There are days/
when we remember/
that we have been loved/
by giants/
and such love/
is sustaining/
no matter where/
how far/
or long/
or harrowing/
our /
way/
Author: revrosee
writer of poetry, and prose; spiritual midwife and traveler
moving between
landscapes
of pain
joy
death
resurrection
witnessing to
faith
as I limp
or skip on by
praying for you
beautifully broken
as we
all are
choosing love
choosing welcome
choosing ease
Wings to Go On
When I consider/
the gifts of so may givers/
I consider the price of those gifts/
Wonder how long it takes to learn/
Generosity/
of spirit/
generosity/
of heart/
the kind of generosity that breaks the/
chains of bondage/
and gives our bedraggled/
beleaguered/
souls/
wings/
to go on
Wings to Go On
When I consider/
the gifts of so may givers/
I consider the price of those gifts/
Wonder how long it takes to learn/
Generosity/
of spirit/
generosity/
of heart/
the kind of generosity that breaks the/
chains of bondage/
and gives our bedraggled/
beleaguered/
souls/
wings/
to go on
Carried Home
Some days/
The only way home/
Is to be carried/
To trust/
That we are wrapped/
In God’s great big/
receiving blanket/
and that as it has always been/
we can rest/
and be carried/
to love/ the ultimate/
home
Carried Home
Some days/
The only way home/
Is to be carried/
To trust/
That we are wrapped/
In God’s great big/
receiving blanket/
and that as it has always been/
we can rest/
and be carried/
to love/ the ultimate/
home
The Game for Me
I am not exactly sure
where true beauty lodges
in the external world rife with sorrow or
in my own internal landscape
infinite
malleable
and subterranean
it seems the inner landscape
that’s neglected
and left to wildness now find me
the gardeners tools of art and play
of spigot turned to let grief and joy
rush in and out
that’s the game for me
The Game for Me
I am not exactly sure
where true beauty lodges
in the external world rife with sorrow or
in my own internal landscape
infinite
malleable
and subterranean
it seems the inner landscape
that’s neglected
and left to wildness now find me
the gardeners tools of art and play
of spigot turned to let grief and joy
rush in and out
that’s the game for me
The morning started with talk of home/deli delicious home/to still my cravings/to fill that empty cavernous wailing/I took a small walk/a small bite/astoundingly/it was just enough
I cannot find a picture of the anger/that bludgeoned my childhood/the fear that taught some deep part of me to hide/there is no mask clever enough to reveal that pain/I can picture one such bench/ where I wait/ for healing/healing that is/even now/on the way
I vote/remembering the ancestors/witnessing the rise of nullification/all over again/and when did it really change/secure in the knowledge/that courage and truth makes my life possible/I cannot drive/I walk/with every step a prayer/passing people with the same intent tread/I puzzle the ballot/grateful I always did well on standardized tests/I check and recheck my work/my work which may in fact be devoured by corruption and apathy/my work which may in fact be denied Justice/ my work which is an offering and a prayer before the ancestors/who made a way out of no way for us/an offering and a prayer for freedom and justice/when so many have given so much/how could I be still/there’s still time/get up
Revrosee's Blog 