Sunday Psalm

Sometimes music is the crowbar

which pries open my spirit.

Melodies warming the flowing

marrow in me.

 

Major and minor tones

plucking at tendons

under the surface

of leathered skin.

 

Each morning, creation

sings praise to all

the light by which I see.

There is joy in the squinting.

 

I feel the notes winged flight

on the scaled heights

of orchestrated air,

I knelt before The Musician.

 

“Will You play it again?

Tomorrow maybe?”

“My symphonies have no end,

you only need receive them.”

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Sun Day

Birth again the sun,

may it crown the edge of the earth,

and spill glory and cast shadows

behind all it paints.

 

May we remember from where

this light bursts and fills

the land in golden revelation.

May we squint in gratefulness.

“God makes a huge dome

For the sun—a superdome!

The morning sun’s a new husband

Leaping from his honeymoon bed,

The daybreaking sun an athlete

Racing to the tape.

 

That’s how God’s Word vaults across the skies

From sunrise to sunset,

Melting ice, scorching deserts,

Warming hearts to faith.”

Psalm 19:4-6 The Message

 

 

Golondrinas: Spanish For Barn Swallows.

They pluck flies on the fly
their wings curved like a parenthesis.
One, maybe two barn swallows
comb the field’s rising breath.

A flight pattern established
for an evening out.
Dining on the freshest food,
swallowing mosquitoes

that could sip on me like a cocktail.
Sometimes the swallows swoop
and other times they swagger.
They know what they are after.

Yesterday the barn sat with its mouth open
and swallowed one which swallowed a fly.
I don’t know why.
The barn choked and coughed it up.

Notes were taken:
We possess a barn.
The swallows possess a name.
They existed for each other for a moment.

Brow Of Eternity

Raised eye brows
white on pale blue
without a wink.

We, underneath
pray silent
and under stands

of trees welcome
shade as well
as the light.

Hold the swallow
wings in the curve
of today

and sing praise
of the endless sky
to the Thou of I.

“Hallelujah! Praise God in his holy house of worship, praise him under the open skies…” Psalm 150 The Message

Day Broke Me Open

They passed by.

The waves of storms rolled toward sunrise.

To the west a rainbow was pierced

with a serrated knife of electricity.

To the east tufts of clouds

like pale pink umbrellas hung.

 

Intervals of solid rain tucked me

under the soffit to read.

Ann wrote about the pursuit of beauty

and there I was under it, in it.

 

Praise had come as rain.

Praise left my mouth.

Praise was sent to find the source of beauty.

 

My most significant Other read to me poetry.

I heard His inflections and cadence.

Oh my God, I am undone,

yet what better place to be unraveled

than under an umbrella with You.

 

“Doubt the philosophies, doubt the prophecies, doubt the Pharisees (especially the ones seen in mirrors), but Who can doubt this, Beauty? Beauty requires no justification, no explanation; it simply is and transcends. See beauty and we know it  in the marrow, even if we have no words for it: Someone is behind it, in it. Beauty Himself completes.” Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

And God Created Metaphors for Children–And Adults Can Tag Along.

Could the moon be a peep-hole?

Could the sun be a spot light?

Could the stars be pinpricks of the eternal?

 

Could the ocean be shedding tears?

Could the tides be inflections in a voice?

Could the waves be ballroom dancing?

 

Could the mountains be a la mode?

Could the foothills be out for a stroll?

Could the valleys be hoarding  echoes?

 

Could I tag along child, and wonder around with you?

Could you share your imagination with me?

Could we see if God brought something for show and tell?