More than words

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“Use your words Jerry!” admonished a cartoon quasi-evil scientist to one of his creations.

“Ouch! No biting!” a response, without words, and yet very clearly communicating!

Talking heads talk and talk and talk it becomes “blah blah blah” and blank spots.

sawêyihtowak ᓴᐁᐧᔨᐦᑐᐊᐧᐠ V they bless one another; they love one another

Bless and love. More than words, becoming the bridge when the words fail.

They are the balm when words wound. They move and live word-free.

 

Maybe words should fail and more often. What if poets wove their words to fail?

If a picture is worth a 1000 words, what could our actions speak then? Millions?

We stare at screens. Books. Images. And freeze. Unable to act or move. Still.

We think because someone saw it they did something. We observe and are

removed from the mud, the blood, the tears and the pain. We are stone.

 

Our empathy mocks, and our “shares” and “Likes” and “Tweets” buy some peace.

“Well I DID do SOMETHING!” and yet we know, down in that dark place below.

We know there is more to do. Not across the ocean. Or even across the street.

Across the room. A hand or breath away. Our words should fail us then. 

We should be unable to be poetic without action, without touch or voice.

 

Poetry – a call to action. A place for words to fail because we should not. Cannot.

Poetry – the memorial, the eulogy, the celebration. A place for failed words.

I wrote today about time healing all wounds, and scars still there to ache.

Scars are where the words failed and action struck. Ragged poetry seen.

Dug into skin. Aching and remembering the wounding. The wordless

time when there was nothing but getting out, away, being gone.

 

Words should fail when we fail to hear their call to act. To speak. To reach out.

To them. Especially to them. To walk away. From them. YES THEM! Go.

My words bubble and boil to the surface. Banging against lips and teeth.

Knowing their acid and bile won’t wound anyone but me I chew them.

Swallow deep and plan my exit steps. Silent prayer for grace. Again.

Words meant to wound when I need to feel better need to fail.

 

“You shoulda gave her a piece of your mind!” and “Why do you take that from them?”

And I can’t help but see their words as bait, hiding a sharp deadly hook inside.

Their words fail as I walk away, poetry in motion, leaving the scene before a

crime happens against poetry, against words and against self and life.

My words failed. And I”m glad. My actions were loud enough.

And my prayer for grace, instead of repentance, was healing.

 

Brian has us thinking about when words fail for Meeting at the Bar tonight. I’ve had lots of opportunity to see when words do fail – in good and bad ways. And in ways that turned around unexpectedly from one thing into something else entirely. As I get older I am learning the wisdom of poetry in motion, of walking away. Sometimes it is good for words to fail, it leaves room for action. And then sometimes we make them carry too much instead of doing it ourselves.  Not sure where I am going with this but deep thoughts are rambling around, so thanks Brian!  Stop by dVerse and see how the other poetic people are responding! Share your own thoughts and leave love.

 

Remain calm

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Remain calm. The best advice.

Life is fragile. Handle with prayer.

Dancing on the edge of panic.

And a stillness holds me back.

Be still. Be still. Breathe. In. Out.

Running in place doesn’t make miles.

It’s a fast getaway on a rocking horse.

Feed goes in poop comes out.

Life is what goes in during the between.

Mind, body, spirit. Praying. Hoping.

Knowing what has to be done,

just not knowing how to the when.

Wishing I could sleep in the sun

with the cats and the dogs instead.

Hunting down elusive things and

doing work. Wondering at the

view ahead. Snowy roads.

Rainy days. Stormy maybe.

One step. Just one. Left or right?

God doesn’t count the steps

forward or back, He sees the heart.

He counts the tears. Not the fears.

He counts the scars that tell

we survived another bout.

He steps in His own time.

We walk, humbly at best,

and often kicking, screaming

being dragged by our stubborn

hands, heels dug in holding on.

I want place of ‘okay’ because

I know it. I don’t want the risk.

The unknown can be amazing.

But it is unknown and therefore

we are taught to fear it. Only the

reckless or crazy seek it wildly.

We leave limbo behind, boldly.

Dancing down an ice covered

highway, left or right turn?

Go. Just go. Get going.

Remain calm. Be still.

God’s got this. Breathe.

Live. Love. Laugh.

Pray. Pray first. Pray.

Prayer is

 

He spat a tobacco plug.

Prayin’ oughta be done first girl.

No sense askin’ for savin’ in a hurricane.

I nod. Listening. Knowing more was to come.

Pick yer horse. Saddle up. Give God the reins.

You gotta ride with God, prayerin first, not last.

He nods at a wild mare, she comes running but dashes away.

She’s got the devil in her. Praying won’t save ya from a wreck.

Prayer woulda told ya to ride the sorrel tho, she’s steady and true.

How often, do we grab the pretty bronc, saddle up and pray as we fly?

Gettin’ bucked off don’t mean the end, but why pray after the ground hits?

Prayin is first thing ya do before yer eyes open, an at the last as they close.

Be thankful for whatcha have, whatcha missed and what makes ya stronger.

Even a quiet horse will hop ya around, but that makes ya a better horseman.

I rub the ears of a sweet old mare, kid’s horse, and give her a treat. I nod. I hear.

 

 for Open Link Night