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#contemplativepoetry — Public Fediverse posts

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  1. Worry Wart

    The troubles of this passing day
    weigh heavy on my head,
    until I join the hollow-eyed,
    the weary walking dead;
    I stumble through the crumbling streets
    where nameless fears are bred,
    consumed by temoral things
    and this mortal dread.

    O, that this wart of worry
    might be lifted from my head,
    this small, persistent torment
    on which my fears are fed;
    that I might cease rehearsing
    each bitter word unsaid,
    and stop imagining sorrows
    still waiting up ahead.

    O, let me quit resisting
    the road where I am led,
    and trust the ground beneath me
    though shadows o'er me spread,
    for life is more than trembling
    before the things I dread—
    perhaps the path I fear to walk
    leads to trust instead.

    August 8, 2015 (exp. 2026)

    #Anxiety #burdens #ChristianPoetry #ContemplativePoetry #dailyTroubles #faithAndDoubt #Fear #Hope #innerTurmoil #LettingGo #mortalDread #PeaceOfMind #poeticReflection #SpiritualPoetry #spiritualStruggle #surrender #thePathAhead #Trust #walkingDead #WordPressTagsWorry #Worry #Writing
  2. Stumbling Block

    It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

    The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

    You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

    two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

    the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

    a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

    lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

    It is time then.

    I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

    Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

    July 29, 2022

    #boneCracklingMorning #bullfrog #chronicPain #ContemplativePoetry #ContemplativeWriting #Despair #divineSurprise #embodiment #Faith #FaithAndLife #Family #findingJoy #fog #friends #God #GodIsMystery #Grace #Gratitude #Hope #Hospitality #ListeningToTheSoul #Love #marriage #mist #Morning #mothersAndDaughters #movingForward #mystery #personalReflection #pilgrimage #Poems #readiness #renewal #resilience #sacredOrdinary #SpiritualJourney #SpiritualReflection #SubmissionToGod #surprise #tearsAndHealing #Travel #wanderingWonder #Wonder
  3. Stumbling Block

    It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

    The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

    You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

    two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

    the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

    a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

    lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

    It is time then.

    I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

    Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

    July 29, 2022

    #boneCracklingMorning #bullfrog #chronicPain #ContemplativePoetry #ContemplativeWriting #Despair #divineSurprise #embodiment #Faith #FaithAndLife #Family #findingJoy #fog #friends #God #GodIsMystery #Grace #Gratitude #Hope #Hospitality #ListeningToTheSoul #Love #marriage #mist #Morning #mothersAndDaughters #movingForward #mystery #personalReflection #pilgrimage #Poems #readiness #renewal #resilience #sacredOrdinary #SpiritualJourney #SpiritualReflection #SubmissionToGod #surprise #tearsAndHealing #Travel #wanderingWonder #Wonder
  4. The Sodden Astronomer

    They say, Do not look at the stars,
    or you will step into holes
    and sink your shoes in mud.

    So you can keep your eyes
    fixed on the ground,
    safe from puddles,
    safe from falling,
    and miss the lights
    burning above in the dark—

    except for a stolen glance,
    a hurried sip of heaven.

    Or you can throw
    caution to the wind,
    lift your thirsty face
    to those bright jewels
    sewn into black velvet,

    and stumble on
    with wet feet.

    October 27, 1988 (edited June 2026)
    Curridabat, Costa Rica

    Part of the continuing Respectful American series, a selection of writings from my travel journals from Central America in 1988

    9.927128-84.082012 San Jose, Costa Rica #1988 #astronomyMetaphor #awe #Beauty #blackVelvetSky #CentralAmerica #ContemplativePoetry #Courage #CreativeWriting #dreamers #Dreaming #earthAndHeaven #HereAreSomeWordPressTagsForThePoemSoddenAstronomer #Hope #Imagination #jewelsInTheDarkness #lookingUp #mudAndStars #mysticalPoetry #night #NightSky #poeticImage #POETICAORAREContemplativePoetryPrayers #Poetry #ProsePoem #Risk #SpiritualReflection #stargazing #stars #symbolicPoetry #walkingByFaith #wetFeet #Wonder #wonderAndCaution #Writing
  5. WildWords – Lord of the Flies

    The flies come first
    as rumor,

    black letters of punctuation
    in the cellar air,

    small restless witnesses
    to what I have not buried.

    They find the hidden place
    before I do,

    the sweetness gone sour,
    the secret body
    given back to its elements.

    I thought death
    would announce itself
    with trumpets,

    or thunder,

    or at least
    a proper lament.

    But here it is
    in wings,

    in the frantic scripture
    of a thousand tiny bodies

    writing circles
    around the bulb.

    Lord of the flies,
    lord of the unclean corners,
    lord of what ripens
    when I refuse to look,

    you do not create the death.

    You only reveal it.

    You rise from the wound
    and make it audible.

    You gather
    where something has ended
    and been left unnamed.

    So I stand in the basement
    with paper strips hanging
    like sad yellow prayers,

    with poison in the air,
    with a broom in my hand,

    and I know
    this is not only about flies.

    Something in me
    has also gone untended.

    Some old grief
    has softened in the dark.

    Some resentment
    has been born in bitter warmth.

    Some fear
    has bred in the damp boxes
    of the soul.

    And the outer world,
    faithful as a mirror,
    begins to reflect what is within.

    The dead thing calls forth wings.

    The buried thing
    becomes a cloud.

    Lord above,
    but Lord beneath even this,

    teach me to descend
    without disgust,

    to find what has died,
    to name it,
    to remove it,

    to open the window
    where I can,

    to let the clean wind
    do its slow ministry.

    For even the fly
    is a witness,

    even decay
    is a kind of bell,

    even infestation
    can become annunciation

    if it leads me
    to the hidden corpse,

    if it leads me
    to the truth,

    if it leads me
    at last

    to bury what is dead
    and bless what still
    wants to live.

    #basement #basementSymbolism #cleansing #compoundEye #Contemplation #ContemplativePoetry #deadThings #Death #decay #dying #flies #flyVision #gothicReflection #grief #hiddenThings #infestation #innerLife #lordOfTheFlies #Mortality #natureOfDecay #outerWorld #PrayerPoem #renewal #shadowWork #SpiritualReflection #symbolicIllustration #witness