poetry – Page 15 – Linnea's Lines

Practicing Silence

He says, “Be silent,”
and I long for quiet
to listen for his voice,
to know that he is God.

Just cling, cells interlocked, bark intact, and let the sap flow: slowly but surely through winter frost, tingling gently, keeping you alive; vibrantly pouring when summer sun saturates the world with heat; a constant feeding in the sleep of night. Rest, but cling, fruit will come! When I picture myself a branch clinging to theContinue reading “Cling, Be Nourished!”

In the House of Love

He makes his home in me. And I, I live inside this house of love, his banner flapping bright above, his pleasure my desire. I bring him blooms to grace the place he sets for me (no matter that, outdoors, corruption slimes the world and evil lurks in gray). I will not fear. For heContinue reading “In the House of Love”

Powering Up

Exhaustion depresses like bricks on foam squeezing out air, leaving you heavy, squished, flat-out dense. Sleep and love, contemplation, are nectar, nutrients (just eat what fits). Breathe in, exhale. Find a place deep inside a favorite space: grab a book; take a look at what brings you joy. In time you’ll stretch, get back upContinue reading “Powering Up”

All I Have is Yours

This month you told me, “Hold on lightly to possessions; all you have is mine.” Then you brought me chances to let go: my sweater to the shivering boy, my shirt to the cadavre (swollen past the size of her own clothes), my mat to the child who had no bed, my socks to helpContinue reading “All I Have is Yours”

Pen in Hand

pen in hand the words press out anxious for paper a place to live the silence sizzles sentient and longing standing on tiptoe to read the news what I am hearing what has been forming in hidden spaces how I’ve been growing invisible the thoughts take on colors and edges given a page Yes, myContinue reading “Pen in Hand”

A Contemplative Life

Exhausted

Exhaustion depresses like a brick on foam squeezing out air, leaving me compacted, heavy, flat out dense. Sleep and love, contemplation are nectar and nutrients (eat what fits): breathe in air, restoration. In time I will stretch and power up for life as usual. Once I get to the beach, or to another quiet spot,Continue reading “Exhausted”

Helping Hands

Barbara Slater, my mother Her fingers crook now at the joint, swollen and unwell. But even though they ache and chafe they still cannot be still, a tender testimony to a history of easing life for others in her world. They tap upon a tabletop, thinking audibly, type heartbeats into keyboard words to pleat divisiveContinue reading “Helping Hands”

Practicing His Presence

Written over twenty years ago, this poem was a commitment I was making to learn to really “practice the presence” of God. Whether a day was filled with routines or with unexpected delights or sorrow, walking in constant awareness of him is life-changing. It is ongoing, the deep desire of my heart, yet so oftenContinue reading “Practicing His Presence”