Abraham’s Stars are Mine
- DR, 2011
The crescent moon a hammock to her dreaming,
awake but sleeping heart,
she climbed into the promises of time
- of moons and stars and sun;
and she rested.
His promises to her would hold:
ropes of hammock around palm trees of
righteous flourishing: steadfast and faithful.
With authenticity and love she told the sky,
“Good night.”
And the sky knew she meant it.
I love this. Enjoy!
“A Bench,” a poem toward where I have not been
by Dawn Diane Richardson
chiseled somewhere,
under covering from rain
a mold first
cement stirred
in time
and poured
“Delightful!” the Designer beamed.
His hands
sure
necklace of fingers
on neck of promise
but beautiful
forming
from nothing
a voice
winking at hope
a paraglider in the night sky
promises his compass
stars his paths
the constellations
taking shape
she could only sit
on the bench
placid, but believing
wholeheartedly
in this memorial
this bench
a memorial
her thoughts’ perch
her dreams’ bookshelf
her heart’s pillow
a concrete bench
soft as baby Moses’
river-splashed skin
this bench
for fifteen years
a memorial
to the future
to things He
now celebrates
she does not
yet see
only glimpses
outlines
prophetic words
visions
She sits
on the bench
of her future’s
memorial
and smiles. 
Totally like whatever, you know?
By Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com
In case you hadn’t noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you’re talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you’re saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)’s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? You know?
Declarative sentences – so-called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true
as opposed to other things which were, like, not -
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
Like, don’t think I’m uncool just because I’ve noticed this;
this is just like the word on the street, you know?
It’s like what I’ve heard?
I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay?
I’m just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?
What has happened to our conviction?
Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?
Have they been, like, chopped down
with the rest of the rain forest?
Or do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally . . .
I mean absolutely . . . You know?
That we’ve just gotten to the point where it’s just, like . . .
whatever!
And so actually our disarticulation . . . ness
is just a clever sort of . . . thing
to disguise the fact that we’ve become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since . . .
you know, a long, long time ago!
I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.
I fantastically love this!
Agustina prints out bits of poetry and secretly sews them into clothes at thrift stores.
More poetry for everyone! huzzah!
Agustina’s website: http://agustinawoodgate.com/
It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.
By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming, from the book The Invitation published by HarperONE, San Francisco, 1999 All rights reserved
Today I was asking God what I should do to move onward today: having finished ministry school Friday, gradually working on writing my book, eagerly waiting for job(s) to come together, feeling stir-crazy and frustrated. I felt that He said, “Read some poetry.” I thought it was a good idea, but less “practical” than my mind preferred. Nevertheless, I got out a book of poetry. This particular book is Shelley’s Poems and is over one hundred years old. I flipped open to a couple sections and read. In my reading, I floated across this:
My soul is an enchanted boat,
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside a helm conducting it,
Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
It seems to float ever, forever,
Upon that many-winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,
A paradise of wildernesses!
Till, like one in slumber bound,
Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound.
And so, in my restlessness, I find the mental image of a sleeping swan: the promise of rest for those who dare to believe it is possible to rest while travelling down the river into the great ocean of destiny. God has lived in Rest since creation, and through Jesus we are invited into it – not merely one day a week, but ongoing rest – the peace that passes understanding sort of rest. Ahhhhh… time to curl up our swan necks and tuck our heads into soft feathers, to travel while at rest. Sweet Jesus, making all things possible as usual.
“Therefore, since the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us be careful that none of you be found to have fallen short of it . . .
Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” (Hebrew 4:1 & 4:16)
- Rumi
$20 for an original
$10 for a print
They are all 8×10″
Please allow 2 weeks for creation and delivery.
My shop on Etsy:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/gammarays
One amazing story was of a poem I wrote at retreat called “Pencil-vania.” I didn’t know who it was for, but I felt it was for someone connected to Pennsylvania. I asked the people around me if anyone was from Pennsylvania. No one was, but one woman piped up that her roommate speaks Pennsylvania Dutch. “Is she from Pennsylvania?” I asked. “No, but she used to be Amish,” the woman answered. “What?! That’s amazing!” I laughed – because the poem was about God bringing someone from a place of black and white and grey to a place of color – from pencil to colors! hahaha! This woman left a world where people wore a lot of black and white and thought in a lot of black and white! Suddenly, she saw her roommate and called her over. The woman read the poem and was really astounded by the accuracy of the poem and very encouraged by the reminder of what God is doing in her life right now. It was a beautiful moment. And that is the kind of artistic encouragement I love sharing with people through poems. It’s really fun and powerful.
I relish being part of illuminating the real identity of people and places. I have had really encouraging feedback from those I’ve written poems for and I’m delighted to see more people know more clearly who they are and to be cheered into greatness by Holy-Spirit-kissed poetry! Wonderful! haha!
