As you tell me

As you tell me

the woes of the world,

of all that is wrong and out of place,

the injustices, the unfair dues of your space

carved out of a world you help build;

as you tell me

how the air is now

too thin

to breathe,

the ground,

too heavy

to dig,

the people,

too deaf

to hear your valid cries,

too blind

to support

your team’s placards, your tribe’s war-paint,

those with the correct branding on your

well-vetted t-shirts;

as you tell me

of apocalypse and my need to

wake up, and see Jesus in your message

of #allthismatters and #allthatmatters and

#fuckyourmatters because #onlyImatter;

as you tell me

about all we’re losing

if that guys wins, or this guy wins,

or some guy wins, or we all win

if my guy wins; so, get on board

the happy train your bunch

is driving, with the right conductor

on the right track, going the right way,

for the right reasons, to make things right,

again, the way they were;

as you tell me

the world is going to hell-in-a-handbasket,

my neighbour hasn’t heard your news,

she cradles a dying child.

Corona-daze: just breathe

Viral Dailies, Day 23. Today…a prayer.

innerwoven

bridge-19513_1920.jpgWhen the walls of fury and dystopia threaten our made up worlds,

just breathe.

When coughing madness spews upon us its pointless fury,

just breathe.

When those bent on denying as “fake” anything “those ones” have said,

just breathe.

When “those ones” spend all their time trumpeting the correction as the end,

just breathe.

When hints of community are abandoned for mutual blaming,

just breathe.

When neighbours and friends respond to us as foreigners and enemies,

just breathe.

When social distance becomes an excuse to deepen selfishness,

just breathe.

When social distance deepens our loneliness, broadens our fears,

just breathe.

When time and brilliance and humanity once again find their way,

just breathe.

When the disparate voices of the many find semblance of singularity,

just breathe.

When the despair from our losses kisses the tears of our gratitude,

just breathe.

When the detritus of our streets, our homes, our world…

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Pushing breath from blue

Viral Dailies, Day 21

Rob's Lit-Bits

By Valerie Dodge Head By Valerie Dodge Head

We push out, breath from blue,

like the breaking waves, alone with their thoughts,

and catch ourselves among the reeds.

Passing alone through districts of enchanting knowledge,

we cough up our meal of bones, still hungry to drown

inside a conundrum bigger than our shoes.

______

Our little oceans, best of our times, rimmed ‘round

with shortening days, the noose of our shrinking

humanity; allure, the currency of dreams.

Still, one swims in what one drinks and drinks

what washes down and around all that looks

for more horizon. Let the four-quartered moon

sing what is only heard when deafness prevails.

______

The tragedy of the good, the irony of evil, foisted

upon hearts ill-suited for the journey in.

So it seems that the only way to bleed to life

is in the unmooring of our punctured ships.

There is more room to bleed when splintered…

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Poetry from a Distance

Friend and fellow poet, Kelly Belmonte, adds some zest to our busy social-distancing schedules with a few poems from her wonderful blog, allninemuses. Thanks, Kelly, and keep up the good words!

All Nine

How do poets respond to a global crisis?  Some friends and I got together (virtually) this week to answer that very question. Turns out poets do in a crisis what they do most times: They write, of course… and read, and think deep thoughts, and listen to jazz greats, all from a safely introspective distance. Praying peace and poetry for all at this remarkable moment in history. ~ KDB

What good does a poem do?
The fragility of quiet work,
wind-beaten daffodils,
nature versus the nurture
of a few famous words
forgotten once this crisis passes.

My floating anxiety is a family
of spiders on the smooth surface
of a slippery lake. Too bad
I don’t like spiders.

~ Kelly Belmonte

We said we’d always do it then,
when life didn’t push so hard
and time was a friend we still called an enemy.

We told ourselves that responsibilities
came…

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Merry Christmas from Ours to Yours

Blessings of the season to you and yours!

innerwoven

50382-full_christmas-paintings-wallpaper-thomas-kinkade-wallpaper-memories.jpgA fire makes its heartening presence known, tucked under the hearth upon which hang individual stockings and an antique clock I inherited from my Dad. A delightfully chaotic looking tree, augmented with bobbles made by growing dexterity of little boys’ fingers, the accumulated little boy detritus of Christmas past. They are now men of humour, virtue, and creativity.

Snow falls without sound just past living room windows that shield from the oblique, grey winter, and all I can think is this: if Christmas – the incarnation, God with us – means anything at all, it must mean more than the homegrown Thomas Kinkade painting I’ve just described.

It must mean that God is longing to burst forth into our own souls, finding enough room to receive the gifts of our own inner Magi. It must have the rough and tumble character of a once upon a time, ramshackle stable…

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Thank you, Yakima Herald!

innerwoven

I’m especially grateful to Tammy Ayer at the Yakima Herald who thought our storyinteresting enough to include the following piece about our final Celtic Christmas Eve. 

80867692_10156312679816895_1439314918951092224_o.jpgDetails for how you may choose to support our venture are found in the article. The link goes live tomorrow. Blessing and peace to you all as the Yule is once again upon us and the smell of food fills the air to meet with laughter, fellowship, hopefulness and gratitude!

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A Bell in the Word Barn (a poem by Kelly Belmonte)

Dive into this great new poem by fellow poet and friend, Kelly Belmonte.

All Nine

This past Sunday evening, my friend Julie and I adventured to The Word Barn in Exeter, NH for a reading by the poets Ben Moeller-Gaa, William O’Daly, and JS Graustein. It was a privilege to meet the poets before the reading, shake their hands, and share how I’ve been experiencing a bit of a writing dry spell of late (and they understood!). Such a gracious and renewing evening, which opened up a small crack in the writing dam, out of which streamed this short piece below.

A Bell in the Word Barn
Revelation at a Poetry Reading

A barn-full of words and whimsy,
wooden beams and beer –  the rooster
crows at just the moment
to save us all from drowning
in ourselves. We laugh
and I think: Poets are strange.
But then again, so are preachers
and politicians, all so sure
of their words, so sure

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Lament – A Psalm About Faces

innerwoven

Last summer I was privileged to prepare and lead a class on the Psalms. A big part of the experience was, upon completion of our more “formal” study, we’d write our own Psalm. The class produced some powerfully moving, deeply personal works. Perhaps not unsurprisingly, mine came out as a Lament.

I share here that Psalm and encourage you to share some of your own work in the comments!

Sketch found here

O Lord, God of faces, where now is your face?

And why have you hidden from us your gaze?

Where once we walked together,

now we thrash and reel and hack.

Darkness has become our only ally;

and hopelessness our truest friend.

For those of insolence and hatred rule over us;

the ruthless and ragged become our destroyer.

Therefore, falsehood and lies bind us;

and the absence of truth shackles us.

We have become party with wolves and…

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The sound of your laugh.

Happy birthday, babe.

Rob's Lit-Bits

I first posted this a few years ago. The reason I did so then is the same I do so now, to celebrate my wife’s birthday. In the digital age, discovering a person’s age is as easy as a cursor, a mouse, and a nosy desire to know something. But, in the interest of propriety, I say simply, “Happy _____ birthday, babe!”

Like thunder in rain-Rae's birthday16.jpgBabe, you still brighten the road before me…

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