Jackene Laverty Taking It All In

Betsy Sagurna

The Other Side of Darkness

Darkness is back again. I have been here before, cannot greet you as a friend, but neither are you a stranger.

I know your heavy, heartless, homeless space - a place to spend some time suspended.

And yet and yet your face does not fill up my heart with fear, for you are known.

Here again, how long this time?

How deep, how dark, how steep the upward road?

And yet and yet I know that grace will come - erase the shadows like the dawn. Then comes another time when darkness fades. For you are known and I was here before.

Donald Gordon

Quiet Reflections

Stop the hamster wheel breathe, look into the mirror hold that gentle being that yearns to express hidden talents, deep desires growth imperatives

Ripples in deep water point the compass needle due north to old beginnings

Grit mixed with grace a warm face in the mirror sees with steely resolve

The stars realign bears stretch from old horizons new worlds created

Covid Covenant

Days begot weeks

Weeks..... months

Months......years

The ship of fools sailed

On carcass bearing shipping lanes

Gods whimsy revealed

Once again Steve Kramer

Steve Kramer

Finding Myself

It's all right Little Steve, to be attracted to boys or men, even though your friends like girls. This is what it feels like growing up gay. This does not mean you are bad, sinful, or evil, no matter what others say. Do not let them tear you down by mean words or actions. You have a right to be your loving, caring self. I will walk this path with you, side by side, hand in hand. I love you as you are.

And, no, Jesus never said anything about gay people. You have strong, loving relationships with God, The Holy Spirit, and Jesus. Let them support you and be of counsel. You will grow in your love of Mother Earth and all her children. They will support you well. They love you as you are.

You are a delightful soul, Little Steve. Always remember this. Let your light shine. You are a gift to the world. We love you as you are.

When you question yourself and tell Mom, she will say "It's just a phase you are going through." I must let you know; this is more than just a phase. When you later own yourself and tell her, she will act shocked but she will get over it. And Dad, whom you might be more concerned about, will simply say "Well, I aways wondered about your uncle Ernie," and will be okay. Your sister and her family will still accept you and will become close friends. They love you as you are.

"Be Yourself and believe in yourself" is the best advice I can give. You are stronger than you think, and will weather the storms when thundering waves crash upon the shores of your soul. We will stand side by side, hand in hand. You will make it through the tears and doubt, the questioning and loneliness. You will find loving friends and community along the way.

And most importantly, you will find yourself as you walk life's journey, and You will love you as you are.

Kim McLendon

The Thames at Charing Cross Bridge by

Claude Monet

I was in Baltimore for a wedding. The museum was a time filler. Walking into that room changed my life.

My heart paused and tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t move my feet. Awareness, my entire being, centered on paint and canvas.

I tried to pay attention to my family. I even tried to leave the room. As I moved, my view moved and my soul shattered.

Twice I snuck away from the festivities to stand and look. It held me there. It hurt to leave. No one else felt what I felt.

One painting, the original brush strokes visible. Ever changing, ever calling to me.

At home I searched the web for a print Teasing my Dad about the original for my birthday!

I have a small copy on canvas on my wall beside me. Echoes that still call faintly, still stir me.

I need to go back to Baltimore to see it again. I crave it.

Soul Vacation

Compassionate care

Mixed with exhaustion presence connecting holy encounter, in short spurts of memory, repetitive speech calls for soul time.

Unexpected grief stirs the anger of loss of partnership.

Moment to moment.

Soul vacation comes in wee hours of the holy morn until the cry.

"Help me! Help me!

Rising to the occasion

Springing to discern

Crisis at hand stirs deep presence

Breath, love comes forth in the knowing resolve.

Crisis over stillness prevails

I hear the owl outside the window hooting me into stunning silence

I treasure the gift of soulful life.

Shelley Wagner

Ban the Books!

Go ahead, ban the books, put the pups in a box, take the trash out, and let them nap on the L.A. freeway.

Go ahead, ban the books, but be afraid to watch. No chance of playing ball, fetching words, or chewing them into thoughts.

Go ahead, ban the books find a safe place to watch, but be afraid You Will Be alone as the whir of traffic blows by, and threaten s humanit y like nobody' s business .

Ocean Introduction

I stood in the sand with Daddy’s hand in mine above my head.

I felt the sand pull away over and over under my bare feet and I was not afraid.

Donna Bowling

For Once in My Life

I’d like to be able to assume that I am a good person, capable of doing many things well.

Perhaps by the time I leave this life for the next, I finally will be able to accept that like everyone else in my life

I am a beloved child of God capable of doing some things well. Too many important people in my life have taught me otherwise. Maybe I’m still here on this earth so God can teach me I am worthy.

Chris Cavan

Val Hamilton

Rock is my bone

Flesh on my feet is the moss between my toes

I am naked in the sunshine

Naked in god’s eyes The sky rolls out before me

Did I wake in paradise?

Paradise

My friend writes that she is rooted to the sky*

Upside down

Fly, Woman, fly

I love her

I would like to hang with her and swing in tangled vines

Like Tarzan with Jane and the apes

We get lost in the woods on the other side of the lake climb to the top of the purple cliffs build stone

Inukshuks to the sky

Sacredspace

Sacredwoman

There may be bears

Great heaving moss covered humps all around us

She stops

She knows

We are standing in the middle breath breath breath

The middle of burial grounds of who knows who or how long ago but clearly, small ones children, medium ones, larger breath breath breath

We are with the dead

Stumbling in the air of their last breaths

The air is very very very thin here. And there.

* “Rooted to the Sky” by Chris Cavan

At the Beach

big waves roll over our souls as we stand sinking in the shoals of your sands and watch the crash of your hands scrape back the grains then rise, to throw them back again the luring power of high tide pulls us inside a briny, baptismal ride your power cradled in the lull, surges and thrills us over and over our insignificance bowled out onto the sun-bleached shore on the beach, our warm, sand-caked feet side-step sultry seaweed and slippery, fresh green algae we peer into pockets of rocky tidal pools assimilated neighbourhoods of urchins, snails, anemones and barnacles refreshed, reborn mirrors of the sea our young hearts swoon, awed by the gravitational pull of the moon

Skeletons Know No Pain

I was right - skeletons know no pain. My painting, "The Bed", 14 years before my death. Me, the "Heroine of Pain" In my Final Resting Place, Wrapped in my gold comforter Am smiling among the flowers Adrift on my cremation smoke.

While my white silhouette of a skeleton Is set to blow up at any minute With its phony, bony smile.

I say I do not mind living alone

I say that because I hope for the bigger part of my life To be lived as one counting my blessings.

I practice this way I look to the good I look upon the good.

Yet I must be honest with myself

(I accept that this matter about which I write is my own). I miss touch.

I miss touch as when I would slip my hand under my once-upon-a-time husband's hip joint While he lay sleeping.

I miss the soft kiss

My one and only lover Would offer when he wanted to.

I miss my lover's touch

Upon that lower part of the back. Every woman knows the un-mistakable rush this caress gives.

I miss although I have never received

Someone touching my hair softly

Someone sweetly kissing the tip of my nose.

Someone holding my hand

Whenever - no particular moment Just because he wanted to touch my hand.

I know not much about intimacy akin to "little death." What I do know intuitively Is that touch offers what cannot be named, truth be told.

I touch leaves, bark, blossoms, dog's heads and bodies, grass and my own hands and body as I bathe. Yet I imagine there must be something quite extraordinary when two persons, both knowing and longing for touch Offer this gift to each other with thanksgiving and awe.

Like a Moth to a Flame

If the flame was ours to put out, would it be so wrong.

If moths were firefighters, risking themselves, not out of craving, but only in hope.

For the moth, for the flame. For us all.

Or is this but the delusional mind of the endlessly charred.

Lisa Sterling

Arrowheads in the Dust

Palms pushed into parched red soil

Stories sifted through fingers

Sting of bare knees on small sharp stones

Quieted by Ancient whispers

Kneeling on their land

Walking in their memories

Embracing their wisdom

The child learned

It is a sacred walk

When ancestors talk

Listen

Listen

Listen