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

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

 

but poets know

person wearing guys fawkes mask watching flame

~June 2019

There is a reason the snake bite
must be cut and bled,
a mouth needed to suck the poison
out, spit it away into nothingness.

I have heard it said of the great writer
that he is madness, an evil man with
evil stories.    But, no —
he writes to remove the poison images
and this is how he stays sane.

Jung’s dark Shadow theory —
what the mind hides inside it —
It becomes. The writer
realizes the freedom of releasing
the shadows so he can move on.

Every writer knows this truth,
but poets know the poison intimately.

 

 

~Photo by Ashutosh Sonwani on Pexels.com

 

from the shadow blooms

Rose darkbrush

Her fear enters the door ahead of her.
The fragile-silk side-step fear of trespass
that tells you she knows too many dark
hours — that she is a flower from the shadow
blooms beneath branches blocking

sunlight. Moves and changes come
with strong winds, tussled leaves
and limbs spinning the orbiting petals
upward  — into this fragile day of sun
that she both worships and fears.

The sun is a powerful god she loves, but
the trepidation and fear of transgression,
suspicion, uncertainty — the suspect knowing
of humble plant to mystic star, child to Lion,
needful flower to the light which sustains it.

These fears sit down as a group on the ground
around her roots, crawl up to perch on nearby
leaves and wait and watch and then — Wisdom
cradling Mercy in her breast, breathes healing
and the fears recede for now into the shadows.

 

~Photo Credit: Shadow Bloom, (c)2020 Marissa Mullins

 

 

stretched thin with yearning

Grass Artful

That desert sea of sand
holds the roots in mystery
as the reaching toward heaven
begins —

hot rolling hours change the day
moving into hours of darkness and chill
wind blows in, howling, from the ocean cold.
Here —

Life digs in deeper, then
reaches higher, higher, higher — outstretched
and stretched thin with yearning
it grows

toward a bright light other unknown
calling its core seed to sprout, reach
strive for the impossible unattainable
until

the shadow essence grows shorter, smaller
and as true darkness sets in — disappears
into the space of night — the labor of life
resting

knowing that tomorrow light will come,
call out again for new strength of purpose,
demand heaven-high climbing life focus
to rise.

~Photo Credit: (c)2020 Marissa Mullins 

all the jewels

It was his birthstone – and a color
he often wore. But,
all those years together
it was a stone in my hand,
a jagged crystal tower
on my desk.

When we ended — all the jewels
fell to the ground like stars
dropping from the night sky.
Since then
I have stayed away from
the power of purple and gray.

You can’t know these things
as you hand me a heart
stone of purple amethyst,
that fills my palm with cool
smooth weight —

The past never ends, it is
recycled and reshaped
into the Now —
that bouncing between
the three realms of
past, present, future
eventually ends:

Three becomes One.
The Trinity of Time
flows in One stream
knowing
the eternal
is all-encompassing.
This never ending
circular flow —

The heart I lost in blood and flesh
given back to me in polished stone.

You take my hand

silhouette of newly wedded couple

You take my hand and we go out
into the world.
You are my dearest playmate, companion.

Sometimes,
the Mind says to me
“Are you crazy?”

“Who are you to speak of God this way?”

But, I am learning
to listen only to Your laughter,
to relax into the giggles we share,
to take Your hand in mine,
to trust You —

And then,
I smile at my Mind, all his babbling,
like a jealous, drunk friend!
Because
the Heart sees differently —

And I know that this romping about,
playing with mischief, roaring in laughter and joy,
through these life-days of shimmer and shine
with You
is the only reason I came.

 

~Photo by Thái Huỳnh on Pexels.com

the sweetest madness

persons raising hands

My mind is always trying to talk
my heart out of this madness.
This argument–
bickering battle between them —
My soul watches — laughing.

These two contrary companions
endlessly scrapping and tussling
like kittens learning to grow up —
Meow! Shriek! Hiss, attack, tumble —
Oh, this joy of mock battle
to be ruler of the kingdom!

Meanwhile,
You are water flooding into each open crevice;
You are fire and red-flame lava burning me to ash;
You are space, silence, the great wash of wind —
across my body like cool breezes on warm days.

Electrical impulse of cell and synapse —
You are light exploding in every particle of my being —
And I am dying into the invisible storm of You —
And it is the most beautiful place I have ever known.

Dying to Love is the sweetest madness:
One never wishes to come back from that!

 

~Photo Credit” Luis Dalvan on Pexels.com

the love that is Home

Gateway

It is as if
Somehow — Someone
opened the gate and let me back in
to the Garden of Eden —

while the world still sees me
and keeps calling, calling
to come back out and play.

I can’t find words
that work to explain
I am happier here
than ever, anywhere —

How does one explain
the love that is Home?

 

~Photo Credit: Gateway; (c)2019 Marissa Mullins

Open Call for Artists, Poets, Writers, and Creatives!

Hello Beautiful Creatives,

I need you! I need your talent!

The world needs you! The world needs your talent!

We Creatives share a cutting-edge vision, a specific energy and enthusiasm, and a way of seeing the world and life that is desperately needed during these difficult times. I would like to give you a sacred space to speak in and the opportunity to speak — in whatever medium you call your own; be it art, poetry, writing, music — and so here we go … it’s an Open Call!

If you’d like to know who in the world I am – check out my artist bio above for all those official details. Or, read through some of these blog posts if you just want to get a feel for me.  If you’d like to see other artists and writers and work I like– go check out poetryisaverb.wordpress.com. I post occasionally on here and I read and select pieces off the web at random and by my gut — if I like it, on it goes!

Currently, I’m working on a slick-glossy style lit mag/art mag/mindfulness style quarterly. This will be a print publication and I hope to have the first print run ready to go by Winter 2020. I’d like to invite you to join me!

If you have an interest in further details, or in being included or having your work included on Poetry is a Verb (also on Facebook as Poetry is a Verb!), then simply drop me a note on here or you can email me at Marissamullinsphotography@gmail.com for more details and so we can chat!

I look forward to hearing from you and to our Co-Creative efforts!!

Much Love & Blessings to All,

~Marissa

Sparrow

brown small beak bird

He came to land
so gingerly and brave
on the chair-back
beside me (reading Rumi) —
at a table near the fountain.

Then,
hopping down and around
the edge of the table,
a hand-length
beside me
as if
he knew there was
an uneaten cookie
inside my book-bag  —
and asking
so sweetly and gently —

What could I do?
But
reach into the bag,
pull the cookie out, and
crumble it across the table
as a sacred offering
for this invitation
to love.

 

~March 2020, Market Common, Myrtle Beach, SC

~Photo Credit: Flickr on Pexels.com

day of miracles 3/20/20

Beach3620

The sandy beach gave me heart tokens
in stone and shell.

The sea gulls paraded their young before me
training flight as I gazed on the becoming.

The ocean washed sand away to show me
a giant shark tooth for my hand.

There was love and light and poetry flowing,
new books of beautiful verse for my heart,
a picnic lunch with my lover in the park.

There was a painted rock
in a flower pot with a painted heart and my
initial that was waiting for me to walk by.

There was a brave bird that introduced himself
and asked to share my cookie, and at my acquiescence,
he and his friends sang me love songs while they ate.

There was water rushing in the fountain
and a pen filling notebooks with poems.
There was sunshine and shade and shadow —

A breeze carrying the scent of blossoms my way
and a bench held me lovingly in sacred space.

There was love and life and flowing in me, around me,
with me. Leaves fell as Shams sang and Rumi danced.

There was a day of miracles … what more could I want?

 

 

~Photo Credit: Blue Ocean, Myrtle Beach State Park; (c)2019 Marissa Mullins 

the only way Home

OceanGreen

I am neck-deep in this wave-water of You.
That, all my life before
I only could stick my toe in –
or, sometimes
there was loud-splash and timid-step, You
surging up around my ankles –
or, other times
in the bravest neurotic mad-laced hours,
I would close my eyes and run barreling
into deep-dark-swirling waters up to my waist.
But — Always,
as the sand ripped away beneath my feet,
the dizziness spun and fear gripped me,
out and back to the safety of shore I ran.

Now,
no solid ground-safety-land beneath my feet.
Your waves flow-wash-lap at my throat –
Your water forces–kisses-enters my mouth –
I rock-surrender-float, two toes touching bottom,
in this bliss of dissolving into You —
My soul begs You — fill me, immerse me, consume me.
My Mind cannot understand this madness.
My Heart knows insanity in love with the Beloved
is the only way Home.

 

~Photo Credit: (c)2019 Marissa Mullins