a found poem from Frederick Buechner’s Brendan
a druid way of saying God –
the rustling of oak leaves,
the sound of shallow waves against the rocks,
the feel of mist drifting knee deep
over the blue folds and hollows of the hills.
~ Rebekah Choat
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.
Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.
After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.
~ Wendell Berry
a found haiku from John O’Donohue’s Anam Cara
The depth of friendship:
the shelter of the silence
between two people.
~ Rebekah Choat
The world turns softly
not to spill its lakes and rivers.
The water is held in its arms
and the sky is held in the water.
What is water,
that pours silver,
and can hold the sky?
~ Hilda Conkling
It occurs to me that I haven’t mentioned here that I write another blog over at Books by Becka, my business website. I post book reviews there, and musings about stories, language, and so on. Here’s the link to a poem I shared there this morning: http://www.booksbybecka.com/blog.html.
image by Rebekah Choat
You make the music
speak and the words dance with the
breath of Your Spirit.
~ Rebekah Choat
May is playing games this year –
started sunny, warm and clear,
overnight turned cool and gray,
flirted with the clouds all day,
then called up a roaring wind,
made the temperature descend
further yet and further still,
woke this morning bright, but chill,
setting all the chimes to ringing,
buffeting a sparrow singing,
now a moment still and mild,
now a playful gust, and wild,
sending shivers through new leaves,
driving finches under eaves,
teasing, breezing in the day –
who can know the mind of May?
~ Rebekah Choat
Who’s To Say?
What will all these words
mean a year from now? Do they
say anything real?
There are times when words
run out before the hours
of the day are done.
Next Morning
The world looks like some
ill-tempered god-child threw a
tantrum in the night.
Becka's Blog 