Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Matisse Walk Into a Bar…

Still seeking artists, writers, poets, Creatives to be a part of print and online versions. Contact me at scmedia620@gmail.com is interested. Submission Guides will be posted on site soon. Blessings, Marissa

Serenity Café

Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald in Paris, 1920’s.
Photo Credit: Public Domain

Actually, it is a Paris café, serving beer, coffee, delicacies and solid hot meals. Hemingway grabs a beer and heads for his favorite table on the edge of the crowd. The Fitzgerald’s wave and beeline toward him from across the room – Scott is affable, he thinks, but he can already tell Zelda is a dark mood. Downing the beer, he waves for the waiter to bring another as he sits. Scott and Zelda land beside him within seconds. Matisse steps around the corner, shuffles down the Montparnasse and raises his cane in greeting.

An hour later, they are laughing and drinking, discussing the politics of the world, the latest literary achievements of their fellows, and dreaming of a “next” none of them can rightly define. Their individual genius, heartbreaks, and confusions flow and ebb through the…

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The Artist Enters the Void

Starting work on the Serenity Café magazine site….Print publication slated for end of November 2020.

Serenity Café

Photo Credit: Marlon Schmeiski via Pexels

The artist enters the Void with nothing and comes back with something. Her skill is to turn off the self-censor. Her skill is to jump off the cliff. Her skill is to believe.

As artists, what are we believing in? We’re believing in a conception of the universe (or at least of consciousness within that universe) that is not random, not pointless, not devoid of meaning.

Steven Pressfield, Nobody Wants to Read Your Sh*t

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Answer Words Symbol

 

man and woman pose on a cross monument

~for Peter

 

The Words are only
and always
only
a symbol
for the truth emotion energy
they seek
to convey
hieroglyphs forms symbols
we forget
they never truly say
anything
this artifice of speaking
writing
symbols iconography
for the internal aspect
of human divine knowing truth
that
mute words can’t speak
these mute donkeys that plod
the garden of living
trying
to reach
thoroughbred status
this
is not possible
but
like us
the words do
the best they can
and I find
they are
the one place
where honesty shows up
in mystical magic
the words speak
a truth
we viscerally
know
and I
would never
take back
any of the words
I bled for you

 

 

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

wet trail of falling

pink and white flower with white background

Drizzle of raindrops
across a broken rose
its sunburnt edges
of yellowing leaves
green grass blades

Drip and drizzle
moves shimmers rolls
plops to another petal
falls drifts streaks wet
trail of falling —

like the trail streak tail
of a comet burning

like the sloshed snow
trailing the skier

like the tear glistens
a trail as it wets the cheek

Slow pour cacophony
of water and pain
that floods and fills
with deep misery
or flushes and flows
with deep catharsis

this wet trail of falling
Deeper
Deeper
Deeper

Into

the unknown

 

 

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Evie Shaffer on Pexels.com

 

One Touch

person holding a flower

~June 2020, for my friend Peter

 

One touch.
Handshake a million years ago
meaning — only
the imprinted energy remained
your signature
written
in the palm of my hand.

One touch.
Brushstroke upon the canvas
meaning — only
that memory would keep you
vivid bright color stroke
painted
in the memory of synapses.

One touch.
Melody rolling across deprived days
meaning — only
that you sang the hours
a song of calming
solace
in a soft whispered breathing.

One touch.
Illusion and Truth and Seeker
meaning — only
that variegated thread of being
runs through us all
weaving
a tapestry of disjointed discovery.

One touch.
Heartbeat tapping ka-thump
meaning — only
we are living moving flowing life
blood body spirit soul
one
essence divided into many.

One touch.
Begging arms reach out
meaning — only
the tears we cry dream dreams
of yearning and growing then
disappear
into a deeper realm.

One touch.
We have this gift
meaning — only
we are this gift
of chance chaos beauty
expanding
to touch one another.

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Valeriia Miller on Pexels.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m lost. Can you help me find my way?

man s hand in shallow focus and grayscale photography

It is 4:27 pm on Sunday afternoon. The small convenience store at the corner of Hwy 17 and Ocean Boulevard is packed with customers two lines deep waiting on a single cashier to ring them up and send them on their way. She is a sweet black woman near my age that I chat with every time I visit the store.

I am third in line behind an older white man wearing a scraggly beard and walking with a slight bent limp, and a Hispanic father with two teenage girls wearing shorts, smiles, and sunburns. A young black man and his friend are behind me. The line on the other side of the store has an older white couple, a Hispanic woman talking on her cell phone, an older black lady wearing jeans, a God Saves T-shirt and a ball-cap, and a well-dressed younger couple speaking quietly in Russian.

Two miles away, in the center of downtown Myrtle Beach, SC a protest ends without major violence or rioting after arrests and releases, a few hours of tense stand-off and news reports, and a slow push forward by a police line that encourages dispersion. I watch the local Facebook news feed for hours. Then, make this quick run to the nearest convenience store for cigarettes before the 6 pm curfew takes effect.

I am in line. We are all in line. Each of us trying to observe social-distancing rules and patiently wait our turn in the tiny overcrowded store. My mind is trying to sort the images and realities of the day. I’m looking for a way to make sense of the deep emotions of anger and pain I’ve seen and heard. The questions of meaning and how to address these issues and help heal them in my community float across my consciousness.

How it is possible that we are still battling these issues of race, prejudice, and inequality in the year 2020 my mind asks. I cannot fathom an answer. The sad pain over the reality of these deep, ingrained wounds and behavior our nation and its’ people are suffering is too overwhelming. I am floating between rational thought and simple prayer as I stand in the line, waiting my turn.

A young black man in his 30’s walks in the store and steps in front of everyone, seemingly oblivious to the lines of people standing there. He asks the cashier a question:

I’m lost. Can you help me find my way?

My breath catches in my throat as I feel everyone tense around me. From behind him, the older white man with the limp and scraggly beard, reaches and puts his hand on the mans shoulder. In a deep Southern accent he says, “I’ve lived here all my life son. Maybe I can help. Where are you trying to get to?”

The whole store seems to breathe one long sigh of relief as they talk and the man is soon on his way to his destination. Both men show nothing but respect and kindness to one another during the interaction. I am almost in tears at the gift of this moment. Hope comes back into my heart. I believe we can somehow find our way through this … one person-to-person interaction at a time.

I think about the question, “I’m lost. Can you help me find my way?” It sums up the surreal place the people, our nation, and the world seems to be at in this moment. We are all lost and needing a little help to find our way. It starts within each of us and moves outward. It is the simple truth of Gandhi’s words, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.”

man person people old

 

Photo One: Photo by lalesh aldarwish on Pexels.com
Photo Two: Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

How will you serve the world?

woman near window

“How will you serve the world? What do they need that your talent can provide? That’s all you have to figure out.”  ~Jim Carrey

 

Jim Carrey is the perfect guy to help you survive a mid-life crises. He is funny, eccentric, wise, and doesn’t believe in reality. The best kind of friend for the transition spaces in a life between what was and what will be.

So, I heard Jim say,  “How will you serve the world? What do they need that your talent can provide? That’s all you have to figure out.” And the question and answer stuck. I walked around with it for months, rolling and turning it over in my mind like a precious gem in my palm.

I was beginning to move forward from a 3-year period of devastation and redirection. A twenty year marriage had ended in a nasty way, the following relationship became a traumatic and painful experience, and I’d exited a fifteen-year career field with no serious idea of what was next. All those standard future plans, life assumptions, and normal expectations disappeared along with the personal identity aspects of the woman who held them. I was entering my 50’s in an existential crises state!

I was suddenly in one of those mid-life crises states that I’d read numerous articles about through the years but never expected to experience. Life has a funny way of surprising us! We get all comfy and cozy and complacent and … Bam! Our soul suddenly moves us toward greater circles of being, brings us new challenges and growth in the form of a major shift and expansion of the self. Hang on! Life says. Change is coming whether you want it or not! My favorite Picasso quote, once applied only to my artistic endeavors, suddenly became my whole life experience!

Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.      ~Pablo Picasso

The “I” listening to a You Tube video of Jim Carrey was a skeleton sketch, a “flat character” I was trying to figure out how to flesh-out into a multi-dimensional, active character in my own living story. At that time, not much was certain. I knew I needed to heal and build a new life based on a different structure of understanding, both within my self and within the world. I’d spent fifteen years in a high-pressure, profit-driven industry that ate my soul away a piece at a time. I knew it was imperative to leave that arena and return to the arts and my love of creation and contribution. But, how?

Being open-minded and exploring new facets of myself and my interests was the first step. Opening my mind to new possibilities and fresh ways of seeing life and the world within me and around me allowed me to find new loves and joys in different forms of artistic expression and involvement.

Writing seemed a natural option after all the years as a poet, writer, publisher. But, it also felt old and stifling to some degree, too much a part of the “old me” that I’d outgrown. And what exactly was I to do if I wrote? Should I finally put a book manuscript together? Focus on poetry? Do some essays or short stories? Or, something new? Contemplative pieces or activist efforts?

The shift of creating from a more personal perspective to creating as a way of serving the world wasn’t totally new to me. My first writings and Infinity Forum Magazine were easily “activist oriented” back in the nineties. Still, activism as such wasn’t compelling. There was no fight I felt pulled toward or battle I wanted to join. And yet, there was the desire to do something worthwhile; to create in such a way as to bring value to others and the world around me in whatever way my talents would allow.

Eventually, the desire to serve the world and the fun and enjoyment of taking pictures  led me into photography. I spent a year “playing” at it with my I-phone, and then bought a professional camera, gear, and books on photography and the Adobe Programs. It became a new passion and a serious area of study and effort. I started seeing photographs from the narrative, story-telling perspective. They became a form of visual poetry to me.

In photography and poetry, and it could be easily argued – in all art, the artist is in the act of creating a picture or an emotion for a reader or viewer. Painting with words is not dissimilar from freezing a scene and its emotive quality in a photograph. The interest and willingness to try a new thing and master new skills gained me a position as a photographer for a local neighborhood magazine. I serve my local world in a small way by taking photographs of families that help tell their stories and introduce them to other members of their community.

The photography and work for the magazine led me back to my love of writing, design, and publishing. A new glossy national magazine is in the works to begin publishing this fall. The love of artistic expression and creatives helped me to reach out and initiate  connections and friendships with other local artists and craftsman. They are like-minded souls seeking to create positive change in the world by using their gifts and talents in service-minded venues and organizations. I am learning to work in co-creative groups and spaces with the goal of talent as a form of service rather than only individual expression.

These are still major changes for me — some days I dive right in and other days there is some tension and stress in the growth process. But, that’s okay. Life is wonderful about meeting you in the growth and expansion as you move forward and deeper into it!

Every day is a new opportunity to learn and grow, to become a more expansive being within ourselves and within the world we share. It isn’t about being perfect, having all the answers, or even knowing exactly what to do in a given moment — it’s truly about being open to living in such a way that we are open to the newness and beauty and opportunities life brings our way. That we find courage to keep believing there is more to learn, understand, and experience. This growing into wider concentric circles of connection and being is what a vital, conscious life offers us.

 

~~~

So, dear friends, take some time and ponder the quote by Jim Carrey. How will you serve the world? And remember, you are constantly going into the next widening circle of living. Trust life to carry you and know that we are all still learning and becoming. And that is a beautiful thing!

Blessings & Love,

~Marissa

silhouette photography of group of people jumping during golden time

 

 

Take My Hand

adult aged baby care

~for Peter & Mickey

Gulls drop down from a darkening sky —
knowing the land is temporary — sky
their true home. As they fly away again

I walk the sands of shells and time changing
from day into dark into day again- changing
is the flux of dying and living and dying

in this one lifetime — A heart-child cries
in the dark hours of storm and shadow
reaches — toward the shimmering-sparkling

lights shinning on a new horizon – those
bright-built heart diamonds of love light
answer the cry with a gentle-soft whisper —

Come, baby girl, they say, take my hand.
You don’t have to be afraid, storms passing
and a blazing new sunrise is coming soon.

 

~Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

 

 

how she loves

love heart flowers spring

As the mirror loves
The face reflected –

As the water loves
The sun that warms it –

As the lake loves
The night that chills it –

As the air loves
The lungs that breathe it –

As the peach loves
The mouth that tastes it –

As the word loves
The pen that writes it –

As the poem loves the poet
That hears it speak –

 

~Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

the old bones of the past

autumn autumn leaves blur close up

~of Michael

We talk over the old bones of the past,
The way people sitting beside a campfire
Take a stick and poke the dying embers of flame
Licking the last log-remnants
Burning in the night air of endings.

We sigh over how it makes sense now
The scenarios once locking us all in blindness
Show themselves clear and sparkling
As light dancing on water
Their jagged-edged episodes
Blistering clear in the light of passed time.

It is how a mother and daughter pick through the past
Of a husband, father, grandfather – his absence
Like a leaf we hand back and forth
Turning it over and over again
Examining its veins and edges and discolorations —

As if this examining will somehow tell us
What made it turn loose and drop from the tree.

 

~Photo by Valiphotos on Pexels.com

 

 

 

the God of your Soul-Self

books on the table

Walking toward Photography in search of
a How To book that isn’t there — I turn
toward the whispering shelves of poetry–
Hafiz, Billy Collins, Rilke, Rumi, a chorus
calling me to take them home. I do.

A million sparkling lights of hope and
friendship — voices, voices, voices calling
out a hum of knowing, living, being. Yes!
This chorus of light vibration wisdom is
the Holy Ground of libraries and bookstores.

I often tried to explain to friends:
On bad days or during times of sorrow,
I walk into a bookstore and ask God —
Help, give me the words I need to hear.
And He does. And they laugh, Yeah – Right!

And I further tried to explain the science,
the physics of vibration, energy, contraction
Einstein’s universal laws lived out in reality —
but they couldn’t understand my language.
I explored the topic in deep sharing:

Everything is energy and movement — atomic.
Voices in books are the writers Being with
me in conversation, friendship, vision.
The books are just un-bodied people I know.
But, my friends laughed — Yeah, okay! And,

I stopped trying to explain with explaining.
The God of your Soul-Self will come to you
in the way you can know Him, love Him.
He will meet you in the Space between
longing and faith and call you Home.

Each thing carries Him inside it.
Each breath a confirmation.
Each need an answer to Union.
Each cry a step closer to Wholeness.
One — into many — into One.

The spectrum has many colors
but there is only one Light.

 

 

~Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

Adventure Days

scenic view of mountains during dawn

 

 

“Awake, Oh Sleeper,
and arise from the dead,

and Christ will shine on you.”
~Ephesians 5:14

 

 

 

 

We fall into the place of forgetting
how precious the living is, the deep joy
of ocean breeze across heated skin,
the sound of a bird chirping, singing
gratitude for Grace and sunlight, life
a precious flowing river ever changing

us. Most people, falling into dark sleeping
memories that plague our hearts losses
with all that was, is gone, the past “we”
no longer the “we” of now. These quiet hours
alone in desperation, crying to our Maker
until Mercy pours light and hope and love

down from the heavens. Then, a friend comes
and brings new Adventure Days of hope,
bright laughter, we are playing at life again
like a young child unaware of time, moving
into a new us, a new future, a new phase
of living, growing, becoming whole – Reborn.

These are the gifts we give from deep heart places
where God shines treasure and hope and love
outward, from within us, until everywhere we look
there is gleaming joy and the birds are singing —
Awake, Oh Sleeper, Awake! Rejoice and Live!

 

 

~Photo by Simon Matzinger on Pexels.com

like the wave loves the ocean

ocean wave

You sing me songs through the air.
You say every word I’ve cried to hear.
You run to me when I long for you.
You put your normal life on a platter
Toss it into the sky, Turn
And hold out your arms to me.
Your circling spiral of energy
Tornado and whirlwind breeze
Heat, turning calm, knowing
All at once in my soul
You hold me, meet me
In the space of vast seeing
A place both foreign and home
In this instance (we are flowing)
Like the way we breathe —
Sometimes with knowing focus
Other times    Naturally-unaware
That life pulses through us
With us — Is us.

I love the way you love me
Like the wave loves the ocean
and the ocean loves the wave.

 

~Photo by Simon Clayton on Pexels.com

the heated promise of a new day

flight landscape nature sky

Sunset comes in the bright fire
of disappearing earth and atmosphere
meeting like lovers
like hushed voices
and loud laughter
fall, roll, tumble
in lovemaking and tenderness
cream skin caress
hot frantic need to
touch everything within you
heart, soul, mind, spirit, knowing
Being Love
consumed in fire
the cool darkness holding
the heated promise of a new day
and an I love you vaster than time.

Meet me at sunset, my sweet Beloved,
at the portal of life becoming Divine.

 

 

~Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Google Photos Reminds Me in Backup

summer-reflection-timothy-easton

~of Joey

 

Four years ago you were sitting
in a white Porsche Boxster with me
taking pictures, recording videos
of the handsome boy who stole my heart.

Three years ago I was driving
an Audi convertible around and wondering
what bar you were getting drunk in, with whom,
taking selfies for Facebook in a smile masking truth.

Two years ago you were gone
back to the ground that grew you
and I was 30 pounds lighter and looked old
and anorexic in the photo I sent to my daughter.

One year ago the newest girlfriend
found me on Facebook, called and messaged,
sent videos of the drama and pain and I knew
that my grieving was easing under the light of truth.

Today, I woke up dreaming of the warm loving arms
of a man whose heart is Sacred and Holy
and I decided after coffee and writing poems,
it was time to erase your pictures from my phone.

we argue over the meaning

 

We argue over the meaning of poetry —
he is from the formal school of
Show, Don’t Tell
and though I don’t disagree
with this teaching premise,
I am trying to explain poetry
as speaking your truth,
poetry as living Oracle.

I let the argument go,
it fades away and I know
he too will soon fade away
from my life
because the argument means more
than the effort to understand
that poetry is powerful —
it can join or sever at will.

I was a perfectionist writer
for years, hours spent editing
one simple line – but now
I let the words live their life
without so much interference,
trusting the inner voice of truth
to do the work of speaking
something valid
on the blank page of time.

 

~January 2020, Myrtle Beach, SC

in the air of bliss

 

I read Hafiz — No —-
I absorb Hafiz
as I have absorbed Rilke, Rumi, Gibran
as I have soaked up Christian Scripture,
The Upanishads, The Bhagavad Gita, The Sun.

You — singing to me
asking me to dance
for years now — forever.
Yes — are you ready?

Do you think I am finally
brave enough to take your hand
step away from the ground —
There is no longer earth beneath my feet
anyway. I have been falling in you
for years —
Do you think I am
finally?

Yes. I would love to dance with you.
Forever in your embrace
groundless and free.
Movement unfolding
in the air of bliss.

 

~September 2019, Myrtle Beach, SC

words

 

Words are not big enough
full enough
words are not powerful enough
magical enough
words are not strong enough
light enough

To explain, describe, convey
You in Me, in Oneness, Being Holy.

But, Oh
how they want to be
more than they are
do more than they can
show everyone truth
become being itself

Oh, how the poems
so desperately desire
to be the flow
they try to speak.

 

Pain of War & Living

flight sky sunset men

~VA Hospital, October 2019 (Thank you for your service)

 

These halls, these chairs, these walls
encasing whispered moans
and memories of wars
and those gone soldiers
that never made it home
to America, to sit here, to wait
on the doctor to see them
at the VA Hospital in Charleston.

I sit feeling, hearing the tones
of pain play like the keys
of a piano, dark and light —
Some pain a deep recessed dark.
Some pain a bright hard gash
of bright light open wound oozing
under the cover of wrinkled flesh
pale aged splotched skin
that holds the soldier of twenty
wrapped deep beneath the disguise
of age and time.

The waiting room of marbled browns
deep wood tone trim and calm colors
built to settle the mind and remove
the pain of war and living.

 

~Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

A Thousand Muses

crop woman and abstract illustrations on floor

~for the full moon love

There were a thousand Muses through the years —
Some were friends and others foes. Some were
lovers and past crushes and possible future flames.
Each vibration–reaction strumming a chord that said
Create, Capture, Hold an Image, a Moment — But
None of them sparked my heart like you, Beautiful Soul.

There were a thousand Muses through the years —
Some were real in essence and vision and others
a fanciful need, illusion, wish, desire, imprint.
Each color-shadow sparking a fire that said
Begat, Build, Frame the Idea, the Hour — But
None of them saturated my skin like you, Beautiful Soul.

There were a thousand Muses through the years —
Some were Birds of Paradise singing melodies and
some were Piranhas circling deep with hunger.
Each living-dying another brick in the journey road
traveling me through the cities, towns, fields – But
None of them flew me to the heights of your sky, Beautiful Soul.

There were a thousand Muses through the years —
But I need no more Muses to inspire or create, motivate
now that I have found my poetry in the light of your eyes
and the deep glowing fire of loves light in your Beautiful Soul.

 

 

~Photo by Retha Ferguson on Pexels.com

THIS is how my heart

heart shaped red neon signage

I walk the oceans edge
delight in the appearance
of birds landing beside me
to frolic-play
walk with me awhile —

Sacred gift of
this unspoken communion
pure bliss of being
free together —
and as they lift-float skyward
there is no edge
of absence-regret-loss
only joy residual from
the experience
of the knowing
in who they are.

THIS
is how my heart
desires to love you —
not with fear
or holding on
or with clinging
jealous hands —
but with unity-freedom
a oneness that remains true
even after your leaving.

 

~Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

A New Song

bare trees against sky during sunset

~for Mickey 12/2019

 

The old man tells me of his friend (and I am his friend)
as we drive home from dinner.  He falls to weeping
over the buddy he sang with in the church quartet
all those many years ago.

His friend died young, aged 48, and he stopped
singing then (at 72 he sings to me as we drive).
The pain of sad loss trembles from him, the words
and images fall into my lap for safe keeping — this
is a heart opening into hearing as I whisper the normal
“I’m sorry” and “I know it still hurts” because that is what
one does —

But I want say — “I am listening” and “I will put this
in a poem” Your heart — THIS big with love —
“I will save it forever for you in a poem.” But
I only whisper the normal solaces one gives,
watch his tears fall and listen as he shivers —
His frail voice singing a song about a Lighthouse
as I take his aged hand in mine
across the center console of the car.

There —
In the night drive home after dinner
in the shimmer and melody on air
and the spring of tears trembling down —

The ghost of his friend rides with us
on through the dark night
as hands both living and dead
reach out and touch —

And a poem is planted, unfurls —
Grows into a new song.

 

~Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

that look in my eyes

close up of fish over black background

Yes, you saw it.
I know the spark —
that inquisitive glimmer
transcended the space
between us.

I like your eyes –
such deep honest orbs.
And I won’t try
to hide mine or
the flowing currents
they hold.

It was pain
of recognition
acceptance
that little place
of knowing –
Servitude:
yes, Lord —
I understand –

Because, as you say,
as I have said so often,
it IS about living it,
isn’t it? And so –

what you saw
in the churning depths
was the letting go
of wish-desire-want
the acceptance of
and surrender to
Truth.

After all, Truth
is what we’ve both
been excavating
and chasing
all of our lives.

God’s voice, the inner
demand for obedience,
is a heavy hand
weighted-hard —

In some moments.
Truth
arrives in a way
that pains the heart
but nourishes the soul.

 

~Photo by Chevanon Photography on Pexels.com

 

 

 

teach me of swimming

Swimming

How much does water weigh —
how does the heaviness taste
against your skin?

Tell me of floating
and what that bed touches
in the back that rests there.

How do the waves speak
as they wash your face
and roll into your mouth?

Do you hear mermaids or nothingness
as water slides above your brow
slips into your inner ear?

Do your hands feel tenderness
or anger boiling strumming
through the rushing water?

What do fish see?
What song do seashells sing?
Does the water know the difference
between the moon and the sun?

 

~Photo Credit: (c)2019 Marissa Mullins

 

seeing another seeker with empty hands

brown sand

8~24~2019

 

Memory: Bright-eyed boy telling me about Shark’s teeth —
I was above and beyond the mire of irrationality
then — as Seger says      Deadlines & Commitments
What to leave in, what to leave out.

Reality: There are dozens of us     hundreds
walking the shoreline of Myrtle
each day —

You will know us by our eyes
cast down, scanning the sand
looking for Grace reflected
in an ebony shine.

We are a greedy and gracious lot
depending on our need in that hour.
Sometimes hoarding
because we need every syllable God whispers.
Sometimes generous
seeing another seeker with empty hands –
we smile and pass a treasure off –
Here, these are for you.
Handing the letters of God to others
because we are all seeking
words to ease the suffering
of all the questions
that convince us
there is any other answer
but ourselves

believing
there is an answer
floating somewhere
in the sand
to who we are –
why we love –
how we are here.

 

 

~Photo by Miri on Pexels.com

 

less afraid of the dark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8~24~2019

Do you remember the nights
in dark moon absent hours
of deep crashing wave sounds?

You, with your bright flashlight
walking an impatient mile-a-minute
in front of me — always running —
while love-want-mothering-harlot
enveloped me in bliss and agony.

Duality — Loving a man-boy who
would never grow up. The letting go
ending every facet of my known world
(and I knew that truth then) Still — knew
the agony was my fight with God over
what was coming-inevitable-necessary.

I laughed and cried together as we
roamed the sand looking for treasure
on those deep warm summer nights,
saying goodbye to both of us in every step.
Your flashlight dimmer as you raced ahead
and as I followed, I knew I was becoming
less afraid of the dark.

I find shark’s teeth now
every time I visit the beach.
God and I, hand in hand, walking
together. He gives them to me —
a way of loving-forgiving
and remembering you.

 

 

~Photo by Lukas Rodriguez on Pexels.com

Chance

adorable black and white blur boy

In Egypt there are camels feeding.
In Tahiti there are frogs jumping.
They may not meet
In this lifetime
On this journey.

In Kansas there is a wheat field dancing.
In England there is a muddy river flowing.
They may not meet
In this lifetime
On this journey.

In Space there is a boy working and laughing.
In Time there is a girl writing and smiling.
They may not meet
In this lifetime
On this journey.

 

~Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

we love by degrees

woman with red hair and blue eyes

~August 2019

 

We love by degrees
of shadow and light.

The old man
tells a fishing story
his eyes filling up
with sea mist.

The young man
touts the size of his dick,
the number of conquests
his eyes glittering triumph.

The old woman
remembers her wedding
his eyes warm with love
the children she grew
and gave wings.

The young girl
rushes to get ready
for a first date lost
in fantasy and breathless
heartbeat
eyes gleaming with
anticipation.

We love by degrees
of shadow and light.

Like the pupil in our eyes
expansion    contraction
measured entry
as the world spins
onward in time
our hearts of stone
holding fires

that we water out
or add wood to
depending on the day.

 

~Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

 

our first conversation

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~June 2019

 

Poetry may save me
if I am willing —

“And the Word became flesh.”
Christ is known to me this way.

The rustle and moan of vibration
flowing-peace-words of poetry.

I think this-poetry was our first
conversation.

Before
the smell of rain on a dirt driveway,
the blue and white moving clouds —

As I lay on deep green grass
staring upward — mesmerized

without separateness of identity
to confuse me.