Photo by Noelle Otto
I don’t know where you went when you left me.
I have to believe you were sure you had to leave.
People always seem to have to be, have to go, have to hear what someone else has said.
The Truth running away like a spool of thread.
Still, I remember it felt like drowning in a rip tide.
There is a sadness in the end, in the eyes of it all.
I am much the stronger for it but I don’t wait for your call.
Photo by Pixabay
I cannot keep trying to impress you
or manipulate what you think of me
it matters very little in the Truth of my identity.
To anticipate if you to like my verse
or if you’ll sing my tune or see my worth
all is Vanity and Vanity is a curse.
To know a person one must be true it is said
So do what you will and think what you think
It is only just words on paper with ink.
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 Nathan Cowley
The daybreak drizzle has moved out to sea.
The dawning clouds are steel gray.
The wind is about 10 knots up from the Gulf Stream.
Nations have risen and fallen, two world wars, more political unrest, man has gone to the moon and the World Wide Web has come along, but nothing much has changed on this little wedge of the island.
The tide goes in and out.
The gulls and cranes still swoop and dive and the dolphin still dance. The beautiful gold sea oats continue to hold the sand dunes together…
But now you… have been born!
Your little smile, your hands and feet have changed everything.
I cannot smile without you.
There are very few words of wisdom I will give you as you grow up and let me into your world of sticks, and bugs, and rocks.
You will sleep the sleep of the blessed each night and when I get the chance I will tuck you in.
What I will do my grandson is love you. Love you unconditionally with all of my being and spirit.
Long after I am gone I will still watch over you and love you with a love that has no end.
The daybreak is clearer now, the sea breeze cleansing. The wars and internet have no meaning to me now.
The tide is a beautiful dance and all of God’s creatures perform just for you.
The sand dunes are for you to climb and my whole world is golden.
Photo by Johannes Plenio
The Chinese refer the human heart as the “Emperor” of all the body organs. As some of you know I spent the largest part of my nursing career as a Cardiac Nurse. In the care of the heart I was in my element and in the technical exploration of the heart even more so. I literally loved looking at hearts and being a very minuscule part of attempting to repair them. There is much that technology’s advancements have taught us in sustaining healthy heart function. Did you know that over an average life span a human heart will beat without fail over forty million times? There is a wear and tear on such a faithful organ that works this hard and there are many physiological reasons the heart will wear out, malfunction, or fail.N
Takosubo Cardiomyopathy is a type of non-ischemic (a situation not caused by “restricted blood flow”) which is phenomenon in which a “temporary weakness of the heart muscle occurs.” In lay-people terms it is referred to as “broken heart syndrome.” A true diagnosis stating the overwhelming loss, constant anxiety, and other emotional situations can lead to a “broken heart.”
In the matters of the heart I believe we have only two options. We try to control it and it still dies or we give it over to God and it really never can die. There is no middle ground.
It is a given that after forty billion beats a heart is going to finally come to a stop. I am of course speaking tongue in cheek here as I am speaking of the Spirit of a person, their heart that does not die.
The writer Charles Martin says it this way in his book Send Down the Rain.
“Love rushes in where others won’t. Where bullet are flying. Love stands between them. Love pours out, empties itself. It scours the evil wasteland, returns the pieces that were lost, and never counts the cost.”
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS
I stare out my window
Like a sea wife staring out the horizon
Time moving ever so slow
I have always felt set apart
Looking outside of dreams into the indigo haze
Time capturing the beats of my heart
This is what faith is
The hope of what can’t always be seen
Time cannot define where he is
Photo by Ithalu Dominguez
Butterscotch Sunday melted away
We rode on the train down by the bay
We built little castles with dirty brown sand
We bought Colombian
heard the Stephen Stills band.
You said I was the beauty of the earth
Flowers in my hair, cigarettes in my purse.
I thought that train ride would never end
until I saw you on the bridge with my best friend.
I pack my bags on a Butterscotch Sunday
put on my pink dress and kneel down to pray.
All the dirty brown sand castles crumble down
I’m gonna board the next train out of town.
Photo by Rakicevic Nenad
The Angels have not grown older.
I always see them over my shoulder;
gentle, yet piercing mighty eyes.
Always checking the road maps and signs.
I have grown much older;
my dreams like nets all thrown.
Some I’ve known have wished me well;
a couple of them said “go to hell.”
Words, just words without caring.
Words, just words both wrong and right.
Still, I journey on toward His Holy Light.
Still, the Angels lie down beside me each night…
I journey on.
Photo by Leo Cardelli
I heard a story ’bout a poet who gave himself away
The inner city was his canvas with no color in his dreams
He was a wanderin’ grifter but no one knows for sure
It is said he still wanders ’round downtown at local bars
This City is a hard place and it stings when North winds blow
It shows no mercy to the poor child with no where else to go
I heard a story ’bout a poet who sang his songs for all the lost
Then he set himself on fire to warm them from the chillin’ frost
The children who roam the Night Streets tell the story of a man
called the Inner City Poet who comes each night to tuck them in
Inside their cardboard boxes they lay there heads upon the ground
and the wanderer sings them lullabies ’til morning comes around
Photo by Sebastian Voortman
They were each alone and tired of talking.
She remembered when she thought she told the Truth.
Then she grew up and knew it an impossibility for the corruptible man.
Yet their longing made them bolder and knit them together.
It is a risk you choose, even if it means you lose everything else.
Like The Master said, “you must lose your life to save it.”
