Tip your invisible hat
To the morning because
It’s a beautiful day
No matter the level of sunshine
The fluff or flutter of clouds
The deluge outside your umbrella
Your eyes opened
And consciousness returned
And maybe you even heard something
A car going down the road
Or a train in the distance
Or if you are lucky
A bird or a dog
Something with breath and song
A voice Calling out to you
As Life calls out to each of us
Saying: Here I am
And you?
As the sun finally strides
Into the garden
We will all be waiting
The tomatoes with their lips
pursed plump and green ready
To blush into ripeness
The fuchsia stretching
Its inquisitive
Fingers
Around and through cage-
Bars for the promise
Too long withheld
And me cowering
Amid vanishing
Shadows
Clinging
To tattered illusions
winter ever was
To dance between raindrops
Where light glistens into prismatic gems
To touch the edge of the wind
As it plays among the clouds
To become one with the song
The Universe hums in its silence
To know I am
Even as my yearning
Light and shadow
forever dance
Through my days and nights
Like salt and pepper
the Universe sprinkles
A little here
A bit more there
And sometimes it’s just too much
saltiness overwhelms me
I begin to sway and bob
Without knowing why
Until the sea welcomes me home
Darling Friends,
Thank you for your patience as I learn the ins and outs of this new computer. My previous system was not courteous enough to let me know our time together was over, but just rudely abandonned me. Hopefully this new gadget will prove a kinder writing companion, and we can get back to the joy of interacting with you all.
For now, here is my offering for Mother’s Day.
Blessings and love to you!
***
Every Day
Every day
A miracle approaches
Timid as a doe
In early morning mist
Carefully testing the air
for possibilities
Seeking
Always to find
Safe haven for the unborn
Promise she carries
*A repost for the end of National Poetry Month*
Only crumbs in the cookie jar.
And the ice cream carton rests
Limp and exhausted in the trash.
April is nearly finished,
But poetry endures forever.
My children have grown up and moved out,
their shouts and play are mere echos
until grandchildren come bounding in.
But poetry lines my shelves,
plays hide-n-seek
in the corners of my emotions,
swirls me about in rhythmic strands,
delights me in solitude.
Sweet on my tongue,
bitterly questioning,
sacred irreverence.
Yes, April is fading.
Poetry endures forever.
one songbird
perched high in a pine tree
one yellow daffodil
broken just below the bloom
one flash of sunlight
across my kitchen wall
or filtered
beam Through wispy clouds
or glistening in dewy grass
or upon sparkling spider’s thread
one quiet moment alone
and I’m with you again
They haven’t seen me in a while.
They smile,
say, “What have you been doing?”
I want to say:
listening…
praying…crying…
mourning…dancing…
singing…learning…
loving…growing…becoming…
I reply, “A little
writing,
and you?”
It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you, newly published author, Joan Myles.
Before I send you forth to read all about her I’d just like to make mention that Joan is the first person to take my new interview challenge.
When I sent her the Featured Author of the Week questionnaire, I gave her the option to either A answer the questions in interview style, or B take the questions and answer them in Essay form. She has chosen the Essay and I must say, it is skillfully done and shows off her writing ability quite well.
Now, without further ado, I give you Joan…
FEATURED AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: JOAN MYLES
MARCH 2019
My name is Joan Myles. I grew up in the Midwest, in St. Louis, and have been delighted to live in Oregon
for the past 20 years. My family and I moved here for…
View original post 1,097 more words
*In honor of the first night of Passover, a repost from April, 2016*
Every year Passover brings us together—families and friends, congregation members and guests, Jews and non-Jews, adults, children and teens—to tell a story. And whether the story is factually correct or not doesn’t matter half as much as the way the story is experienced in a living voice amid the passion and drama of everyday modernity.
Because we’re not just telling a story. We’re asking a very important question: What’s the difference?
This is no mere apathetic shrug of a question, but a deep, heartfelt inquiry.
In fact, the Biblical telling begins by asking the question through the lives of a few brave individuals who chose compassion as their means of social disobedience. The midwives Shifrah and Puah who risked their lives by rescuing newborn boys from Pharoah’s death decree, and the unnamed daughter of Pharoah who adopted a Hebrew infant as her own son, each knew something bigger was at stake. By acting outside conformity, they became the difference.
Miriam, too, took a risk when she stepped out of the shadows to inform Pharoah’s daughter about a wet-nurse for the Hebrew foundling. Her words of strength and joy continued to make a difference as the people journeyed through the wilderness.
And the Seder asks the question again and again, What’s the difference?
Between this night and all other nights?
Between leavened bread and unleavened bread?
Between the ways our children learn?
Between one people’s yearning for liberty 3000 years ago and those still yearning today?
And most important, what difference will each of us make in the unfolding of our lives?
