life: acoustic & amplified
poetry, quotes & thoughts about life
Archive for the category “action”
passion
Go out on a limb when you pray for others. Take a risk. Be outrageous. Be passionate. Take a leap. Love a lot, not just a little. –Rick Hamlin
I’m not making this up. In Cafe Latte’s wine bar
one of the lovely coeds at the next table
touched John on the arm as if I wasn’t there
and said, Excuse me, sir, but what
is that naughty little dessert?
And I knew from the way he glanced
at the frothy neckline of her blouse,
then immediately cast his eyes on his plate
before giving a fatherly answer,
he would have given up dessert three months
for the chance to feed this one to her.
I was stunned; John was hopeful;
but the girl was hitting on his cake.
Though she told her friend until they left
she did not want any. I wish she wanted
something-my husband, his cake, both at once.
I wish she left insisting
upon the beauty of his hands, his curls,
the sublimeness of strawberries
and angel food. But she was precocious,
and I fear adulthood is the discipline
of being above desire, cultivated
after years of learning what you want
and where and how, after insisting
that you will one day have it. I don’t
ever want to stop noticing a man like the one
at the bar in his loosened tie, reading
the Star Tribune. I don’t want to eat my cake
with a baby spoon to force small bites,
as women’s magazines suggest. And you
don’t want to either, do you? You want a big piece
of this world. You would love to have the whole thing.
Consuming Desire by Katrina Vandenberg
Live authentically. Why would you continue to compromise something that’s beautiful to create something that is fake? – Steve Maraboli
Photo sources found at
new adventures
As the dark clouds roll in, and all hope disappears from sight, and the bright sun goes away, leaving every heart filled with fright. And all hope and virtue disappears from sight, making even the kindest things seem filled with blight; and the cold rain pouring down, cutting through us through the night. In desperation searching; nothing to find it seems though we might, continue pushing though nothing we do is right.
Drenched and sore and bleeding, empty and broken and pleading, without hope and desperately needing, some comfort though none forthcoming; the brightest day as turned to night. Our sight foreshadowed in darkness, that fog thick and endless around us, concealing the path before us, the level ground a seeming endless height!
That slippery slope before us, though level seeming to those around us, daunting as we feel it; we trip and stumble underneath it, that hidden weight we carry it, translucent and transparent, and yet to our soul we feel it. Sliding down that hillside, level, falling to the bottom, under that angry sky we’re filled with, nothing but empty gripe.
Stumbling and aching, slowly we come to standing, the ground underneath us turning, ever always turning, as if the world is shaking; for inside us the world is shaking, ever inside us quaking, sleeping even while waking; twilight seems closest to what is bright.
Ever inside us knowing, our fate for us, are future sowing, a future not worth knowing; for ever inside us searching, for a hope now lost from sight.
Then that flash and clap does shake us, the resounding sound does wake us; the bright and brilliant flash does wake us, incandescent and brilliant white! And our eyes do open wide, though blurry to the sight, of that beam shine through the sky, cutting as though a knife, through cloud and shadow and shame, and only the light remains!
Then the calm and gentle breeze, the warm and kindest breeze; touches us as we freeze, to the spot we find us standing, and for a moment remaining, for a new breath grasping; and we find us speaking “light don’t leave me, please!”
The Storm by Matthew Mele
Yesterday was the beginning of a new adventure. I will be hosting and producing a public access tv show named Artitude. Yesterday I sat down with three amazing, courageous friends to share our stories on camera. George Manuka, pastor of Dunbar United Church of Christ in Hamden, CT. He is also my pastor. Linda Bonadies, composer, song writer extraordinaire. Linda has written a one woman show based on her story, called Give it all Away. I recently saw it in NYC. I am so inspired by her courage and talent. We are writing songs together for the show. Matthew Mele (above poem) is Poet in Residence. Matthew teaches martial arts, he has an incredible story, great poetic ability and a unique gift of perspective. I am so excited to have him share and explore these on this show.
I am feeling very grateful, a bit overwhelmed, excited, afraid I can’t do it, challenged in every area, ideas are bouncing around in my head, the things I don’t know feel like a hovering mountain to climb.
I feel the importance of this project. I feel the largeness of this opportunity. I feel the responsibility which comes with sharing my voice.
Artitude will be about the arts, sharing stories, connections, how we build stronger communities and heal our lives. Here is the 60 word explanation of the show premise:
Everyone is an artist. Our lives are our masterpiece.
boundary lines and hard lessons
Shrive: to hear a confession;
to impose penance; to grant absolution.
Shrove Tuesday, our fifth snowstorm
in as many weeks.
In three feet of snow,
plowed shoulder deep beside the roads,
along the driveways,
we confess that we are human,
that we are weary,
the streets lined with quadriplegic cars,
that we are small, dependent, fragile.
The knife wind comes down on us
where we are tender.
We confess our bondage
to the narrow paths we’ve dug,
and keep digging.
Winter swallows our voices, erases speech;
our chanting shovels confess
we are not masters.
The silver sun hears us,
assures us straightening between shovelfuls
that we are not evil,
merely afraid,
and notes how much of our snow
is now in our neighbor’s driveway.
The strangeness so oddly transforming our streets,
the need, the hardship
tempt us inward, swirling winds,
but beckon us to reconcile, to accept,
to bond, to help.
We shovel toward each other.
The crow and the fox
who also shiver bear our absolution:
we too belong, and carry out penance
for being human
in labor and toil.
Shriven under mounds of baptismal white,
we are not judged.
This is not punishment,
just life,
that we must shovel.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net
deciding where you want to go…
I came to the end of the sidewalk
was wondering which way I should go
There were gates for each road all around me
The signs up above were all flashing to show…
They read…this way
and that way
and his way
and her way
There was your way
and my way
and right way
and wrong way
I stood at the end of the end of the sidewalk
It was all so confusing I struggled to know
Which gate was the one I should enter
Which road was the one to lead me back home…
Cause there was
high way
and by way
low way
and long way
There was which way
and what way
there was fast way
and slow way
Then I saw a small sign near the bottom
It wasn’t flashing or bright
But this sign it caught my attention
Cause this one pointed towards LIFE…
Some signs read short way
and one sign said no way
one was blinking far away
all the way to the milky way
there was dream way
and scream way
There was wander way
and squander way
But this road it had a small entrance
Not many had gone through before
The gate was all rusted and creaky
Had to knock just to open that door…
It was dark and a little bit lonely
There was just a small lamp for to see
It took me awhile to adjust to the style
For this road was far greater than me
Cause it’s Your way
not my way
It’s a new way
towards life way
The longer I walked, I saw better
Though it never got easier to see,
But this road lead right where I followed
cause Life was the journey, you see…
ACL 2/7/15
Diamond Road…Sheyl Crow
Walk with me the diamond road
Tell me every story told
Give me something of your soul
That I can hold onto
I want to wake up to the sound of waves
Crashing on a brand new day
Keep the memory of your face
But wipe the pain away
When you¹re lonely (you¹re not alone)
When you¹re heart aches (on Diamond Road)
It’s gonna take a little time
Yeah, it’s gonna take a little time
When the night falls (you’re not alone)
When you’re stumbling (on Diamond Road)
It’s gonna take a little time
To make it to the other side
So don’t miss the diamonds along the way
Every road has led us here today
Little bird, what’s troubling you
You know what you have to do
What is yours you’ll never lose
And what’s ahead may shine
Beneath the promise of blue skies
With broken wings we’ll learn to fly
Pull yourself out of the tide
And begin the dream again
When you¹re lonely (you¹re not alone)
When you¹re heart aches (on Diamond Road)
It’s gonna take a little time
Yeah, it’s gonna take a little time
When the night falls (you’re not alone)
When you’re stumbling (on Diamond Road)
It’s gonna take a little time
To make it to the other side
So don’t miss the diamonds along the way
So don’t miss the diamonds along the way
Every road has led us here today
Won’t you shine on
Morning light
Burn the darkness away
Walk with me the Diamond Road
Tell me everything is gold
Give me something of your soul
So you don¹t fade away
When you¹re lonely (you¹re not alone)
When you¹re heart aches (on Diamond Road)
It’s gonna take a little time
Yeah, it’s gonna take a little time
When the night falls (you’re not alone)
When you’re stumbling (on Diamond Road)
It’s gonna take a little time
To make it to the other side
So don’t miss the diamonds along the way
Don’t miss the diamonds along the way
Every road has led us here today
Life is what happens while you¹re making plans
All that you need is right here in your hands.
Matthew 7
7 “Ask and it will be given to you;seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.8 For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.
13 “Enter through the narrow
gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. 14 But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
It was a very good day…the bravest are the tenderest…it takes courage to bear Light in the world…Beauty, Donna Knutson
Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.
Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.
Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.
Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.
At least
there’ll be
a draught.
The Door by Miroslav Holub, from Poems Before & After, translated from the original Czech by Ian Milner et al. (Bloodaxe Books, 2006). Text as posted on Scottish Poetry Library.
http://www.ayearofbeinghere.com
Sunrise @ Branford Point, CT this fine chilly morning! My challenge was to get out of the nice, warm covers! SO worth it!! xo
the right thing
We are here essentially to risk ourselves in the world; we are a form of
invitation to others and to otherness, we are meant to hazard ourselves for the
right thing, for the right woman or the right man, for a son or a daughter, for
the right work or for a gift given against all the odds, and to allow ourselves to
be happy may be the greatest, most courageous act of all.
– David Whyte
As I approach,
it comes to me quickly –
all four seasons have converged,
are 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 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 sure 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 I haven’t even heard your voice yet.
Knowing I am worthy of this is enough.
As hopes awaken,
rising strong on mended wings,
trusting the healing path taken,
the work continues.
Allowing the
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!
Can you hear me, wherever you are?
Is your heart shouting out as well?
I can’t stop smiling.
Courage,
that fearless lion,
who will lead us all home
right where we belong.
ACL 1/12/15
no apologies
I am done with apologies. If contrariness is my
inheritance and destiny, so be it. If it is my mission
to go in at exits and come out at entrances, so be it.
I have planted by the stars in defiance of the experts,
and tilled somewhat by incantation and by singing,
and reaped, as I knew, by luck and Heaven’s favor,
in spite of the best advice. If I have been caught
so often laughing at funerals, that was because
I knew the dead were already slipping away,
preparing a comeback, and can I help it?
And if at weddings I have gritted and gnashed
my teeth, it was because I knew where the bridegroom
had sunk his manhood, and knew it would not
be resurrected by a piece of cake. ‘Dance,’ they told me,
and I stood still, and while they stood
quiet in line at the gate of the Kingdom, I danced.
‘Pray,’ they said, and I laughed, covering myself
in the earth’s brightnesses, and then stole off gray
into the midst of a revel, and prayed like an orphan.
When they said, ‘I know my Redeemer liveth,’
I told them, ‘He’s dead.’ And when they told me
‘God is dead,’ I answered, ‘He goes fishing ever day
in the Kentucky River. I see Him often.’
When they asked me would I like to contribute
I said no, and when they had collected
more than they needed, I gave them as much as I had.
When they asked me to join them I wouldn’t,
and then went off by myself and did more
than they would have asked. ‘Well, then,’ they said
‘go and organize the International Brotherhood
of Contraries,’ and I said, ‘Did you finish killing
everybody who was against peace?’ So be it.
Going against men, I have heard at times a deep harmony
thrumming in the mixture, and when they ask me what
I say I don’t know. It is not the only or the easiest
way to come to the truth. It is one way.
© Wendell Berry. This poem is excerpted
it’s time
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
life: acoustic & amplified 