slow dancing
 
 
last full moon of the year
casts her silver radiance
upon fields of snow
homes of all slumbering beings
 
asking nothing from us
she kindly ushers in
the sheltering darkness
granting us release and stillness
 
at daybreak she departs
yielding to the first sun of the new year
at its birthing
 
containers of transcendence
moon and sun together guard
all our dreams and sorrows
and grant us time to dance
  
 
 - pab -
 - © 24 december 2015 -
 

spiraling toward the Center
we seek the Light

reaching the Center 
we behold the Light

we become the Light
we carry the Light

in our homes
in our world




Do not be afraid,
I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be to all the world.
- Luke 2:10

from untying the web
"praise, lamentations, and praise"

how will I speak your name

I will gather up
the bounty of my garden
and the ripe grains of the fields
I will fill my small kitchen
with the smells of spice and sweetness
I will call in my children 
and my neighbors
and beggars from the street

and we shall feast

* pab 2011 *

rain drenched aspen leaves, gilded by autumn’s night frost that crept south at dawn

 - pab © 2015 -

autumn,
flouncing her flamenco skirts
far and wide across harvest fields
full and ripe for the taking,

setting hillsides ablaze with boldness
and insistence
on one final passionate fling

that will ignite memory’s images,
bringing comfort
through the long cold nights
of waiting
 

-pab ©september 2015-


O    O    O
 

 

Litany for the Day

This is the day the Lord has made
Let us rejoice and Be glorious!

Let us rise up from sleep 
with praises for the new day
let praises be ceaseless all the day long
when the evening comes
let praises remain in our dreams

Let us give birth to grace
let us release all the prisoners
that we have held captive
let us resurrect holiness
let us drink new wine
and dance in exaltation

This is the day!

-from untying the web, 2011

COMMENCEMENT

all the women of our family
take up every seat in the center
of the second row in the auditorium

my eldest daughter digs deep
into the dark recesses of her handbag –
you know the one,
that in its cavernous depths once held
the plastic bag of crunchy oat cereal,
an extra diaper, three water bottles,
plastic keys on a teething ring,
dry socks and an extra
snuggly blankey, just in case  –
and pulls out her stash of
tissues for this occasion

she passes them down the row
to me, nestled in beside her,
to her sister, my youngest daughter,
on my other side, 
to my only granddaughter’s
best friend’s mother and to her mother,
the furthest on my left;

then, all together now we dab at our
overflowing eyes as the band begins
“Pomp and Circumstance” and
the Class of 2015 ceremoniously
processes in, wearing royal blue gowns
and mortarboards with golden tassels

like matched bookends, all the men of our family –
my daughter’s husband, and her father, and her son
on the right end;
my only granddaughter’s best friend’s father and
her grandpa and her brother on the left end -
bracket all the women, anchoring us into
these present moments,
while they telescope and zoom lens above the heads
of the family in the first row, then stepping out into
the aisles and back in again to their seats, adjusting,
capturing all these fleeting seconds filled with
pride and anticipation;

the culmination of past days and years, embodied
in our sons and daughters, who walk across this stage
as their names are called, acknowledged and congratulated,
then sent off into futures only dreamed about,
stories that are opening to possibility
 
on this, the day we honor her,
my only grandson, younger brother to our beloved graduate,
awakens a cherished memory from years gone by
as leaning into his mother’s arm,
he whispers, awestruck,
“Isn’t she beautiful!”

….. so the story goes

                                                                             
    -pab © may 2015-

Promise


broken stubble stands in row upon row
testimony to age and exhaustion
memory of golden fields ripened, that
yesterday offered bounteous harvest

broken stubble, brave flags poking up through
dirt encrusted lingering patch of snow
stubble will not let dreams escape
until their blessing is bestowed

broken stubble anchors past to future
row upon row, year after year
promise fulfilled anew as
tiny green shoots beside broken stubble

 
- pb © 18 may 2015 -

the river flowed through it in springtime
wide and shallow and warm
lazily splashing on rounded stones
dancing around slippery boulders
seeping deep into loamy soils of smooth banks on both sides
sunlight playing with the water
warming gentle slopes where
wild roses grew up and stretched for miles along the shoreline
swaying gracefully above the water and
vining up amongst young willows at the edges
of the woods

color, fragrance, light saturate the air
water slipping across stone, ripples into quiet pools,
days passing in tranquility

further on where the river narrowed
it grew deeper, colder
gaining speed and sound and treachery
as, of course, it would, it must;
wide shorelines of soft rounded pebbles
contracted into narrow passages, rocky walls rising higher,
gentle river growing more wild and forceful,
a stranger to its upstream self

wild roses became more tenacious
clinging steadfastly to rocky precipice;
intruding, impenetrable walls of stone appear
to cut the roses off from one another,
yet, always linked in ancient rootedness
extending strong, deep tendrils,
wild roses survive storms and turbulence

as if by some pre-ordained decree
river slowed its rush and fury
stony walls yielded to gentler slopes
the widening river played again
among ancient boulders,
splashed upon smooth pebbles and
wild roses more fragrant and abundant than before,
flourished jubilantly on sun dappled shores

at the last, in autumn’s golden, slanting rays of light
the oldest and strongest of the roses
began her gradual decline
nearly transparent petals still clinging
to the life that was
while letting go and drifting, floating into quiet places
few words, generous touches, long gazes into peaceful eyes,
tender smiles, whispers of well loved hymns,
unhurried and reverent passing of the one into the other

and the river flowing and wild roses blooming
across forever

 
-pb© 10 may 2015

VIII.
how will I speak Your name

I will gather up 
the bounty of my garden
and the ripe grains of the fields
I will fill my small kitchen
with smells of spice and sweetness
I will call in my children
and my neighbors
and beggars from the street

and we shall feast


from "untying the web"
praise and lamentation and praise
-phyllis boernke, 2012-


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