life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Reflection”

simply still

 

   


   

     
 

   

   
   
 In the sixth month already

of the impossible

Gabriel, 

so usually unseeable—

startling, 

though you thought him so foreign,

how nearer than you

to the seed of your life—

fills the room with his wings,

wraps with his words

this world 

beside God’s so small,

sets it in the greater one

among stars 

and you 

lit by the same light,

and calls forth your trust in heaven’s actual, 
—

for with God nothing is impossible—

the divine within, 

inviting your invitation

from even deeper in,

a Word, 

a world entrusted to you,

your being 

that by gift and labor blesses,

brought with singing

through the portal of this blood of birth

and that crucial other,

calling to life

in your drab littleness

the body of your holiness,

the flesh that God without you cannot have.

Even God waits 

to see the miracle,

the birth that only you can birth.

 

There is no test for paradise,

only paradise.

Say yes.

 

😇

_________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

 

  

http://www.designlovefest.com/2012/12/holiday-centerpiece/

 

 

addictions of poetry   

  

 

 Slowly coming to acknowledge out loud that poetry is everything to me. I cannot live without it the way that others need love or religion or purpose or cause. Nothing, except the softness of the body, ignites me more. Nothing fills, feeds or illuminates me like this. To find a new poet is like being returned to an old love. To discover a lover of poetry is like being returned to someone from my original tribe. Completely thrilled this morning to be lying in my bed silently reading Nariyyah Waheed. Thrilled. Here are a few sweet lines. https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/7145613.Nayyirah_Waheed
   – Jen Lemen

  
I read poetry 

And it’s so familiar 

I like this way of words.  

I slip into the passion, 

the broken hearts,

so like my own. 

The depth of loving, 

it is my own. 

The beauty,

these words caught inside 

someplace within myself, 

suddenly breaking free from this other angle. 

Broken love, 

twisting in the wind of unequal relationships. 

The parables, 

the simple narrative, 

the stark condensed truth, 

the healing, 

the beauty of nature, home, love, life, laughter…

Anything can become a poem. 

Words strung,

so like my own way, 

yet not,

new, 

fresh,

sometimes not quite understandable, yet. 

I am in love with poems. 

I learn from their awareness 

I may get tired of my own heart wringing words,

I may get bored with my own platitudes, 

but, everyday,

I find the words in poems of another

to inspire me,

to allow me to see,

to teach me,

to make me laugh,

to get me through my day. 

Everyday I realize how much poetry means to me

I am so blessed to be a small part of this magic. 

I love poems. 

I need poems. 

I am a poet. 

That settles in a good spot within me,

as I settle in, 

with the perfect shade of coffee, 

to read my morning dose. 

🤗

AL

 

  

 Photos found at http://www.pinterest.com

peace places 

A sense of place results gradually and unconsciously from inhabiting a landscape over time, becoming familiar with its physical properties, accruing history within its confines.- Kent Rydon

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
Photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

 🌀

I have abandoned the dream kitchens for a low fire 

and a prescriptive literature of the spirit; 

a storm snores on the desolate sea.

The nearest shop is four miles away— 

when I walk there through the shambles 

of the morning for tea and firelighters 

the mountain paces me in a snow-lit silence. 

My days are spent in conversation 

with deer and blackbirds; 

at night fox and badger gather at my door. 

I have stood for hours 

watching a salmon doze in the tea-gold dark, 

for months listening to the sob story 

of a stone in the road, the best, 

most monotonous sob story I have ever heard. 
I am an expert on frost crystals 

and the silence of crickets, a confidant 

of the stinking shore, the stars in the mud— 

there is an immanence in these things 

which drives me, despite my scepticism, 

almost to the point of speech, 

like sunlight cleaving the lake mist at morning 

or when tepid water 

runs cold at last from the tap. 
I have been working for years 

on a four-line poem 

about the life of a leaf; 

I think it might come out right this winter. 

🌀
The Mayo Tao by Derek Mahon
Curator’s note: “Mayo” refers to the County Mayo, in western Ireland. 

in a blue sky day    

  
Woke up mid-dream

last night

(last night = wee hour morning)

Awakened by 

broken sad mourning
My whole life 

this date has been a celebration of life

My dad’s life – 

a soul who entered this realm November 24 – 

74 years of love ago
Today, this date brings tears

and morning mourning

Followed by blue sky

Up on the red roof

Fully alive

Generating compost

Organic buzzing be garden community possibility
Lost key

Kitchen studio 

Boots on ladders

Roast beef sprout ciabatta

Pirates of the Carribbean 

Stories of lobsters racing in

crusty rolls of butter
Once, years ago, I found my too soon gone Grandma 

Today, in a swing overlooking a river

graced by such beautiful bridges

touching sky whilst grounding feet

step by stepping ever overwater

beneath sky, 

I felt my daddy…
I sensed him smiling down upon November

gently holding my heart

and I couldn’t help but feel

the way he gently 

firmly let go

of my pink stripe 

banana seat bike

as I rode down the hill 

of Kosta Drive

all those years ago
That moment I knew he knew

I could do this myself

And gave me the beautiful gift 

of setting me 

and my bicycle free. 

🚲
Robin OK  

Muse of Collaborative Completion + Visionary for Creative Collaborative ReTREATS

What is your incomplete creative project? Let me help you breathe it to life!

Phone: 513-659-3356

email: laughndream@gmail.com

website: laughanddream.com

💜

Don’t miss the 5th annual Creative Collaborative ReTREAT, Sep 30-Oct 2, 2016! 

Website: creativecollaborativeretreats.com

email: creative.collaborative.us@gmail.com

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
 In a day of goodness

We splashed this city all over outselves

Stopped to smell the lingering roses

Went home happily full from our adventures

Life is bittersweet

full of separation, loss, grief, and hurting hearts

full of friendship, adventure, kindness, beauty and truth

I love you

I miss you

I hurt

I laugh

Life is good

💞

AL

  

I want my grief

to be brilliant, fast and gone. 

Like Mozart. Or Stevie Ray. 

Like fireworks. Boom! Flash! 

Ooh, ahh. OK, done. Let’s go. 
I want my grief to be brave.

Hurts more now, heals faster, 

Grandma said, pouring salt 

On a skinned knee. 
I want to stand up to grief,

Stand it down, like the 

Tiny man, big tank 

In Tiananmen Square. 
Because. Because if I am brave,

Bold, salty, open enough 

The tank, the bleeding, the tears 

Will stop sooner. I tell myself. 
But grief laughs. Humbles me.

I lose keys, break cups, get lost. 

Asked at CarMax Why are you

Selling this car? I burst 
Into an embarrassment of tears.

A friend says, One doesn’t have grief,

Grief has you. 

We wrestle, to the mat. I’m pinned. 
But sometimes I break free.

Break patterns instead of dishes. 

Start to write myself a new story, 

To fling myself toward yes, 
Begin to say, Oh. Now this. . . . Observe

What life brings. Reframe. Say, 

I’m not wrestling grief,

We’re dancing. 
So, I put my right foot in . . . 

And turn myself about. 

💔

I Want My Grief by Peg Runnels

choices…every day give thanks 

 

          
God of Love,

in a world great with darkness

I drink your light. 
In a world of violence

I soften my heart.
In a world of fear

I deepen my breath.
In a word of grief

I enlarge my embrace.
In a world of shouting

I open my roots.
In a world of fragments

I let myself belong.
In a world of walls

I go out into the streets:
I bear you to those

who are mad with hunger for you. 
In a world of fissures

I return to you,

always to you.
__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

   
Wanna build a new life? 

It happens one day…one choice… at a time.  You CAN do hard things. You can make the right choices for yourself. 

Take responsibility. Gain your whole world. Self respect comes only this way. It’s so worth it!!! xo

  

for the love of all things poetry 💞  

 

 I fit words together, 
hoping they mean something.  

Wanting them to make sense. 

To myself. 

To others. 

Allowing them my raw emotion. 

Willing to give them up freely. 

Creating a monument, 

for this one moment in time, 

to share with the world. 

These words become something tangible. 

A thing, 

a gift, 

a piece of art. 

A part of me, 

stays with them. 

Little pieces of me live, 

like shapes in a puzzle, 

becoming 

a picture, 

a flower, 

a song. 

Small particles of my soul, 

like tiny rose buds,

opening in my hand, 

mesmerizes with it’s 

beauty, 

touch, 

fragrance. 

I write words on a page, 

and feel love 

spreading outward, 

as the flowering happens, 

as this thought blooms. 

As words become thoughts about… 

As the pieces become beautiful… 

As the poem is born, 

of water, 

blood, 

star dust 

and becomes… 

a small piece of my soul,

left behind on pages, 

for others to find, 

sharing a small moment, 

never to be lost, 

because it has been 

recorded, 

acknowledged, 

emptied. 

Gratitude makes room for new 

miracles, 

learning, 

beauty, 

as they find their new home 

ready, 

emptied, 

expectant. 

Waiting for more 

truth, 

goodness, 

love, 

to flow and enter in. 

There is always more, 

and more than enough. 

The heart that gives gathers, 

but never tries to hold anything hostage. 

Love, 

giving, 

pretty much everything, 

about life, 

only works when we allow it, 

all of it –

every sacred cow, 

every color on the wheel,

every tiny wildflower we see,

every spec of mud, 

to be free. 

AL

 

  

  
Photos found at http://www.pinterest.com 

  

handle with care 

 

   

 

   
Hanging on by the proverbial thread

heart hungry for more

feeling ready

to break 

properly

crash and burn to ashes

Am I the only one

on the edge of sideways

trying to walk a straight line

as that slight right turn 

ends up being a hard right circle 

where I end up facing myself

in an old west gun-slinger shoot the lights out,

death of my dreams

duel?

Am I the only one? 

I hold my heart in my hands tenderly

hoping my repairs hold

that it won’t give way

and slide through my fingers

like sand on a summer day

which can never hold a shape 

longer than when the next high tide

washes it away
AL 

    
photos found on http://www.pinterest.com 

let the light  

  
You work with what you are given, 

the red clay of grief, 

the black clay of stubbornness going on after. 

Clay that tastes of care or carelessness, 

clay that smells of the bottoms of rivers or dust.
Each thought is a life you have lived or failed to live, 

each word is a dish you have eaten or left on the table. 

There are honeys so bitter 

no one would willingly choose to take them. 

The clay takes them: honey of weariness, honey of vanity, 

honey of cruelty, fear. 
This rebus —slip and stubbornness, 

bottom of river, my own consumed life— 

when will I learn to read it 

plainly, slowly, uncolored by hope or desire? 

Not to understand it, only to see. 
As water given sugar sweetens, given salt grows salty, 

we become our choices. 

Each yes, each no continues, 

this one a ladder, that one an anvil or cup. 
The ladder leans into its darkness. 

The anvil leans into its silence. 

The cup sits empty. 
How can I enter this question the clay has asked? 

🔹

Rebus by Jane Hirshfield

 

 The lion still roars 
I walk in grief 

On the purple beach 

the grey-green water 

meeting the sky 

Into infinity 

the world unending 

I sit on driftwood 

Fascinatingly carved by water 

Into pieces of art 

and shapes that look like 

cattle skulls in the desert 

I cry as I pick up rocks 

Why do i grieve such simple things?

Those precious shells 

I spent hours snorkeling for 

In 1985 

You polished them 

til they were smooth as silk 

So beautiful 

I loved everything about them 

and that memory they held 

Back When the world was still 

A mystery 

And I knew nothing about hardship 

Loss or pain 

I thought love and life were simple 

That you wanted me to be happy

That you loved me 

That we would build a family together 

I kept those shells in a special jar 

Would let the kids play with them

For a special treat 

I loved their delight in them 

As they played for hours 

sorting the colors and shapes 

Loving the story of us at the start

I Kept them close to me 

Through all the losses 

Then they were gone 

lost to me forever 

way after my innocence 

but somehow they took 

some shred I was holding on to 

Some secret part of me and you 

that was still beautiful 
As I picked up small beautiful rocks 

today at the beach 

They reminded me 

and it all returned 

all the losses 

all the pain 

What you chose 

The choices I was forced to make 

The price of gaining my soul 

The cost of winning my freedom 

I cry so deeply 

Right to the core 

such intense love 

for the wounded heart 

carried in small pieces 

of the world 

connecting all the pain 

and love together 

Bittersweet grief 

Bittersweet love 

Exquisite pain 

Exquisite joy 

Will I ever find love that understands this? 

Will I ever share this same heart as one? 

Will I ever make it home? 

Will I ever make it? 

Will I ever? 

Will I? 

Will? 

💙

AL

 

    

photos found at http://www.pinterest.com 

way back when

  
When I finally arrive there—

And it will take many days and nights—

I would like to believe others will be waiting

and might even want to know how it was.
So I will reminisce about a particular sky

or a woman in a white bathrobe

or the time I visited a narrow strait

where a famous naval battle had taken place.
Then I will spread out on a table

a large map of my world

and explain to the people of the future

in their pale garments what it was like—
how mountains rose between the valleys

and this was called geography,

how boats loaded with cargo plied the rivers

and this was known as commerce,
how the people from this pink area

crossed over into this light-green area

and set fires and killed whoever they found

and this was called history—
and they will listen, mild-eyed and silent,

as more of them arrive to join the circle,

like ripples moving toward,

not away from, a stone tossed into a pond.

🌎

The Future by Billy Collins 

   
photos found at http://www.pinterest.com

   

how do we ever ‘win’ in this world?

  
Do not hesitate to love and to love deeply. You might be afraid of the pain that deep love can cause. When those you love deeply reject you, leave you, or die, your heart will be broken. But that should not hold you back from loving deeply. The pain that comes from deep love makes your love even more fruitful. It is like a plow that breaks the ground to allow the seed to take root and grow into a strong plant.

   #HenriNouwen THE INNER VOICE OF LOVE

http://wp.henrinouwen.org/rgroup_blog/

  HEARTBREAK is unpreventable; the natural outcome of caring for people and things over which we have no control, of holding in our affections those who inevitably move beyond our line of sight. Heartbreak begins the moment we are asked to let go but cannot, in other words, it colors and inhabits and magnifies each and every day; heartbreak is not a visitation, but a path that human beings follow through even the most average life. Heartbreak is our indication of sincerity: in a love relationship, in a work, in trying to learn a musical instrument, in the attempt to shape a better more generous self. Heartbreak is the beautifully helpless side of love and affection and is just as much an essence and emblem of care as the spiritual athlete’s quick but abstract ability to let go. Heartbreak has its own way of inhabiting time and its own beautiful and trying patience in coming and going.

Heartbreak is inescapable; yet we use the word as if it only occurs when things have gone wrong: an unrequited love, a shattered dream, a child lost before their time. Heartbreak, we hope, is something we hope we can avoid; something to guard against, a chasm to be carefully looked for and then walked around; the hope is to find a way to place our feet where the elemental forces of life will keep us in the manner to which we want to be accustomed and which will also keep us from the losses that all other human beings have experienced without exception since the beginning of conscious time. But heartbreak may be the very essence of being human, of being on the journey from here to there, and of coming to care deeply for what we find along the way…
David Whyte

 

 Live today. Remove all blame from your vocabulary. Catch yourself when you find yourself using your past history as a reason for your failure to act today, and instead say, “I am free now to detach myself from what used to be”. – Dr Wayne Dyer

what is being responsible, truly?

what horrors do we shackle ourselves to in the name of responsibility?

how do we break the chains of control

of manipulation

of tradition

of condition

of religion?

and follow the the truth of our hearts 

of being in control 

of only our own lives

of our own destinies

of our souls true callings?

this is not about shirking our responsibility 

or being selfish

or leaving people in the lurch  

this is about coming from a place within

of being

of awareness

of beloved

of freedom

of disciplined action

seeing below the lying distractions so ready to keep us deluded

then allowing all things to flow from us 

to the ones we love

it’s the only way to truly live responsibly

in fact, it’s the only way to truly live

🔹

AL

  
photos found on facebook

Post Navigation