DEDICATIONS, PLEDGES, COMMITMENTS. For the past. For my own path. For surprises. For mistakes that worked so well. For tomorrow if I'm there. For the next real thing. Then for carrying it all through whatever is necessary. For following the little god who speaks only to me. --William Stafford
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
"But life, life
the living think,
is the prize."
Groucho knew the secret word. It came
dangling from the rafters on the tail
of a rubber chicken. And God knows
the Word, made gooseflesh, when He said:
Let there be light, that astounding spark
continually challenged by darkness.
It is hidden in the whisper of saltwaves
licking the edges of seashores the world over,
inhabited by protozoa, all fringe and propellers
spinning, and in the whimper of the dog
that stays by his master's grave.
It is audible in every note of Mozart, and on
the heavymetal strings of Iron Maiden.
Every bailed-out Wall Street billionaire
carries it home folded in the pages
of his Late Edition. It is known to every bum
waiting in the soup lines in Detroit and LA,
by the slowest and the least alert, and by the quickest
and the most vigilant, by the seed triumphant
in the loam of every species, and it is indeed
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Beloved: Sit here. Have a cuppa. Throw off your shoes
and be comfortable. Be still, and I will tell you
secrets. In God's house are many mansions,
and many closets wherein our souls are hung
like greatcoats, female and male, spotted, striped,
or feathered. In them, our many pockets store miracles,
spill answers stitched with strings of light.
In this pocket, find the advice your mother gave you.
You cannot look upon it without hearing
her voice. This is where lost things are found:
your father's eyeglasses, your brother's hair,
and all dropped stitches are gathered.
In this pocket, find a handful of earth.
In this, miracles, where cancers are turned
into roses, and lesions become pearls.
These are the things that connect us, one miracle
threaded through the keyhole at a time.
In God's kitchens are endless cupboards
filled with loaves and fishes for your delight, and
His table is spread with manna enough
to feed all things, both men and beasts. Come
and dine! Come trade your curses for blessings!
Did you not know that there are rams
in every thicket? Did you think
you are not loved?
- ▼ 2012 (33)
- Joyce Ellen Davis
- 1. In dreams I am often young and thin with long blond hair. 2. In real life I am no longer young, or thin, or blonde. 3. My back hurts. 4. I hate to sleep alone. (Fortunately I don't have to!) 5. My great grandfather had 2 wives at once. 6. I wish I had more self-discipline. (I was once fired from a teaching position in a private school because they said I was "too unstructured and undisciplined." --Who, me??? Naaaahhh....) 7. I do not blame my parents for this. Once, at a parent-teacher conference, the teacher told me my little boy was "spacey." We ALL are, I told her. The whole fan damily is spacey. She thought I was kidding. I wasn't. 8. I used to travel with a theater reperatory company. My parents weren't happy about this. 9. My mother was afraid that I would run off and paint flowers on my cheeks and live in a commune, and grow vegetables. I once smoked pot. ONE TIME. 10. I don't drink or smoke. (Or swear, much. Well, I drink milk, and water, and orange juice, and stuff. Cocoa. I love Pepsi.) 11. Most of my friends are invisible. 12. I am a poet and a writer. All of my writing on these pages is copyrighted. Borrowing (without acknowledgment) is a sin.