To be an olive tree me…

I want to be
rooted and leaning upwards when i go,
like an olive tree,
i, made ancient already
by more urban settings,
and living under too many bridges, having seen
too many faces deeply, too many 911’s in my heart, am
surprisingly, less gnarled
thus far, but want to contain
that ancient elegance of standing true
to the stretching of time,
in blue green glistening, with chimes in my branches!
That, sturdy fluid stillness of olive
tree, i would like to leave here.
Make me an olive tree then, with
The history of the wind of aging
in my bark-that veined story. A tree which looks like it almost
occurred underwater, or within Another hidden place!
Something, no one noticed
was even aging, until it was wise.
Yes, i want to be
an olive tree when i die.

Being seen in the unseen moments of our days…
To find people’s eyes takes time, but it is always worth it. I love those silent, unseen exchanges daily. Had one tonight with a local jewish lady, who could see where my wife and i were at in our day—shopping, preparing for the week. Her knowing caring empathetic, look was enough to make that marital collaboration of caring for the week, seen, and more special.
It’s the little moments which contain the poems in life. Of course, my jewish friends always empathize with a couple at the market together trying to plan for the week. But, it was nice to be seen in our backstage moments of picking out the right cheese for a visiting friend. Usually, it’s just my angels shooting the film! Nice when people join in!
All of our daily unspoken poetry matters! Everything is worthy of song.
Every person’s day is a collection of poetry!

Make art as we devotionally read! It opens up things…

I like making art in dialogue as i read scriptures! Keeps my creativity engaged in my spirituality, as i listen, and interpret.

Here’s one from today, and dialoguing with David, the great intimate king’s reflection on being an olive tree in a temple…when i make art with David, i get to overhear his spirituality! Art is a great way to read, and collaborate in meaning.

An art response to David’s song (Psalm 52)

But I am olive tree inside a temple
charged with wet fruit-charged fruit,
in fertile soil
that grows
almost electrically raw skinned in
unseen from bowed center
heart receptor’s wires and arteries.
I tremble awake daily, my nervous system, skin and bones
inside of Thee
forever, already stone to write upon.
Re-sound in me, write your lines, carve yourself in me,
i’ll be Your tree in your temple,
with silver-sliver flecked
green leaves
dusted by angel wing’s
glistens at night-me in Thee,
I’ll be your olive tree.

Habakkuk watching 911

though you sear my eyes
watching buildings fall from the skies
where once a tight rope walker crossed at dawn;
though today i see bodies falling like styrofoam cups
into craters which haven’t filled up yet
though i don’t understand your methods Man
still, i will trust in You
though church is half naked
and focused on the wrong things
though the nations can’t get along
still i will trust in You

though i was wounded watching the bodies fall on 911
though that justice made no sense to me at all…
still I will trust in Thee.

though on George Washington’s bridge, I a saw truckers tears
jet planes passing through black dragon shaped smoke tiers, and
the Thumb of God lifted for an instant there,
world trade collapsed then.
still i will trust in You
under whose Hand
we all stand or fall
that Your Tender Palms
will hold us all
catching our bodies
in mid air
with the net of Love
as Your hair…
So through that day
at You I still stare..
waiting on Your Name
waiting on your understanding
care. Our eyes are watching You alone
through falling steel and stone,
and our tears of unknowing.

How well certain writers
explained and described
how big and small each
day is.

Making a poetry collection…

Lord gather my collection
put me in Your stanzas
pronounce and write me both
as you will.
Gather your words
out of my years
and make a poetry collection of me.
You are my only editor
and publisher.
i will be your little words,
organize my lines
so we can share them in time.
Lord make me
your collection.
Collect me, in Thee.

You have no time pressures
no dead lines-You
crossed that dead line
long ago. Now,
gather the real words
in my bones
for your own pleasure
of reading them
out loud!
i don’t need success either
to know
so
let’s just
make a whole
poem together
friend.

Collect me
into Your Heart’s Mouth
and sing me
to Yourself Lord first.
And then, if you want to share me,
feel free.

I’m free verse
anyway, as You who made me
already know.
Collect then sow me Lord
where You see fit.

planting an olive tree:

what i want to be growing on
this land when i’m dead…
today i planted an olive tree here
so it will talk to others
around the world,
when i’m dead.
some have complained
about the dusty green color
(they were disappointed
after King David’s description)
but i’ve always seen silver flecks
in olive leaves
like angel dust glistening in God’s breeze;
so that is what
i’ll leave here
starting today.
I’ll plant an olive tree
in this little temple
of me.

afterthought:
I want to be
rooted and leaning upwards,
like an olive tree,
i, ancient already.

Watching a particular cherry tree

Staring at that one particular cherry tree today
the one i watched before i can remember-
branches bending, knowing, in soft wind again
recalling or at least revealing where
Wind comes from, as a breeze does on skin; just as I was,
three sea gulls crossed over, and
a copper’s hawk
and hummingbird passed by suddenly
in that old tremble of things-
all just being themselves
miraculously. And me
there watching it
all, finally still enough to see well.

The way of the prophets….love walking in their way….God still uses art to speak.

The prophets were symbolic thinkers, their imaginations were integrated with their spirituality. One of the advantages of that, is they could write plays poems and songs which could contain God’s messages for their times. “Don’t constrain God to one medium!”

They made portable art which could be carried—like songs and fairy tales are. Stories which could pass across generations. Art is like that. And it is still a method God uses to package Himself.

I love studying those throughout history, who had integrated imaginations. They are most needed in our times as well. Those who are clear symbolic thinkers, and can talk in poetry, drama and rhyme and story—to put in on artistic tablets, so the heralds can run with it.

That’s part of the priestly task, which is needed our day! “Give God the most mediums and room to talk and play through!” as one of my mentors put it.

The prophets did that! Love listening to and through their art today, as I am reading Habakkuk’s great play!!! And considering it’s applications for today! His times, so similar to ours! And God’s method will probably once again be art! As He tends to tell old stories in turbulent times.

Let me be
a cup of tea for Thee
in the dark.
Let me be
something you enjoy
at the end of the night.
(a simple spark)
Something which keeps
You going, Lord.