,

with no guarantee of a pleasant outcome…

will you stand up and be counted?

keep stepping into the void

knowing the value of the work

knowing the well-being of the world may well depend on us standing in our own over-sensitive skin

speaking our own shaking words of truth

choosing what we truly want to eat from today’s menu


Amy Lloyd

“The more sincere your questions, the more sincere your answers,” I rattled off on the phone to her after a long, exhausting day book writing. I was sharing where I was in the process, recapping the flow of the map I’m creating, worrying that the first step was too hard, the first invitation too challenging. “You know? Like when we ask the wrong question, a shallow question, a question looking for quick results, we get unfulfilling answers, rushed “realizations” or “solutions” that don’t stick — not for long. I want them to ask deeper questions. The kind that put them into real alchemical processes. The kind that inspire them to live the questions, as Rilke says. And I want to teach them how.” “Rach, don’t worry that they can’t go deep. Just take them there and let them decide. That’s your job. You’re allowed to challenge.” “You’re right. You’re right.” And I told her how I needed this practice for my own damn self right now. Because I’ve been asking the shallow questions, getting shallow answers. Afraid of the intimate truth that real inquiry reveals. Afraid to be that close to the quiet sacred beauty of birth and death, beginnings and ends, miraculous light and miraculous loss. Afraid to see myself soaring like a self-directed sage in a fog of majestic motion. But our fears reveal our truest questions. Can I see the light through the fog here? Can I love the hazy unknown? Can I feel the blessing here? Can I embrace this epic wild?

The more sincere your questions, the more sincere your answers. “What is your truest question?” Isn’t something you can answer with your conscious mind. You must take the time to go out into the world and look with symbolic sight for the oracle nature delivers, the messages you receive when you make yourself a humble receptor, when you let your subconscious wonder. What jumps out at your blood and bones? What do you see that feels like a poem? And how might this oracle reveal a deeper question? Honest questions call in honest transformations. And while it can feel intimidating to be so intimate with the truth, it is this awe inspiring intimacy that you truly long to remember — that feels like healing, even when it’s hard.


Rachel Maddox

The Idea isn’t enough,

You will need Guts.

Guts isn’t enough,

You will need Wisdom .

Wisdom isn’t enough,

You will need Resources.

Resources isn’t enough,

You will need quality People.

People isn’t enough,

You will need Leadership.

Leadership isn’t enough,

You will need Action.

Action isn’t enough.

You will need Direction

Direction isn’t enough,

You will need Grace.

Grace isn’t enough,

You will need an Intent.

Intent isn’t enough,

You will need Humility.

Humility isn’t enough,

You will need to be a Learner.

Learner of all phases can help you,

To Be Human Enough.

Human Enough,

Seems Good Enough,

Seems Good Enough.

– Ingredients 🙂

Jayesh Suri


Crazy Holy Grace

A Crazy, Holy Grace

A CRAZY, HOLY GRACE I have called it. Crazy because whoever could have predicted it? Who can ever foresee the crazy how and when and where of a grace that wells up out of the lostness and pain of the world and of our own inner worlds? And holy because these moments of grace come ultimately from farther away than Oz and deeper down than doom, holy because they heal and hallow. “For all thy blessings, known and unknown, remembered and forgotten, we give thee thanks,” runs an old prayer, and it is for the all but unknown ones and the more than half-forgotten ones that we do well to look back over the journeys of our lives because it is their presence that makes the life of each of us a sacred journey. We have a hard time seeing such blessed and blessing moments as the gifts I choose to believe they are and a harder time still reaching out toward the hope of a giving hand, but part of the gift is to be able, at least from time to time, to be assured and convinced without seeing, as Hebrews says, because that is of the very style and substance of faith as well as what drives it always to seek a farther and a deeper seeing still.

There will always be some who say that such faith is only a dream, and God knows there is none who can say it more devastatingly than we sometimes say it to ourselves, but if so, I think of it as like the dream that Caliban dreamed. Faith is like the dream in which the clouds open to show such riches ready to drop upon us that when we wake into the reality of nothing more than common sense, we cry to dream again because the dreaming seems truer than the waking does to the fullness of reality not as we have seen it, to be sure, but as by faith we trust it to be without seeing. Faith is both the dreaming and the crying. Faith is the assurance that the best and holiest dream is true after all. Faith in something—if only in the proposition that life is better than death—is what makes our journeys through time bearable.


⁃ Frederick Buechner Originally published in The Sacred Journey


The little girl quietly walked away

from the real and scary world

through the secret door

where no one could follow her

into the world of make believe

where everyone loved her

and understood everything she needed to say

where the play was all about play

and the laughter was not at her expense

the angels loved her singing

and all the magical fairies were her true friends

For so long I grieved my losses

extreme as they were

but now

right now in this magic moment

I am learning

I have learned

to love the sound

of my footsteps

as I walk away

from those people and things

who cannot,

who do not,

love me

and so,

are not meant for me

as hard as that can be

it is all grace upon grace

beauty stacked on beauty

there is more goodness in this world than anything else we will ever find

and so it goes


Amy Lloyd

Post Navigation