Here’s something new. My bloggish buddy, The Excitement Plan, posted this poem with her own interpretation, which I thought was so very great that I asked if I could share her thoughts on my “Not My Poetry” place.
A great idea (in the form a beautiful poem) from Enthusiastically, Dawn, (yes! another Dawn to BLESS the blogosphere, just sayin’!!) If you haven’t seen her site, definitely stroll over (her Instagram is fun also). Here’s a thinker for us all today:
Still Water Reflections by Dawn Paoletta
I have an idea…
to keep you from judging your peers,
to help you not criticize your neighbor –
the one who brings out your fears…
that person you just don’t get
Am I judging my peers, criticizing my neighbor?
Do I? Am I?
I have an idea, for you-
to keep you from logs in your eyes,
to keep you from tripping over them
to guard against compromise,
to help you listen, really listen to another
not just think your thoughts
while they talk
and you supposedly listen,
waiting to interject- and inject your
Do I listen, really listen?
Does my compassion and empathy rise
or do I just wait to stop pretending
Do I listen? Do I lie?
I have an idea for you,
to keep you from corrupt
to help you not discuss with others,
what was never meant for discussion.
To keep you from speaking lies, disguised
as truth, masquerading as prayer
but lacking the one thing that matters
before words are ever spoken about another :
Is grace my motive to speak?
Do I love that which I speak of?
Am I guilty of slander or gossip?
Do I hate?
Do I? Am I?
I have an idea, for you-
one to keep you shining like gold,
one to help you reign in your tongue
whether you’re young or old:
Do you grumble under your breath,
murder others with your speech,
excusing your comments and conversation
before you begin to preach?
The words that flow from your mouth,
may seem wise in light of today,
but if you don’t stop the flow,
how can you ever pray?
Not enough can be said about the the amazing things God accomplishes through our pain. (Anyone not yet seen Pixar’s Inside Out??) In light of that, here’s another beautiful offering of grace from Nico at Ancient Skies.
When our trauma has been washed, and we are in one piece again,
our blood shot eyes will begin to see the good
in each of us, and our shattering
will teach us the courage
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
She stood frail while others listened attentively.
Her wisdom was beyond her physical weakness.
Many sought her to understand the world’s mysteries.
Many sought her to tap into the cistern of her spirituality.
Her frailty was only a noticeably weakness to herself.
It was certainly not an outward sign of weakness in her moral character.
She lived a life dedicated to those impoverished.
She knew the secret,
love for all mankind make you rich.
Yes, she was frail, but strong
This is from Mitch Teemley. Mitch keeps us smiling and chuckling with the terrific sense of humor through which he view life. This little jewel of a poem reflects a deep sense of awareness…
The world is born in the spring
rejoices in summer
and bundles its blessings in autumn
But only in the winter
does it learn who it is
What an extravagant and lavish gift
Time to simply be
Without an agenda
Without any obligation to make “good” use
of the time and space I find myself in
Without anything to prove
Without a need to accomplish anything
Or discover anything –
Other than what always is
And that is simply You –
You here with me
I don’t have to get it I don’t have to steward it particularly well
I don’t even have to respond in a particular way
I just need to be
I just need to be me –
Here with You
Whatever that looks like
Whatever it feels like
Whatever does or does not happen
There are no necessary results
There is no grand master scheme to consider
There is only now
And this gift of time
This gift of a moment in time
But, really –
Is it a moment in time
or a moment outside of time?
Could it be a moment of eternal purity and truth
breaking through the illusion of time?
In all the busyness of this chaotic planet
Perhaps the most extreme and extravagant thing to do –
Is to be
In utter simplicity
In complete freedom
Freedom from striving
Freedom from obligation
To anyone or anything
It’s almost too absurd to comprehend
But maybe “being” is the ultimate act of consecration
Maybe it is the ultimate act of letting go
Maybe it is a complete stripping away
Of all that binds
And of all that distracts
With delusions of our own self-importance
Maybe it is knowing
That even in the absolute absence of my good works
And best efforts
He is still pleased
He is still present
He is still who He says He is
He will still do what He says He will do
And He is still here
The final installment of the The Kraken, by Robert L. Jones, III. To start from the beginning, click HERE!
With Kraken gone, the fearful folk returned to ply the sea,
And safety made the legend pass, though inadvertently.
A town was founded near the place where Galen’s cottage stood.
Where once a barren coast had been, there grew a neighborhood.
So Galen’s fame was scarcely known, but heroes must be paid.
He used his bellows and his forge to work the blacksmith’s trade.
At times, he fashioned stranger things, though most did not know why,
And, with his arm around Celeste, would stare into the sky.
Their union prospered in its way for those who cared to see
That Galen and his winsome bride were blessed with progeny
Of fairest skin on stoutest limb and fire behind their eyes.
They raised them well and lovingly and taught them to be wise.
They taught them work and taught them play, made sure that they were fed,
And told them stories in the night, then tucked them into bed.
As seasons changed, they watched them grow till they were straight and tall,
By young desire distracted from the saddles on the wall.
And, one by one, they saw them leave, when they were fully grown,
To found new homes with spouses fair and children of their own.
There is a way, mad by design, a way that wisdom makes,
To set the young at liberty to make their own mistakes.
And, one by one or all at once, the children would return,
The cottage glowing in the night with candle wax to burn.
They laughed and ate. Some went outside to play or walk around,
No longer knowing what they paced had once been sacred ground.
Their father told his history repeatedly, and yet,
Through unfamiliarity, descendants will forget.
And so he hammered weaponry and saved it for the days
Another generation would embrace heroic ways.
Some undergo the humble change from ridicule to fear
As those once sheltered made aware of danger drawing near,
But some remember righteous thoughts, discovered in their youth,
Of better dreams and simpler ways that turn them to the truth.
In times of pride and apathy, depending on the year,
There well might come a moment when a Kraken will appear.
As some are lost or made aware, the cycle starts again
To test the motivations that direct the hearts of men.
Still, man and wife would spend their days in faith and blessedness,
Commend themselves to higher things, and frequently confess
That tribulation comes to teach the lessons all must learn
In preparation for the day the griffins will return.
To order The Kraken, by Robert L. Jones, III and illustrated by James P. Wood, click HERE.
(Pssst…In case you missed any, you can start from the beginning at THIS LINK.)
XV. The Restoration of All Things
A transformation soon ensued from Lordly Griffin wild
To lion then to bleeding lamb, both terrible and mild,
Who laid his wounded head upon the morbid maiden’s breast.
The color came into her cheeks. She breathed as if at rest
And then exhaled with softened moan to Galen’s glad surprise
As, with a start, she sat upright and opened long-shut eyes.
The former mist from when she first walked plainly in his sight
Was missing now, and in its place there shined a brighter light.
A bleat turned to a lion’s roar and then an eagle’s screech,
Then, suddenly, the Griffin King flew upward out of reach.
As Galen gazed upon the lass, revived in time of need,
From north and west the prophet flew, approaching on his steed.
Alighting next, he looked around, excitement on his face,
And smiled at Galen as he said, “Recipient of grace,
Believe your eyes. Be not surprised. It is the right of kings
To fashion something beautiful from dead and broken things.
“Now would it be too much to ask, what is this maiden’s name?”
She rose and spoke in wondrous tones, “Through trial I became
More of myself for this good man who sought to know me best.
My parents named me for the stars. Dear sir, I am Celeste.”
He joined the couple hand in hand, then to the griffins led.
A far off look was in his eyes as joyfully he said,
“Celeste and Galen, rise and fly. There are but saddles two.
Consent to take one final gift I have to offer you,
“In wedded bliss to live within my cottage by the sea,
But here I’ll die. Then this good host will take what’s left of me
To safer shores beyond the veil of this world’s atmosphere
To bow before the Griffin King in reverential fear.
“Life’s vivid moments rise and fall like waves upon the shore.
Each breaker passes over me. I want for nothing more.
My sojourn by the ocean past, and, now, my waiting through,
My course is flown. I am fulfilled in what I’ve done for you.”
So, tearfully, with warm embrace, they bade their friend goodbye
And, later, perched on griffin backs, conversed within the sky.
They shouted high upon the wind and spoke of many things
Until they reached that happy shore on which the ocean sings.
Then, earnestly, they made their vows among the griffin host
And went inside to contemplate what they both treasured most.
They hung their saddles on the wall, forever, some would say.
For after that enchanted ride, the griffins flew away.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT THURSDAY…dot…dot…dot!!
XIV. A Faithful Flight
Observing her in silence but for sound of griffin breath,
They recognized her dignity, still beautiful in death.
Then Galen looked up pleadingly, cheeks marked by frozen tears.
His mentor looked much younger now, despite his many years.
He spoke with sensitivity. “Somehow, your faith is weak.
In giving you some time to grieve, I’ve taken time to speak.
Compared to what should really be, our efforts are but jest.
Now you must meet the One who can perform beyond your best,
“One who appears in many forms, a king without a crown.”
As he expounded on the ice, more griffins circled down.
With that, the prophet used his robe to wrap the corpse in white.
“This struggle is not over yet. If you have will to fight,
“You’ll take this precious bundle to complete what you’ve begun.
Now get you to the South and East to meet the rising sun.
Take no time to deliberate or question what I say.
So off with you. Be on your flight. Your griffin knows the way.”
Through twilight’s gloam, in haste they flew, but Galen was confused.
He held the dead weight to his chest as silently he mused.
He felt no hope or sorrow then or anything between.
This errand seemed to be in vain. What could the prophet mean?
Obedience was dearly learned. He would not stray again.
Had he not conquered in a fight no mortal man should win?
The glory of the day before had faded into night.
The goal of present faithfulness was hidden from his sight.
They came to rest upon a ridge beneath a graying sky,
And, standing by his escort, he heard flutterings nearby.
Like blades of grass that stand in such profusion on a lawn,
Were countless griffins seen to swarm the hill by light of dawn.
As if on cue or high command, by instinct or by choice,
They raised their eagle heads and screamed together with one voice,
And to this cry responding, as if not to be outdone,
A griffin larger than them all flew outward from the sun,
Its brightly colored plumage set on wings of awesome span.
As fine a sight as ever was beheld by eyes of man,
The Griffin King flew closer. Galen nearly lost control
But held his ground before the eyes that stared into his soul.
Then silently it landed with its wings completely spread
But never moved its gaze from Galen’s face, it must be said.
The monarch screeched with lifted head, its brow in regal frown,
And Galen trembled as he kneeled and laid his burden down.