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Posts Tagged ‘peace’

Surrender

 

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Some mornings I wake and the peace

that I tried to find yesterday finds me—

arrives in the open palms of the river scent,

in the erratic path of the warbler,

in the low golden angle of sun as it slants

through the gray knuckled branches of cottonwood trees.

Even the broken watering can seems to bring me

news of what’s been here all along—

the peace that holds up the turmoil, the mess.

And the dried grasses in the field

and the tiny new leaves on the currants

gather me into them. They’re like old friends who say,

It’s okay, make all the mistakes you want

around us. Some mornings, through no effort

of our own, we are gathered into the peace

of the patient lichen and the still pond.

It’s the difference between breathing

and being breathed, between asking for grace

and finding that grace has been asking for us.

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I try to see myself

the way I see the trees

far off beyond the field—

something not at all singular

but a tiny part of a whole

that extends beyond sight,

beyond knowing.

 

It is a long time

before my thoughts

are airy as the silences

between their dark trunks,

quiet as the leaves

that are not yet there.

 

 

 

 

 

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Part of me wants to give you

the book of answers, the solution key,

to help you know which decision, A, B, C or D,

will bring the most healing, the most happiness.

I no longer believe in such a book, such a key.

 

Instead I wish for you the peace

that comes only with surrender—

a word that sounds beyond reason

until it becomes beacon, becomes

north star, becomes map.

 

May you know for certain

that in every case, you are beloved.

May you know beyond doubt

that no matter what happens,

you always become more essential, more you.

 

 

 

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Nothing happened today

as I sat for five minutes in the dark,

but all day I could feel the everywhere of it,

 

even as the car was sliding sideways down the hill,

even as my daughter wept, even as my singing group

laughed until we cried, I could feel it still there,

 

the silence that holds up all sound, the stillness

that cradles all motion, the peace that supports

every disaster, the blue sky behind the clouds.

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Love Poem

 

 

in the snowstorm

finding the spaces between the flakes

where it’s clear

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A Passing Truce

 

 

 

Beside the fire, inside

the dark, and lost amidst

the tide of thoughts,

there is a momentary warmth

that steeps into our every inch

and make us doubt

that we could ever feel

sharp cold again—

the mind, thus warmed,

forgets to quarrel and simply

nestles closer—and the dark itself

comes nearer by and we

lean in together.

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Dear __________,

 

 

 

You are warmly invited to join our conspiracy of joy,

a growing cabal of strangers and friends who collude

to create delight, who initiate random acts of bliss, who

scheme of ways to help all others find authentic jubilance,

who tear down walls that would separate us and them.

If you enjoy such subterfuge, there certainly is room

for you. To be clear, you may be charged with pleasure,

ecstasy, and truth. Next meeting, now. And now. And now

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And Every Step I’ll Remember

 

 

 

Peace, be

the stone

in my shoe

I cannot

ignore

and cannot

remove.

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…in a time seemingly hellbent on hate? That’s what Phil Woods and I both explored through poems last week in our responses to Charlottesville. Please check out the poems today in the Colorado Independent. To read them, click news poetry. And please, if you are up for it, write a response. We need more conversations about what’s happening.

 

All the best,

Rosemerry

 

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PEACE

 

And there, on the to do list,

somewhere beneath “post office”

and above “pay the bills” is a single word

 

not yet crossed out. “Peace.”

You’ve written it in ink, as if

to offer it permanence,

 

an urgency that can’t be erased.

Every day, you look at it,

wondering if this is the day

 

that goodwill will come as easily

as changing the burned-out lightbulbs

or taking the garbage out.

 

You almost stop believing

you will ever cross it off.

After a while, it might seem

 

just like any other thing

you write on your list, then ignore—

like clean beneath the piano

 

or organize the garage.

But then the news will shake you,

will render your duties

 

small. And you’ll write it in

at the top of the list

in all caps, underlined in blue,

 

PEACE, not something to do,

but something to serve,

something to practice

 

as you move through the day,

something to inform the way

you fold the sheets, you drive

 

to town, you attend the meeting,

you make the call, you write

the letter, you do what must be done.

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