On Retreat—spoken poetry

 

I live in the woods, extended out on a small cot

and write on a large wooden desk, next to the window—

snow-covered spruce branches reach out, making my welcome felt;

the bell rings long before dawn, rousing me to dress and come to chapel—

to sing, worship. I wash at a gleaming white sink, thinking clean thoughts.

After pleasant dreams under an iron crucifix—hung by the monk-brothers.

There’s a cross in every room: omnipresent sway.

The image of Christ fills the space with respectful silence,

hung with early snow—reaching out.

 

AND if finding space outside the norm is not possible, CREATING SPACE by setting aside time in the MORNING to be alone with God is often just as good! – D.E.M.

 

THIS POEM APPEARS IN MY BOOK Approach

Available on Amazon

approachCover

Birth Story

 

no one can tell you what you mean: where you’re from;

that your parents conceived you too soon—

or too late

 

only you know the weight of your own glory

 

the stardom that comes from someone who loves you

looking out the window, down the long drive

 

on a winter’s night (Christmas Eve)

 

for your longed-for arrival             only you

 

 

This poem appears in my book peace: poems for the spiritual journey

Available on Amazon

Peace Book Cover