Tag Archives: hope

SUNRISE

Photo by Louise Annarino

The sky alights as do I.

Sun fills the fibers from head to toe.

Sun awakens so I must go.

I must go follow the sun it seems

or languish within startling dreams.

I prefer reality to map my way out of night.

I prefer a mind and heart filled with light.

Shadows always fall behind me.

Darkness  no longer blinds me

though I am on unfamiliar paths

and the light will not last.

For a few hours, at least, 

I progress past the breach

where it would be easy to fall

onto hopes covered by a pall.

Light guides my way 

for another day.

It no longer matters if I know

exactly where I am meant to go.

I simply take delight

that it is not yet night.

This, then, is the destination

for each soul and every nation.

Be in the here. Be in the now.

Let this be our solemn vow.

As difficult as it is to follow the sun,

humanity’s journey has just begun.

There will always be another night.

Sunrise always returns to give us light.

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LIFE

Photo by Eva Bronzini on Pexels.com

This is all I know.

First, you come.

Then, you go.

This is all.

I know.

I know.

It is all I can know.

Yet something shows

from hidden places 

up and below.

Something unbidden

that hints at more, longer;

that feels better, stronger.

Where does more come from?

Where does more go?

Where did I come from?

Where shall I go?

It is never enough 

this life that I know.

This is all?

Can this be so?

I want to know.

I want to know.

I want to know.

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BODHI’S FIRST COMMUNION

Memories of bridal veils and sharp edged crinolines

biting the legs, seated and held still in quiet pews,

hands tight on rosary beads, Grandma’s gifted pearls, twisted,

turning, clacking, in anxious prayer.

Feet planted on kneelers already down

to hold aloft tiny feet in lace-edged socks

in white leather shoes with silver buckles.

Seldom seen relatives from far and near appear

to grace the day so full of grace it overflows

until the urge to flee such attention lightens the air

and breath seems a solemn plea to rise and go.

As my memories do because there he sits,

solemn and silent, and ready as I am never,

with a strength and wisdom so rare

it settles the soul and stiffens the mind

reminding us of the moment soon to arrive

when Grace itself takes form in the Host,

a thought so alive we all rise to process up the aisle

all smiles of delight light us inside and out

as the Host melts on the tongue and our hearts shout

God is alive! As am I. As am I!

Unconditional love exists in this moment of bliss,

in communion with all others, our sisters and brothers

within a family, a church, a neighborhood block,

a city, a nation, an entire world

of people to love and bring inside hearts opened wide.

No human assessment of follies,

no judgement of errors done and undone,

no constant surveillance of sins yet assessed.

On this day

with this child

one only feels blessed.

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HAVE A GOOD FLIGHT

Photo by Craig Shine on Pexels.com

How do you pin down a dream?

Or, bind a mind so tight

all hope takes flight?

I do not see why you would;

even if you could.

When hopes and dreams are lost

we all pay a terrible cost.

No gated house, no security alarm

protects every place of possible harm.

The threats and fears you plant

grow into weeds that choke

the life out of every community,

disrupt any sense of unity

to hold a country together

to fight its true enemy.

Too late we discover the truth.

We finally remember and see 

the enemy we cry as uncouth

is actually you and me.

So, let us set every dream free,

embrace hope and reach for the stars.

Let us remember for once and for all,

all that we could be, and who we really are.

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NIGHT SNOW ON DAFFODILS

Daffodils in the snow, Torquay by Derek Harper is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

It snowed again during the shortening night;

A staggering and mighty sight

to those who yearn for Spring sun.

I, among them, am one.

The daffodils, though, delight

standing as tall and as resolute as they might

to bear the weight of our expectation,

cheering us on heartily in exultation

that winter’s quiet and tight hold on us all

yet allows the cheerful to stand tall,

and welcome with unabashed delight

another snowfall during the night.

And, somehow, the world, again, seems right.

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GREY DAYS

Photo by Daian Gan on Pexels.com

Some days are more difficult than others

and paint will not dry fast enough 

to add the details which make the canvass

come alive in form and color.

The grey, pregnant clouds cover the sky

from end to end and roll over again ,and again,

blocking the sun and the light in one’s eye.

The brush sits, waiting in the palm.

The heart sits, waiting out the storm.

The canvass sits waiting

as empty as life seems to be.

But, artists know better than to fear

the light has died forever.

Artists simply wait out the storm,

paint the clouds above the crowd

of grey and dull thoughts;

and, write the words bold and loud.

Some days are more difficult than others,

thank goodness.

They challenge the artist and poet inside

and offer them a place to hide.

Until the sun rises high in the sky.

then artists and poets run outside,

paint and words flying far and wide.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

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LIFT EVERY VOICE

Photo by Grigoriy on Pexels.com

Is it the nightingale

whose song we hear

as day turns to night

and weakens us with fright?

Or the lark whose sweet song

drifts upon the rising dawn

announcing a new day has begun?

Together, they make music

and fill our world with song

that we may dance,

in graceful strides forward,

to encourage and make us strong.

Lift every voice and sing.

It is time to sing along.

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SINK OR SWIM

Photo by Pok Rie on Pexels.com

The lights are low

aligned with thoughts

of swimming free,

a simple fish

swimming toward light,

suddenly caught

now distraught;

facing a tightening thread.

lifted alight and set right

on the trawler’s deck,

only to face slaughter.

Low thoughts, indeed,

in an ocean of democraseas.

“if onlys” abound

as I flutter and flounder 

and flap atop the heap

of fish so like me.

Unsure of success

I push fear aside

propelling my self

over the side,

carried away on the tide

of endless seas of hope.

I am free!

I am free!

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LOVE AND MIRACLES

Photo by Jacub Gomez on Pexels.com

Either everything is a miracle

or nothing can be. 

The choice is ours.

It seems to me.

More is unseen than seen;

more unknown than known.

I believe in all that could be.

I await the next miracle.

Hope tells me this is true.

Faith gives me patience to wait

for miracles, my heart to renew.

Hold my hand and we

can wait together.

Oh, the wonders we shall see;

none more miraculous

than my love for you 

and yours for me.

Love show us miracles

to set our souls free.

Either everything is love

or nothing can be.

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LETTER TO EMILY

Dear Emily, you taught us that

“Hope is a thing with feathers

that perches in the soul.”

That thing with feathers also

perches on bush and tree

and carries seed 

to remake the world from 

dark and crass

to life renewed 

as flowering blooms 

and melon vines which zoom

across the flower beds 

so carefully planted 

and now supplanted

by delightful fruit.

We call such wonders volunteers.

I call them hope’s pursuit of faith

dropped into dark soil 

by things with feathers;

expanding our gardens

and our hearts, too.

Never has the phrase feathered friends

rung more true

than in a garden making amends

by feathered seedlings born anew.

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