life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

waiting to cross over

And still now every morning,

each momentary wish for healing

is a risk, a wakening call

to change, to choose,

to leave so much behind,

and be again made new.

– Steve Garnaas Holmes

Hey can you write a letter for me?

Dear … (what’s that preachers name?)

Every holy diadem of a single

solitary breathing

every moment on this shelf of living

a single, solitary life

subsumed into the pain of others

the holy grail of connection

filling this cup within my heart

this role play with each character

each story a classic

an epic tale of woe and joy

there is always room for more

than tables and candlesticks

turning a carpetbag into a steamer trunk

poppins would be proud to carry

under a particular umbrella

why do we so easily forget ourselves?

abundance is our birthright

gluttony a human pursuit

shared by too many of our contemporaries

marking time by comparisons

making life a heaviness to be borne

where music falls as dirges

and the cracks we free-fall into

drop 45 minutes straight to the center of the circle

the letters we learn to write

always seem to start the same way –


what would happen if I was not fine?

Cuz Im not so sure

I am…

feeling suspended

If you didn’t tell me how you are in such a smug word

but drizzled your feelings sweetly, slowly, a bit at a time

throughout a scrawled leaf of imperfect penmanship

a new thought might become magical

a new life might be born into being

we might all find a new nickname even better than T-bone

as a matter of fact


Amy Lloyd

Oh, I talked so much last night.

Told secrets,

laughing at the words that came pouring from my insides.

Life that was raw and succinct .

That crisp expression

when you capture something right.

That knowing that years were not wasted

and even trying to work out your salvation,

is a mistake…

the time I found a compass in the drawer,

the frog in an open palm

a New York City block

and a long, winding road in the desert of the heart.

We can hear it in a hundred ways

God forms changing by the years,

by the nudge

someone sitting next to us in a pew

messages delivered

by monster,

by administrator;

by the balancing of chemistry

and the hours on a clock.

Wordless expressions

on the faces of men.

Children wrapped in pastel blankets

and swaddled in their parents arms

diligent tendering

finding words on paper

to match the age that you’ve grown to.

We say we don’t do it…

but that working it out before it’s too late…

we try it

hear our mistakes

wonder why we thought such a thing

or how long before the veil wakes us up

the morning arriving, so soon.

and plane trips are often distractions

when you’ve forgotten

which direction to go…

knowledge of Carl Jung,

and we’re gone for hours.

Sixty is not a long time

but it’s enough to know some rules

to practice the ordinary niceties

to break free of the constant enabling

to fraction more inner waking

and to sleep inside deep, deep healing skin.

When you truly hear the language of

Love…you know to whom you belong,

For what you would die

How you would comfort,

And how everything is a gift.

And the Spirit of the Living God

Leans inward on the heart.


Rev. Donna Knutson

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