Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, life, miracle, poem, poetry, pregnancy, what is living this life on November 12, 2019| 2 Comments »
When pregnant, it was clear
I was along for the ride with a miracle.
Sure, I could eat organic broccoli,
walk and eschew caffeine,
but that was just taking care
of the vessel. Life itself
was doing the real work.
Imagine my surprise today
to realize I’m still along for the ride.
How did I ever kid myself
that I was in charge?
And oh, the bliss today
to notice anew these hands,
these eyes, these feet!
What joy to see them again
as the miracle they are,
to offer them in service to life.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged miracle, poem, poetry on June 13, 2019| 1 Comment »
How often do I miss miracles dressed in ordinary clothes? That’s the theme of this sonnet published today in Gratefulness.org. Check it out and share it!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged generosity, gratitude, kindness, Lynn Ungar, miracle, poem, poetry on March 5, 2019| 4 Comments »
From a brown envelope sent by Amazon,
I pull out Bread and Miracles, a book
of poems I’ve admired for years.
I wrote the author long ago
to tell her I love her poems,
the way she makes devotion
of earthworms and camas lilies.
But there is no way to explain why
her words arrive here in my own kitchen
except through some miracle, which is,
I suppose, another name for kindness.
Whoever you are, sweet sender
of poems, thank you. Thank you
for knowing exactly what book
I might like to receive, though
I’ve never told anyone. Thank you
for knowing there would be a day
when a dear man died and I would need
to remember that goodness thrives,
that generosity flourishes, that
there are people out there who,
out of pure benevolence,
extend themselves to others.
There is a fairy tale in which
bread crumbs are insufficient to save
a brother and sister. But they are saving
this woman, and though I don’t know
where the trail began, I follow it forward
saying thank you, thank you, thank you.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged basilisk lizard, jesus lizard, miracle, poem, poetry on May 2, 2018| 5 Comments »
They call it the Jesus lizard
because it walks on water,
yes, walks—or rather runs—
upright on two feet.
It was Matthew who wrote
how Jesus Christ walked
on the Sea of Galilee.
Christ had to tell his disciples not
to be afraid. But the Jesus Lizard
runs on water because he is afraid—
up to five feet per second.
It’s either run on water
or burrow into the sand—
and the lizard has a ring
of muscles around both nostrils
to prevent sand from getting in.
Is that miracle? or just practical?
But to run! To run on water!
After fifteen feet,
the lizard sinks to all fours
and swims. But imagine!
To be part of the miracle,
if only for a moment,
to do what seems as if
it cannot be done.
The scientists say it’s no miracle at all.
The lizards have flaps between their toes
that create a larger surface area
and also small pockets of air—
this gives the lizard buoyancy.
What part of me would rather believe
in miracles than science? Or, is it possible
we’ve made the definition
of miracle too small? Perhaps
flaps between toes is an miracle of evolution.
Perhaps, this too, is a miracle:
two feet, ten toes that walk
on land, one foot moving forward at a time.
check out this crazy critter here: https://www.google.com/search?q=jesus+lizard+animal+wikipedia&oq=j&aqs=chrome.1.69i57j35i39j69i61l3j69i59.2991j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged miracle, ordinary, petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, sign on February 6, 2018| 8 Comments »
Open your hands, lift them.
—William Stafford, “Today”
The parking space beside the store when you
were late. The man who showed up just in time
to hold the door when you were juggling five
big packages. The spider plant that grew—
though you forgot to water it. The new
nest in the tree outside your window. Chime
of distant church bells when you’re lonely. Rhyme
of friendship. Apples. Sky a trove of blue.
And who’s to say these miracles are less
significant than burning bushes, loaves
and fishes, steps on water. We are blessed
by marvels wearing ordinary clothes—
how easily we’re fooled by simple dress—
Oranges. Water. Leaves. Bread. Crows.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged life, miracle, poem, poetry on April 27, 2017| 6 Comments »
then I guess it’s fair to say
that today, we walked on water—
how easy it is to not notice
how our every step
is miracle
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged day of the dead, life, miracle, poem, poetry on November 2, 2016| 2 Comments »
it’s a miracle, I tell you
—Laura Kasischke, “Near Misses”
It’s a miracle, I tell you,
that I am here to make the breakfast
and spread the jelly
on the stale bagel,
a miracle for me to walk
down the icy street
in these scuffed up boots
with these scuffed up feet
and my scuffed up dreams
and my scuffed up love,
a miracle to wander through
the smear of the days,
the spill of the years,
my cells slowing down,
my candles blown out
and relit and blown out
and relit again,
yes a miracle, not just
biology, to feel it so profoundly,
this gratitude that I might stumble
and stride through the world,
a little hum finding my lips
as one foot falls again
in front of the other,
and is lifted, then falls,
and is lifted again.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, growth, miracle, poem, poetry on January 9, 2016| 1 Comment »
for e.m.m.
The amaryllis
you gave us
three weeks ago
grew two inches
just today—
so much life
in such a short time.
Already, the two
thick buds
are swelling,
twin green
chambers.
So much of
any miracle
is invisible,
though it happens
right before
our eyes.
I can hardly stop
watching the buds
and thinking
of you, wishing
for a miracle
and knowing
that even if
one is rising
up right now,
it wouldn’t
be like the amaryllis—
miraculous
as this flower is,
we know
it’s red petals
that emerge. No,
what I wish
for you
is something
I couldn’t possibly
know—something
I couldn’t name
or predict, something
that will rise out of
what seems to be
nothing and render
us astonished,
humbled, delirious
with its impossible
grace.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, gratitude, miracle, poem, poetry on September 9, 2014| 2 Comments »
In the same breath that I curse the world
I praise it. It is impossible not to see
what a mess we’ve made, and yet … how
relentlessly beautiful the rabbit brush
blooms in the ditch, all yellow and vigorous,
growing out of the busted up asphalt
and Marlboro boxes and twisted beer cans.
It’s no miracle, you might say. It’s just a weed.
But I know a miracle when I see one.
It looks a lot like whatever is happening
outside the window right now.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged miracle, opening, poem, poetry, uncertainty, universe on August 25, 2014| 2 Comments »
Not even a gust
tonight
and for no
apparent reason
the heart
blows open
and just
like that
innumerable stars
rush in
not to mention
all the space
between them
of course it’s
miraculous,
and on the other,
well, after marveling
there’s nothing to do
but invite the universe
in for a cup
of decaf chai
then tuck us
all in
for a good night’s
rest
who knows
what could happen
tomorrow.
