Always holding
Our heart
Open for love

Always holding
Our heart
Open for love

Look into my face, can you see?
The sketches of my past
smiles and frowns etched with age
marks of honor, sun-baked.
Look into my eyes, can you see?
A reflection of yourself?
Glinting shadows sparkle and fade
To soften the hard edge life of late
Read between the lines of living
on the cusp of heaven, grow wings.
Ease, peace, please, appease.
Muster courage, move to light
Hand holding tight.
Look into my face, can you see
You?
Photo credit: Swiss Alps by Ilze Haynes (C) 2019
The feathered bird flips lightly on the low bough and peers
Suspiciously at fronds of smoke waving past his ears
Roundly Red and pale Peach bellies, proudly hide and seek
Circling hoard of humans who visit once a week
Curiously they walk below, felling trunks, digging peat
Bouncing round the fire waving sticks with things to eat
Harmlessly they shape our wood into a tiny home
A private nest, motionless, watching while Red roams.
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
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

Poem and Featured Image of Ellendale, Tasmania by Lisa J. Haynes (C) 2018
Image of ruins near Ross, Tasmania – Mercury Newspaper.
Even deep disappointments cannot be drowned;
They will rise and inflate and infect and abound.
Happy are those who suffer no ill;
For all the rest, choose – sweet or bitter pill?

Photo credit: Chip Phillips image from an article: ‘The Explosive potential of methane frozen beneath Abraham Lake’ (Canada)
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
Horizons open out behind and before my eyes
Where once closed lids were anointed by the sky
A feast of coloured feathered wings adorn the quiet street
Where once a common sparrow was admired
Sprigs of white blossoms litter the greenway edges
Where once the swarm of pests had devoured
A window bush explodes in yellow flowers and vivid green
Where once the worm had eaten all bud and leaf
The Springing Sun adorns my bedroom mirror and wall
Where once the light was blinding and the shades my coverall
Pale green new leaves float dreamily on the warm soft breeze
Where once apologies for the diseased tree next door
A drone of bees parade along the front blooming tower
Where once a drone of ghostly voices furled my brow
Little boy lambs bleat delight in hands and friends
Where once they fended alone as eagle descends
The tower clock is bypassed for the bustling doctor’s street
Where once the sanctity of pillowed pews was sweet
Hopeful conversations in the sun and houses meet
Where once mere imaginings of popular masses to greet
How ready as we’d ever been to step into Unknown
Where once control had reigned and error was shown
Faces, I daily pray and long to see an Image old
Where once their living wisdom was untold

Street Art, Konstance, Germany. By ‘Nilko and Rusl’
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.
story bones
flesh full tales of woe
clenched between lips and teeth
willing foes pull to throw
growling low
tighter till we had our fill
of sinewy knuckle-down
marrow of will
no contest met
nor tissue left
parade around the outside wall
to paddock graves of earthen domes
in quiet of night the remains give way
the story flowers grow tall

Photo by Warren Wong on Unsplash
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