God of Hope

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Thoughts on Butterflies

Trees on a Fall Morning


There’s something sad
about a lonely leaf
fallen from her tree –
as if all the world, grown cold and dark,
could not love her sufficiently.


“But when I am truly old and unafraid, I will sit by my garden at dawn, watch the sunflower gods push dirt inside, their golden heads rising like feathered morning stars. Perhaps then I will hear another mother and father sighing in the trees, my lost sister singing with mermaids.”

~ Sara Claytor, lines from “Heeding Other Worlds”

“A full moon creates lit pathways across our backyard,
illuminates the fish pond, tinkles across its dark water
like fingertips lightly caressing piano keys, then
slides between stars and opaque clouds.
Others watch this moon.”

~ Sara Claytor, lines from “What the Night Contains”

“But you will reach a turning point
bonded in barbed wire memories —
you are now stitched together with threads,
you can maneuver the eye of the needle,
seek pieces of your life left behind”

~ Sara Claytor, lines from “Five Perspectives of Love (and Loss)”

That’s when the Divine strolls through the sweet scents
of wild honeysuckle, sparkling crown in her hair –-
she knows how to wait, seek shelter in a stable.
We know there’s a hole in the sea, somewhere,
a floating bottle with faded ink message and an image,
a perfect image magnified through the glass, so we wait
for words in the water, words whispered by God or ghosts
or the wrath of Moses — we hear the sound —

reverberating voice of the sea (ll. 9-18)

Sara Clayton
Waiting on Unknown Roads


Originally posted on Poesy Chick:

I Want to Die While You Love Me
Georgia Douglas Johnson

I want to die while you love me,
While yet you hold me fair,
While laughter lies upon my lips
And lights are in my hair.

I want to die while you love me,
And bear to that still bed,
Your kisses turbulent, unspent
To warm me when I’m dead.

I want to die while you love me
Oh, who would care to live
Till love has nothing more to ask
And nothing more to give!

I want to die while you love me
And never, never see
The glory of this perfect day
Grow dim or cease to be.

View original


1 God is our refuge and strength,
    a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
    though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam,
    though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Selah

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
    the holy habitation of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved;
    God will help her when morning dawns.
The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;
    he utters his voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah

Come, behold the works of the Lord,
    how he has brought desolations on the earth.
He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
    he breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
    he burns the chariots with fire.
10 “Be still, and know that I am God.
    I will be exalted among the nations,
    I will be exalted in the earth!”
11 The Lord of hosts is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah

Praying for Paris

Paris in the Fall

“Autumn Day” by Rainer Maria Rilke

Lord: it is time.
The summer was immense.

Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.

Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house now will not build one

Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.

Translated by Galway Kinnell and Hannah Liebmann,
“The Essential Rilke” (Ecco)

Original German


Herr: es ist Zeit.
Der Sommer war sehr gross.

Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzten Fruchten voll zu sein;
gieb innen noch zwei sudlichere Tage,
drange sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
die letzte Susse in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blatter treiben.

Rainer Maria Rilke
Paris, Sept. 21, 1902


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