Tag: love

Hymns and Hell

Sweet hymn fills my soul
clear voices lifted in praise
on this rock I stand.


Heed the song’s message
Jesus loves all the children
not just those like us.


And on Judgement Day
when the trumpets sound their call
He will know your truth.

I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking lately about faith, religion, and politics. You see, one day this week a “Christian” woman informed me in a tone seething with hatred that I was bound for hell if I voted for Hillary. I smiled and promised that I’d be sure to save her a seat.

Christians come in basically two types of wrappings: those who are of the hellfire and damnation persuasion and those who follow Christ’s teachings. I’m pretty happy being in the second camp. 

I have many non-Christian friends, among them Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, agnostics, and atheists, and I learned a long time ago that goodness and decency aren’t the sole property of Christians. And those same virtues are sorely lacking in some who claim Christianity as their religion.

Heaven and Hell? Well, they might exist, but I know that how I treat others in this life is more important than any promise or threat of an afterlife. One other thing I know is that my teacher, Jesus, wouldn’t turn His back on refugees. 

Peace, people

Secrets

Whispered words of love
Skipping through the universe
Reverberating.


Fingers fumbling,
Tangled in accoutrement
Hooks on lingerie.


Overwhelming heat
Lingering touch, here, just here
Words insuffcient.

In the Quiet

In the Quiet

words by Leslie Noyes

After all is done and said,
When the world falls away
Will you still be faithful?
Will my fears be allayed?

I only ask in the quiet
The depths of darkest night
When offense seems unlikely
When the questing seems right.

If you answer directly
No hesitation in your voice
Then I will sense the truth
Then I’ll discern your choice.

But if there comes a pause,
An answer bracketed with sighs,
Sure I’ll keep on wondering,
Sure you’re telling lies.

Beautiful photography by Julie Powell. See more at juliepowell2014.wordpress.com

Small One

Art by Julie Powell

“Small One”

words by Leslie Noyes

Precious is this tender life with which we’ve been entrusted.

Within every whispered sigh, every tender flutter lies the question:

Will sanctuary be offered through all the trials of time? 

My breath is yours. My heart has your name inscribed.

But, life is fleeting, How can such solemn promises be kept?

Hold fast. Cling with heart and hand, in sickness, in health.

And when we expire? What becomes of our love then?

Energy refuses mortal boundaries and so remains.

Keep me then; I am yours, you are mine, and our ends untimed.

Precious is this tender life with which we’ve been entrusted.

This poem is the latest in my collaboration with photographer, Julie Powell. Please visit Julie’s site for more of her beautiful work: https://juliepowell2014.wordpress.com/


To My Brothers

we shared
rooms and bikes,
christmases and
vacations,
love, fear, and
exultations.

do you remember
planning a nativity
skit?
The only girl,
I was always Mary
while you two were
shepherds or kings,
never baby Jesus.

while we never
actually performed
the play
we could have,
maybe.

how about the time
in New Mexico
when Daddy stopped
the car in the smack dab
middle of the road
to get close to a
black bear?

did we all scream
or was it just
me when he got out
of the sedan to talk
to said bear?

remember cousins?
going on road trips
to California and
back?
baby brother damned
near drowned at San Juan
Capistrano.

Mama worried
that she and I would
need head scarves to
tour the
mission there.

where are we now?
far, yet close.
set free by parents
who knew we had to
be strong.
I miss them.
I miss you both,
little brothers.

Who Gets Sick in Paradise?

He snores beside me,
deeply, but not too loud.
Maybe after three days of
fevered restlessness he has
Found some equilibrium.

Just outside our hotel
room, people frolic in the
Warm waters of the blue green
bay, while I play Words With
Friends on my iPhone.

A morning spent on the beach
alone, pretending to be a
Minor celebrity escaping
pursuit by rabid paparazzi
Proved far too lonely.

So I drank too much rum punch
before returning to the dark
Comfort of our air conditioned
suite where I slipped beneath
Cool sheets to be with him.

My Husband is no Poet

Married young
my high school love
nearly forty years ago

Romantic novels
formed expectations
of how our lives should go:

Every day a poem
written in honor of
my beauty and my style,

Long conversations
about my attributes
all to make me smile.

Instead I got
this grounded man
no poetry in his soul

Who works so hard
to care for me, my
well-being is his goal

And if that isn’t
poetry of a sort, I reckon
it should be

The poetry of keeping
one’s hands on the wheel for
his woman’s sake

The verse of tending
to her every physical need in
sickness and in health

Maybe this man is the
poet I longed for in days
long past

Or perhaps he’s the muse
who fills my pages with tales
enough to last.

Happy anniversary Studly!

  

Ego

I
need
love like
flowers need
rain.

I
seek
comfort as
babies seek
succor.

I
crave
peace in
a violent
world.

I
deserve
the respect
that every human
seeks.

I
believe
we are better
than our politics
portray.

Climb

stairway to heaven
stars align to point the way
no turning back now

  

each step a blessing
every breath a prayer
walk always in peace

  

climb without ceasing
love with no reservation
embrace every soul

  

Summer Night

Long hot nights cruising Main, driving super slow with the windows rolled down, 

The radio cranked to a soft rock station. Witchy woman sing along; see how high 

She flies. Loose limbed, loosed tongue, necking in the backseat to Eagles’ live

Rendition. Good girl says whoa. Bad girl says go. She’s got the moon in her eyes.

Traffic slides by, wraiths on a river; heavy breathing, heavy petting. Hearts beat in

Sultry unison. Hands discover new delights. Tick tock. Curfew saves the night.

 http://youtu.be/9pzvqunZlLc