All the pieces

I have written
all of it
the pieces battered and bruised
from every time on the floor
rocking in the corner

Did you read the chapter
where I rose victorious
out of order because I want you to see it
out of place
I don’t know
what
her name is now

Hate was first
crushing soul defeat
grief kneaded with blood
but when forgiveness came in
there was hope
like miracles
like music

They were wrong
so wrong about love
not being enough
maybe they were never loved like that
(I wasn’t
for ever so long)
convinced
that
hate was bigger

But I was wrong
love
with the strength of millions
dealt a death blow
to fear
(and carelessness
and loathing)

All told
the scraps innumerable
in the thousands
sewn together one by one
with miles of unbreakable cord

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tonight

I feel a little lost
tonight
if I knew what I wanted
maybe I would know
which path to take
to find it
I thought I would
sit in silence

that frightening air

but it would not do
so I found
a small sanctuary
where no one
not even the birds
know me

heart’s rest

she came from very far
to seek perfect peace
in palaces
and in the shadows

but she sees God
in the rosy morn
in the waves
in the mountains
and she hears the nightingale
that sings

she woke from sleep
and vowed a vow
to God
she acknowledged
her secrets
and dared to tell it abroad

that she sees God
in the sky
in the land
in the ripening grain
she sees His hand
and she is in
perfect peace

III.

Is this World War Three
are we destined to stay apart
regardless of peacemakers
the efforts of the meek
to spread giving as a
worthwhile commodity

Will pain be daily
these unexpected jolts
of molten fear
followed by losses
we cannot afford, this
is not something we saved up for

Will children grow up questioning
if there is any point
in following dreams
or is there a way to keep
God’s peace close, and hope
as an option, instead of a
faraway fantasy

Monday Random: peace

stockings

  • Can our marriage survive doing laundry together at the laundromat? 27 years and the jury is still out
  • I am not fond of being micro-managed, and in my mid-50’s now, that is not likely to change
  • I am fairly verbal about this point
  • I have done my own laundry since my mother made me start doing all of it,  roughly age 15
  • We have a small store here that sells candy I liked as a kid but can’t find anywhere else anymore
  • Still, Chuckles and a Chunky are not a balanced breakfast, even with a cup of coffee
  • I’m guessing that the combination of sugar, caffeine, and hormones were not a good mix, but then he did have it coming
  • At least all he got was a little verbal angst. I heard a woman killed her husband once for biting his nails–

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Sanctuary

We went to see family in New York in June. These photos are not the best but they suit the moments, fleeting, on the way somewhere, and taken from the window of the car.

St K front

When I left home the first and second, and then for the last time, I would find places that inhabited peace. I’ve been to churches in many cities, sometimes just a visit to see the architecture, or with the hope that someone might be playing the pipe organ.
I liked the idea that the doors were open all day, even on weekdays.

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Intruder

your-room

 

I stomp through your rooms
I scream my childhood until it echoes
I take off my shoes and lie on the floor
feet on the wall while I read

We live here in shifts
you with reality, I with my fairies
wandering in and out with one of them
on my shoulder. Scampering

when you come home you kick off shoes
you turn on music and from a shadow
we watch you dance away your day
before we find another place

to lie through the night