Inspired Poetry
See how the body’s eyes rest on externals and cannot go beyond. Watch how they stop at nothingness, unable to go beyond the form to meaning. Nothing so blinding as perception of form. For sight of form means understanding has been obscured. T-22. III.6 The Holy Spirit is the Christ Mind which is aware of …
Right now, can you give a moment, bringing awareness to your lungs, your belly, your body? Are you breathing? Deeply? Free of the grip that clamps the jaw; free of the strain that stiffens the shoulders; free of the worry that sutures the stomach, pocking the breath into slivers and pits? Notice, air moving in, …
I have stolen this pen. I can make it a symbol of guilt or see it as a tool for extension. I forgive myself for the impulse and give thanks for the pen, the desire and innocence that is truer than either pen or my thoughts about it. I give thanks for the Word …
A Holy Thursday (marybeth) Slipping off my sandals, I peel away a bit of skin. A bit of death between the toes insists on sticking. I reach to grab it noticing then the thickness of my nails, the shadows of gray, evidence of fungal life. I shudder at the thought of a parasite growing in …
The thought dangles like a diamond on a chain, twirling above my head. Is it possible? Tears speak first, evidence of the pelting rains of judgment within. I let them flow, splashing down on my breasts, burning and cooling. They complain of promises broken, dreams unfulfilled; loneliness and littleness popping out of the ducts of …