I want to be in Paris in the thirties
in a coffee house with painters and poets
Like Laurel Canyon sixties songs
the music echoes all day and night
The morning rain showers, the afternoon sun
Warm canvases of yellows and melons horizons
The evening light of the Eiffel Tower glitters
The night is showered with city sights
I want to be in Paris in the thirties
And write the poetry that rattles in my head
Like a song on an old phonograph
I am dancing in the shadows until morning takes flight
Photo by Bruno Pires on
She is standing in a room full of mirrors.
She is all the people she was taught to be.
A good little girl who prays and is kind.
A pretty girl as much as she can be.
A smart girl but not too smart for men.
She is all the people she was taught to be.
Yet somehow, she is none of these.
Mirrors are liars.
Mirrors crack and shatter.
She is a woman of humility and wisdom.
She is a reflection of her Maker.
She does not need mirrors anymore.
It is a misfit’s address
An island of genius
A mystery of progress
The glitter of astrocytes between us
The mundane to the brilliant
From the axon to infinity
Never to be explained away
The music of the genius plays
Photo by Nicole Avagliano on
From the first conversation we were not strangers…
A searing, a piercing wind blew my story that always follows me, into a million pieces…
A deep blue velvet stillness filled me and my heart’s fragility opened wide and I knew The presence of the Holy entered…
Photo by Zukiman Mohamad
He smiled with no malice when I said, “I don’t trust you but I’ll try you rather than stay the way I am.”
“Well, at least your honest,” he replied adding, ” I can work with that. “
So, this man had a sense of humor and his eyes danced like chocolate stars.
His face was not handsome and his hands looked rough and scarred.
There was a warmth and strength in his voice that I’d never heard before.
A sound of gentle peace fell before me like a tide pool near the shore.
We must have walked for hours but I was not tired or worn.
He told me every single thing I had ever done before.
I cannot express with words the happening.
A wonder of transformation began to form.
I was then and then I was new and I trust Him forevermore.
Photo by Magda Ehlers
She could take no more time looking back.
The Light was brighter and then the brightest.
She heard singing in another language so majestic, and she knew it was the Song of The Highest.
The water clear and sweet and no salt was in the Sea, and every refraction of light shone like jewels.
She knew it was not the Old Earth any longer.
No shadows or darkness could still linger.
She threw off her sword for there was no need of weapons
She was in the King’s Country at last!
Photo by Ir Solyanaya
There were many who could accuse her, she knew it was the law.
The very men who used her now want to see her stoned.
She remembers how it started, so hungry and alone.
She rode the tide of shame and commerce, with nowhere else to go.
She heard about the Holy man healing all the sick.
They said he spoke of God’s love for all, even those who have no hope.
So now she stood before Him and prepared herself to die.
He then wrote something in the dirt and gazed up into her eyes
And said, “no man here can accuse you and neither do I.”
Oh the washing of her soul a deluge fell that holy day,
and she followed Him from that time on, He is The Truth, The Life, The Way!
Photo by Matheus Bertelli
Her tiny toddler body lays wrapped against mine.
Her breathing is God singing, His Love her sigh.
No guile no malice no doubt or fear.
Her precious hands show me God is near.
She whispers my name as she falls asleep.
Never a sweeter word has been spoken to me.
My heart could burst open when I smell her sweet head.
If there is a treasure on earth more than this I choose this song instead.
Photo by Miri
Standing on the highest sand dune people moved back and forth on the ground below. She no longer has their youthfulness of an unlined face but she knew she finally possessed the joy of ageless Grace. The pilgrimage called her to this beautiful place. The wind and the sun an old friend on her face.
Now she is the shell seeker in the wide brimmed hat, as a child playing in the sun she’d laughed at people like that. She remembers younger days when she grew weary but now the days of peace are what linger here. Emotions don’t obey the rules they are the heartbeat in being human. Like waves reaching the shore emotions can be kept for a moment but are better when given away.
The shell seeker’ s eye remains clear and adept while watching the children play. She knows that life is not going back but more of giving it away. The Truth is, life consists in learning and loving well with Grace underneath God’s sun. To remain whole in the midst of life’s ups and downs, to surrender all secrets and lies is anointing oil to the soul. To shed insincerity and live in the present, the waves echo behind her now compelling her to go on.
Photo by cottonbro
I don’t know why they call it Good Friday
Beaten, naked and hung upon a tree.
No one to love you, not even God
A rejection never to be known by me.
Devastating penalty that Goodness might be.
It should be called ” the love note from God” day…
