Grandmother of our clan
you were the pinnacle of our mountain,
the high place,
the plateau upon which we rested.
You were one with vision,
and wisdom, seeing life's plan,
you shared it all with us,
your children.
Grandmother
your head was crowned with silver-white.
Your soft sweet face wore wrinkles,
and smiles,
and eyes that spoke, "I love you,"
and sparkled with delight.
You never choose favorites,
yet, we all thought we were.
Grandmother,
spirit so gentle and meek,
yet, you abided with strength of a mountain,
the silent, sitting, steady, always there,
like air, strength.
Full willed and eager to seek
the answers to life,
and truth.
Grandmother
we honor you today,
and look deep within for the hidden gift
you left behind in flesh and bone,
heart, mind, and soul.
You said good-bye and have gone away...
strange, how you feel so close,
as if you're free to be with each of us, more fully.
(c) 4.14.01
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
IN THE IMAGE OF GOD
You were the heart of us,
the part of us that gave us beginning.
You showed us what love is.
We glowed with it,
smiling,
smiling.
You gave us freedom to be Self.
In you we see how to be selfless.
For us, your children and grandchildren,
you were the first touch of God's hand.
(c) 4.7.01
the part of us that gave us beginning.
You showed us what love is.
We glowed with it,
smiling,
smiling.
You gave us freedom to be Self.
In you we see how to be selfless.
For us, your children and grandchildren,
you were the first touch of God's hand.
(c) 4.7.01
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
MOSAICS
Have you seen how pretty
broken glass is by sun or moonlight?
If only we could see
broken lives
by the same sparkling magic,
and realize
that beautiful mosaics
are made from broken bits.
New beauty can be created out of our
inevitable shatterings.
(c) 3.10.01
broken glass is by sun or moonlight?
If only we could see
broken lives
by the same sparkling magic,
and realize
that beautiful mosaics
are made from broken bits.
New beauty can be created out of our
inevitable shatterings.
(c) 3.10.01
Monday, March 23, 2009
GOLDEN DREAM
Sunset shine slides from the sky,
a golden dream, filling the eye.
A peaceful sigh from a work-a-day pace.
A heart piercing fire bathing cloud lace.
Parish blue to gunmetal gray, enfolding dark,
flights of fantasy preparing to embark.
The long cool arms of embracing night,
holding close till vermilion dawn light.
(c) 6.29.00
Friday, March 13, 2009
SPRING AFFAIR
Layers of spring awake from dreaming
hill, meadow, and tree aglow in radiant gleaming,
call to the soul.
New buds burgeoning in sensual scent
perfuming sunlit breezes, shadows dim.
Seductive bird song's magic trill
blending with light, bending the will,
binding the heart.
Wrapped in fragrant luminous arms
hearing, seeing, sensing, soul to earth belongs.
Snowcapped mountains swept with light
invite communion's clear, deep sight,
one within the other.
(c) 4.5.96
Monday, March 9, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
SWAN
White Swan flight into the night,
moon glow dazzle on wide wings.
Glitter of gold around Swan neck so bold.
Soulful beauty in Swan voice sings.
Vision of Swan shimmers, then gone.
Lost in darkness concealing.
A gift to the heart, the deeper part
and a call to the head appealing.
A death and a birth, Otherworld and Earth
come together in the kiss of wisdom.
Made new everyday to live in Love's Way,
reconciling the heart and heads kingdom.
(c) 11.2.95
I once read the Bards of old, when they preformed in palaces, before kings or villages before pauper's, they would wear a cloak of swan feathers to give their tongues flight. It was the sign of a truly great Bard to have such a cloak. I began to think of the Swan as the muse of poetry and story.
moon glow dazzle on wide wings.
Glitter of gold around Swan neck so bold.
Soulful beauty in Swan voice sings.
Vision of Swan shimmers, then gone.
Lost in darkness concealing.
A gift to the heart, the deeper part
and a call to the head appealing.
A death and a birth, Otherworld and Earth
come together in the kiss of wisdom.
Made new everyday to live in Love's Way,
reconciling the heart and heads kingdom.
(c) 11.2.95
I once read the Bards of old, when they preformed in palaces, before kings or villages before pauper's, they would wear a cloak of swan feathers to give their tongues flight. It was the sign of a truly great Bard to have such a cloak. I began to think of the Swan as the muse of poetry and story.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
PEOPLE CAFE
He sat at the table alone.
A cup of steaming coffee in his hand.
Still... Serious.
His sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
The thick white blonde hair on his arms
like moving water over stone,
shiny alive with its own
look of going somewhere fast.
A contradiction to his statue pose.
The thinker - with a frown.
Linda McGeary
(c) 10.4.93
Our second son, born under an earth sign. He followed his brother to the big city and is still there. This was from one of my visits to see him when he was just beginning to 'Chef'. Man, can this kid cook. His brother had moved to Ashland to finish college down there.
A cup of steaming coffee in his hand.
Still... Serious.
His sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
The thick white blonde hair on his arms
like moving water over stone,
shiny alive with its own
look of going somewhere fast.
A contradiction to his statue pose.
The thinker - with a frown.
Linda McGeary
(c) 10.4.93
Our second son, born under an earth sign. He followed his brother to the big city and is still there. This was from one of my visits to see him when he was just beginning to 'Chef'. Man, can this kid cook. His brother had moved to Ashland to finish college down there.
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