Grow Big

Lying motionless for weeks

Eyes tracing fleur de lis

The peeling paper of grief

Lit by dappled window

 

We hauled ourselves o’er river

Up valley, down street

A fortress of relief

Where the sun streams in

 

Letterbox dropped all over

Exhaustive help depletes

Children playing down the creek

Treated from top to feet

 

The wardrobe grew expansive

The widening face to greet

In the mirror of my memory

My morning stranger meet

 

A thickening of walls and doors

A latch that won’t fool many

The welcome mat rolled up and out

For neighbours warm and friendly

 

The distance and the silence grew

A universe between them

Majestic prose still flows in space

Though gracious few receive it

 

The stranger in the mirror

Grows accustomed to the stare

Our eyes meet and smile

A sweet surrendered air

 

Hiding in plain sight

My former figure forgets

Politely nod and carry along

The new friend in our midst

 

New and aged silver and brave

Though some might say contrary

The glimmer in her eye reveals

The joy in giving Glory


Featured Image: Photo by Hello I’m Nik on Unsplash

Giving Plea

We may lay and rise to meet

Expel desire to compete

Friends and strangers’ hearth for feet

Tread the path discreet

 

Fruit borne plentiful and sweet

Eyes of silence wide asleep

Pierce the mocking vine deceit

Thistle blister seat

 

Longing not for pride or place

Passion forbade saving face

Hope in holy open space

Gentle saving grace

 

hobart ruins

 

Poem and Featured Image of Ellendale, Tasmania by Lisa J. Haynes (C) 2018

Image of ruins near Ross, Tasmania – Mercury Newspaper.

Proclaim Freedom

Fear of what might happen if you leave

Is no good reason to remain

Brokenhearted,

May you have the freedom to proclaim

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favour and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion

— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendour. – Isaiah 61:1-3

Nothing but the Blood

I gave away my feathers to a wounded bird, mid-flight

She fondled in her fingers and gazed at colours bright.

Both of us now cold, I wandered down the pale pink hall

Warmed by hands and hearts – reciting heaven, gold, gems and all.

With bravery I wore a cross-shaped medal I didn’t earn

A signed and sealed commission of men has joined the funeral burn.

Though many think the flow of blood is death, despair and strife

I know for sure it’s freedom from guilt and our eternal life.

The darkness that I wear will not do for wedding ball

Patiently, I changed the feathers for a pure white shawl.

 

 

Image credit

Here Freedom lies

Image

I’d lost the people I loved. In the midst of the daily decisions and jaw-clenching nightly invocation, all the notable ones were scarce and silent.  Anger, sadness, and pain rolled around my vital organs and stuttered my speech meditating on thoughts of misdeeds and words misspoken that persisted in my mind. Here lies life, the new day begets another. This solemn song is sung in chorus in palliative waiting rooms, tall stories forgotten and oft-loved ones replaced by diagnostic faces – with wry, stale smiles. A hand lies upon them, hemmed in front and behind, an eye for an ego, release in freedom lie.

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Restoration

It’s the things that aren’t said that hurt the most.

I can hear the tower clock chime from my pillow

It is the only constant I hear.

But even this clock;

I envy the care and attention

it receives for its restoration.

I hope to have its constancy at heart.

Spiritus Sanctus:

‘O Holy Spirit, as the sun is full of light, the ocean full of water,

Heaven full of glory, so may my heart be full of thee.’

The Valley of Vision