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Archive for November, 2015

Do you feel unknown?
I want to know you.
Do you feel unloved?
I love you,
and I want to love you more.

I won’t kick down the door.
I’ll ask for the key.
If you leave the door open,
I can come in
where you are.

I have a flame
cupped in-between my two hands,
and it is bright,
and very warm.
It’s only fire.

Don’t be afraid.

See? When I open my fingers,
the shadows play
on the walls,
and we remember
what it is like to be children.

I want to share
my light with you.
I want your hands
to be warm.
My heart says

yes to your heart,
yes to a mystery,
yes to your songs,
yes to your eyes,
yes to whatever may come.

jb

Blessed are those whose strength is in you, in whose heart are the highways to Zion. As they go through the Valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs. The early rain also covers it with pools. They go from strength to strength, and each one appears before God in Zion.

Psalm 84: 5-7

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“On the girl’s brown legs there were many small white scars. I was thinking, Do those scars cover the whole of you, like the stars and the moons on your dress? I thought that would be pretty too, and I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”
― Chris CleaveLittle Bee

“Sad words are just another beauty. A sad story means, this storyteller is alive. The next thing you know something fine will happen to her, something marvelous, and then she will turn around and smile.”
― Chris CleaveLittle Bee

“I was carrying two cargoes. Yes, one of them was horror, but the other one was hope.”
― Chris CleaveLittle Bee

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God of Hope

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Thoughts on Butterflies

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Trees on a Fall Morning

LEAF

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.

jb

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“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)”

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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

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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!

Georgia Douglas Johnson

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