Friday Poem 2017.7

2017.7

The heart,

always the heart. Those matters

of heritage, lifestyle,

and circumstance.

We make promises

and say what we mean

when we first say it.

Forever after we are somewhat unsure;

Did I say always? Sometimes?

Yes, I will walk each day,

eat more raw broccoli

and taste collard greens.

Yes, we will be kinder to one another, practice

lightheartedness, and forgetfulness.

By now some arteries are permanently closed,

but collaterals may grow, who knows.

Damage is indicated by various dashed lines

on the cardiac print-out. Your family doctor

will interpret these with you, and review

your wellness plan.

Blockages, self-righteous debates,

where to win feels like death by drowning;

selfish for air we grasp at anything.

How much tissue

has been greyed out

where once bloody and vital?

LAE2017

Poetry Friday

Blessed be

 

Blessed be the unwashed bag lady, shopping cart stacked with tainted treasure

for she will have her basic needs met.

Blessed be the man standing outside Great Canadian Superstore, hands out, eyes down

for he will be fed.

Blessed be the sixteen year old abused daughter living with another hard fist calling the shots

for she will be loved.

Blessed be the business man in the new beemer driving home to an empty house

for he will find what he seeks.

Blessed be the neighbour with the barking dog and all night weekend parties

for she will be shown grace.

Blessed be the cashier with dark eye circles stuffing groceries into righteous cloth bags

for she will be given a kind word.

Blessed be the old woman’s slow crosswalk shuffle during rush hour

for she will receive patience.

Blessed be the smart ass tough guy dealing from his high school locker

for he will be given a second, third, and fourth chance.

Blessed be the snot nosed kid screaming murder in the grocery cart, and his mother

for they will be observed with eyes of understanding.

Blessed be the new Canadian struggling with his pronunciation

for he will be a trail blazer for future generations.

Blessed be the middle aged mom breathing deep and hugging her daughter

for she will be a rock in this hard place.

 

Blessed are you when you are weak, hurt, without answers, taken for granted, displaced and overlooked because of what you believe and are learning. Rejoice and be glad that you are unwrapping peace, empathy, kindness and love. Epiphanies often bright burst from dark places. Extend what you have received to those you meet each day, and the Kingdom of God will come near.

 

Inspiration of Matthew Chapter 5.

 

Poetry Friday afterall…

Image via Wikipedia

Hostile

If there were something worthwhile to say, I might open my mouth
and swallow you whole,
masticate your small bones, relish in splinters.

If I were dying of a nasty disease, and my voice was the first to go,
every last word I spoke would be
mighty important, so why can’t you shut up and listen. Now

I have a young friend who painted these words on his black bedroom wall;
“Open your closed mind and close your open mouth.” Enough said.

Mindless muttering of fools, this, trying too hard to make each word count.
Like this poem, characters filling up the page with pretense
cursive chatter eating
the white space.

Lesley-Anne Evans
May 2011

Poetry Friday035

Now

There’s before and after, and now is
the space in between. A marker for both

Image by Gavin Mackintosh via Flickr

carrying great expectations.
“How are you,” takes pause
“What’s up,” takes days.
Now is hard to swallow
like gorge in my throat when

the Doctor called back.

I made bold statements about God. Before.
Preached
prophesied
plastered bible bandages on gaping wounds oozing
with strangers blood.

Now

begs the question,

avoids answers.

Digs for God in the muck,

eyes squeezed shut.

Sucks air

through clenched teeth.

December 2010

Poetry Friday008

photography by Joel Clements

I saw a poem

I saw it clearly as I let my eyes linger —
something there
just beyond the obvious

and, like a trout hovering while the fly is cast and
insistently played upon the surface of the pond,
I felt it drawing me

words forming on my silent lips
as God spoke poem into existence
and I, taking the barb-less hook

swallowed deeply.

Lesley-Anne Evans
07/04/2009