life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Happy Holiday!”

pray & remember

I pray today for those who have suffered and sacrificed

in service to their country.

I honor the sacrifice of soldiers and sailors who have died,

and for their loved ones, who still suffer.

I pray for those who are injured,

especially those poorly cared for.

I pray for those whose who are injured in heart or mind or soul.

I pray for those whose spirits died

when they were forced to witness or commit horrible things,

whose souls have been hollowed out,

or whose purpose has been shattered.

I pray for homeless veterans,

for addicts and suicides and vets haunted by PTSD,

for they too are casualties of our way of war.

I pray for those who are sexually abused and harassed,

whose suffering continues after their time of duty.

I pray for those who have served who are lonely,

who are sad, who are guilty or ashamed.

I pray for those who are proud but unappreciated.

I pray for healing for all those who bear the wounds

we choose others to suffer and to inflict. 

And I pray for those of other nations, too.

God bless all who have suffered and sacrificed:

may they know healing, grace, and deep peace. 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

graphic found at


Freedom only belongs 

to those who choose to use it, 

but ‘belongs’ is not really the right word,

because freedom will only exist for those who let go completely,

those who allow it to stay free. 

Freedom is one of the most costly things we can ever receive,

many have given their lives, 

their very blood, 

for this great gift. 

Freedom, unused or manipulated,

is no longer freedom. 

Like any gift,

it does nothing 

until it is received,

open handed,

open spirited,

used in daily life,

practical living. 

I’ve sat in prisons

for many years

not realizing the doors were unlocked. 

Granted, many of the doors were difficult to get open,

people I trusted TOLD me they were locked,

some were rusted over,

others had puzzle latches

I had to figure out,

but one by one they all opened,

and I stepped out into 


Increasingly lighter,

increasingly comprehending of this grace-thing called freedom.

The mystery, the magnitude,

the path, the fire, the gift

called freedom. 

There I go again,

falling in love with free will,

falling in love with free air, surf and sky,

falling in love with me. 

Thank you to all who serve(d)

happy days 

Hello, Friday. 

Bon voyage, day ‪in May‬. 

Good night, daylight.  

so long, sunny de-light. 

see ya later, ‘gator-‘gator. 

After while, crocodile.  

‪tomorrow‬ is another day,

where the flowers sing and sway. 

dancing will commence at daybreak. 

Good night, darlin’ moon,

see ya again real soon. 

Oh, hi there, Saturday,

Good morning to you, happy day,

let’s have a groovy one, 




meanwhile, back at the reservation…




 The World Is in Pencil
—not pen. 

It’s got

that same silken
dust about it, 

doesn’t it,

that same sense 

having been roughed

onto paper 

even as it was planned.

It had to be a labor
of love. 

It must’ve taken its author

some time, some shove.

I’ll bet it felt good
in the hand—

the o

of the ocean, 

the and 

of the land.


The World Is in Pencil by Todd Boss

Easter God,

roll away the stone 

from the tomb of my heart.
Let the morning light 

of your love

shine in.
As light forgives darkness,

fills it, 

transforms it,
your love forgives me,

fills me, 

transforms me.
I am not among the dead—

my guilt, my shame, my fear.

You have brought me to life. 
The light of your love raises me,

sets me free,

leads me out into this new day,



Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

 This is why we survive the winter

The world shows off

Flowers are bursting color

Flaming forsythia frames the river

Fuzzy trees and bushes make me squirmy happy 

The sky beams blue

The water waves joyfully

The sand gladly greets, 

us with our winter legs

(except for the hardcore tanning bed crowd – already too brown for the rest of us)

little girls and their tattooed fathers pick up shells and rocks

to fill purple buckets of heartwarming, serious cuteness

coconut oil floats deliciously on the warm breeze 

I can’t stop smiling

Spring has sprung

Let love begin




love is in the air 




I open myself to Your love

I move into being Your beloved

I allow myself the gift of confidence

I allow my insecurities to drift away

I stop trying to impress you with my gifts

with my ability to love you enough

I don’t have to prove anything

I have to be willing to trust

The keys to the kingdom 

come through my laying down 


like you on that cross

for one reason only

because you love me passionately 

I can’t help but love You

I will give up my way

and trust Your plan

Your resurrection

Your love

no matter what comes

running with patience

knowing that it’s all for my good

because I know You 

You have restored my soul

You have given me life

Surely goodness and mercy

now follow me everywhere 

like cute puppy dogs

playing on the green grass 

licking my face 

with happiness

love keeps changing me

every flower is grace




Good Friday 


 Copperleaf Lane is dancing in white,
like a row of brides,

as ready, 

as they possibly could be 

to say, I do. 

I drive through the flower strewn pathway

feeling special,

like life is unfolding,

just for the love of me.  

I am beloved, 

a daughter of graces,

twirling within this beauty,

this bounty,

the world’s abundance falling freely around me. 

I sing,

la dee da dee da

You keep filling my senses,

you keep walking towards me,


that beautiful heart of yours,

held gently, 


within your hands –

the perfect gift

for a girl like me. 

Heaven is holding its breath…

counting intensely…




The moment you have spoken the exact words that describe your distance from where you want to be, the moment you have uttered the exact aching dimensionality of your own exile, you have already turned around, faced the other way and taken the first steps on the long awaited journey home… 


David Whyte


Re-imagining Work, Self and Relationship

   yesterday I was born a leaf

a small fragile tender wisp

trembling as I hung on the vine

yesterday I was a gust of air

short lived, but not insignificant 

full of bone rattling cold and hat disturbing bravado

yesterday I was a large, slow, snow flake

plopping down like a wet goose feather

making the world a magical place

yesterday I was a world made of glass

lying shattered on the floor

hoping to be recycled into a new and useful object

yesterday I was various people

a student, a host, a friend, a lover

feeling my way into the next moment hoping to find a way home

yesterday I stood tall as a tree

proud yet with humble confidence 

accepting what winter brought, gently weeping, 

embracing this brand new life bringing




here’s the thing…

what’s a girl to do with all this happiness?

what sort of containers can hold this amount of wild joy?

will howling at the moon help disperse it into the world?

or dancing in a beautiful fountain, with you, bring sanity?

what if I shout it proud to everyone I pass on street? 

will they clap to hear my good news? 

will you wish me happy for every morning and evening? 

will you take a train, plane or automobile to see me? 

will you hold me & tell me that I’m the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?

will you love me with all you are for everything I am right now,

and ever will be becoming?

living well is my best revenge

won’t it would be nice to share this happiness? 

do wild and crazy things?

come on, everybody,

let’s let joy flow in big puddles all around us,

till we jump like children,

till we swim in the ocean of all this blessed grace



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

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 
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




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

extra special

An extra day —

Like the painting’s fifth cow,
who looks out directly,
straight toward you,
from inside her black and white spots. 

An extra day —

Accidental, surely:
the made calendar stumbling over the real
as a drunk trips over a threshold
too low to see.

An extra day —

With a second cup of black coffee.
A friendly but businesslike phone call.
A mailed-back package.
Some extra work, but not too much —
just one day’s worth, exactly.

An extra day —

Not unlike the space
between a door and its frame
when one room is lit and another is not,
and one changes into the other
as a woman exchanges a scarf.

An extra day —

Extraordinarily like any other.
And still
there is some generosity to it,
like a letter re-readable after its writer has died.


February 29 by Jane Hirshfield



Happy New Year!!!   






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