Grow Big

Posted on November 5, 2018 by aperture

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

Posted on September 5, 2018 by aperture

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

Image of ruins near Ross, Tasmania – Mercury Newspaper.

Proclaim Freedom

Posted on February 24, 2018 by aperture

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

Posted on August 30, 2017 by aperture

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

Story Bones

Posted on August 3, 2017 by aperture

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

____________________________

Photo credit:

Warren Wong

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.

Terra Firma

Image

Down well-trodden trail
a chasm opens beneath
gazing down dreamily
the worlds of ancients meet
look down at all the hours and days
the rhymes, signs and verses
words and tokens exchanged
between us
The earth envelopes it
cast down to what lies beneath
all those endless numbered days
those staunch and bending ways
Now only soft firm ground lies
sighs gingerly between my feet
abundance of life groans
all around me
but yet I am still and quiet
longing for tomorrow once more

Featured image: Twig Bench by Alexia Wedding on Pinterest

How long?

Posted on January 1, 2017 by aperture

All I long for is communitas
Missio Dei a valid task
How long, O Lord, can I sustain
agape?

‘Clock face made by convicts – hospital for the insane’ Willow Court New Norfolk, Tasmania.

Shallow mirror

Posted on December 1, 2016 by aperture

Reflecting heaven’s light

captured by stillness in breath

obscuring the shallow beneath

stones settle buried at rest

reflecting

Restoration

Posted on September 25, 2016 by aperture

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