I Shall Not Want

I walk the path between trees
down into the glade
and place my soul into the water there.

A river alive with stones
awash with every story of my life
flowing downwards to the sea.

I am a flower falling on the stream
and floating in spirals of letting go
as my dreams make way for you.

I am my truest self in the song David sings,
each word unveils the longing of my heart:
I shall not want.

Jenneth Graser

Image - favim.com

The Layers of Thanksgiving

Open the day with thanks
as you shrug back the curtains into the view.
Stop for a moment, remain.

Peel back the layers of thanksgiving:

1. everything beautiful in your past to be grateful for.

Delve deeper and you find:

2. the painful things that have shaped your life for good.

Go into a new layer and you find:

3. the small, seemingly insignificant things that make a difference.

Deeper again, peel off another layer:

4. gratitude for the present moment.

Then you become thankful for:

5. the patience you learn through irritations.

6. the challenging people who teach you to love and forgive.

7. the big things you often take for granted.

Then you discover thanks for:

8. the best that is yet to come.

The emotion of gratitude takes over
and you realise the layers won't ever stop,
because at the ever-unveiling heart of thanksgiving you find,
something invaluable:

9. the spirit of contentment.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Guido Mieth

Hidden

It is good to be hidden in the great garden.
It is good to be hidden in rain.

It is good to be under the fingerprints
of green foliage among trees.

It is good to be hidden in the hand, in prayer,
to be under the wing.

To be hidden by wave upon wave, and behind the waterfall.

To be hidden in the womb and the fluff of the nest,
to be held in the cloth of motherly care.

To be under the night sky of a new moon
in the middle of a field looking into star upon star,
in the grass, hidden.

Such times were given to us so that we may listen,
and speak and be heard.

So that we may find ourselves
alone in the presence of greatness.

So that we may know we
are small

and yet find the universe is expanding on our breath
and upon each thought as we crest the tides
of love in being
hidden.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Dorothy Lathrop

Tiny Seeds

He moistened the hem of her robe,
led her by both hands.

The green of the forest was under her feet,
now there is only water.

The fire ate up most of the mountains,
with a sound of seeds popping.

She used excuses by the dozen, offered
to herself and to others.

By late October, tendrils appeared
and her fears were dealt with in dreams.

Ecclesiastes called for seasons of planting,
with a time to weep and a time to laugh.

The grass had a chance once again, as
blackened earth and charred roots gave way.

The soles of her feet were too used to stones.
She came alone from the desert to the trees calling.

Her tiny seeds have sprouted
in the hands of her Lover.

Jenneth Graser

"Who can tip over the water jars of the heavens
when the dust becomes hard
and the clods of earth stick together?"

Job 38:37-38

Artist - Arun Prem

Written into the Core

What moves you behind the scenes
where stars are delved in galaxies displayed?

Kingdoms rise and fall before your eyes.
Time trickles under the veil of immortality.

One man pokes his finger into
space determined to attempt
what no man has.

One woman steps onto the ladder
of her higher intent, going places
they say.

A child rolls a dice across
the table and the people laugh
because the number is right,
but what happens when the
die is cast and no one likes
the outcome?

Birds circumnavigate the globe
guided by pure instinct alone.
What steers the heart of people
to what is true?

What makes one turn to
eternal voices eager to learn
and another plummet into
the dregs of lust for power insatiable?

Fish move in schools of syncopated
rhythm, clouds adorn the
sky in colours dressed by position
of the planet towards the sun and
animals know when to sleep
and when to move.

Will we remember what has
been written into the core of our DNA?

Will we listen to the groove of purpose
etched upon the surface of the
world and resonating in the
deep heart's core?

Jenneth Graser

Photograph - ilovehdwallpapers.com

An Embrace that Holds On

In the hands of some people
there are beautiful things.
There are hands reaching
out to give these things away.

There is a heart restricted
so tight it can hardly breathe.
It is time to unzip this heart
and place what is inside
into a field.

I am moulting
and finding I know not what,
but this must be OK,
to not know and to be so angry
under the peeling skin.
Anger first,
then what is to come, can come.
What is to be, can be.

There is a hammock in the
field for misunderstood
misfits who have looked a long
time for a place to belong,
always on the fringes
of other people's dreams.

Memories dislodge with the voices
of laughing children and
water on the rocks.

There is an embrace that holds on
until the heart relaxes once again.
Sun may shine on such an
awkward feeling until the
muscles thaw out and
remember the sweetness of being,
out under the warm light of
everything lovely about the sun.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - eu.fotolia.com

Meant to be

She has just discovered
the artist she knew she was always
meant to be.

It was already a fact
at birth when her fingers
trailed impressionist milk
across her mother's chest.

Her face squashed with
all the wisdom that presses in
from being formed on the
other side of time.

A vestige of the kisses of God
left on her ears,
the petals of a newly born flower.

Colours mixed on a canvass -
an ooze of paint,
a sigh of brush...
and the beat of the drum
of her pulse speaks.

Her silence makes music.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Hiep Nguyen

Search for the Anchor

A woman behind her guitar
strums the void with sound,
but has not found peace to still
the old voices that taunt her
when the curtains are closed.

A man lifts his beautiful heart -
though his voice is lost
in the microphone, his spirit offers
an uncaged bird
and so he sings what we cannot hear,
with our ears alone.

There are people carried on the swell of chairs
as they search for the anchor.
There is belief, a variety
that pulses for union,
for answers of the greater kind,
for an answer of any kind.

Follow him then on the sidewalk
and look him in the eyes.
Provide a place of movement
or a seat on the voyage of doldrums.

We will fan our faces
in salt-tasting air
and swim where water fathoms deep
looks but a breath away.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - David Doubilet

The Humble in Making

Upon the mind water flows.
Upon the thoughts, the rain.
A gust on every curvaceous turn
of the brain.

There are angels on the pathways
of memory, treading softly.
There is a jar of sweet balsam -
see how it is poured into forgiveness.

Every branching off of every
tree of thought is reaching for the
root of meaning.

Rest now, into the water,
into the breath that comes from
air above the mountains,
clearing all the smog of voices on
the horizon.

The pointing fingers are no more
lining the path of imagination.
God is in the neurons.
See how small God may be!

Set a course of possible thought -
trees voluptuous in leaf, in blossom,
in fruit, fragrance the path
of emerging ways of being.

The nagging voices shouting "less"
are swept off of the path with "more"!

More hope, more love, more
surrender in our weakest places.

We find a pulsing strength in the
wind, water, fire of God
and we are grounded on the
earth of the humble
in making.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Bianca Green

Only Forwards

You have reached into
my Holy face.

I have felt your hand
in the realm of my holiness.

Enter my Holy face.

Walk into my mind,
and wave upon wave
of my imagination will
roll over your shores.

Reach into my Holy face
with your whole being
and I will find you there
as never before.

I meet with you in
blue light dimensions.

I meet with you under
the water where words
are not uttered.

Now that you have entered
there is no going back.

Only forwards, I will take you.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - stebbisveins on Flickr

Let that be honey to you

You are my Daughter.
Let that be honey to you.
Let that be ever sweet to your taste.

The world may riot in the hurricane -
there are frenzied whispers of
utter disbelief in the bowls
of striving.

There are violent retributions
and no solutions to be had.
But you are my Daughter
and I am your Father.

You are my bringer of laughter
cherry on the top
candle to be lit.

My dwelling-place Daughter,
belonging where the
world cannot strive over your head.

Where your heart is held sacred.

I am your Father.
I set my seal on you from before birth.

I have laughed over your laughter,
I have wept over your tears.

I laugh over your laughter
throughout all of time,
I collect every tear.

(primarily written in July this year inspired by Psalm 2)

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Victoria Rhodehouse

Becoming More

She has made her soul to be
as smooth as possible,
laid down before the feet
of passers-by as a road for travel.

She has attempted the intricate
architecture of bridging across landmass
for others.

She has contemplated the doormats
that ordain front shops and village homes -
some welcome all guests,
others used for wiping off the dirt alone.

As long as she is beneath and
not above, all eyes greet her
with warmth and happiness.

As long as she is quiet
when quiet is expected.
As long as she is vocal
only by definition, all is well.

But to become aware,
to wave her soul as a banner,
to extricate from the web
of articulate conversation,
to express deeper thoughts
that arise from within like prisms,
to attempt to walk
on top of the water when others
prefer taking the ferry,
to shake off the doormat dust
and walk through the threshold of the door
into what may come -

This is met with a variety of
possible reactions, not all welcome.

And yet to feel her soul
become a skin of tattooed brilliance,
to feel her soul a jewel refracting light,
to feel her soul becoming;
becoming more
is worth sacrificing people's opinions
over the cliff of intention,
is worth shedding old ways
that no longer service,
is worth the pain
of discovery. 

She has become for herself
a flying carpet.

She may pour out abundance
upon the faces of all people.
She may touch the temple
of every human being with full grace
and travel every road with her soul a flag flying
from her hand stretched out of the window,
exuberant.

Jenneth Graser

Artist Dawn Siebel

What it is to remember

A river has begun again to console
the naked stones of summer.

The riverbed sings
of all it lost in the drought.

Frogs croak beside,
reminding all things that
water will return from the clouds
upon the mountain's bosom
heaving with too much regret.

Relief may be found
in the rain carrying the ache of every
unmentionable, into the sea
eventually.

The sea has been known to
cover dark deeds,
to obliterate wrong-doing.

But every wave that wraps
around the shore will whisper
and whisper, whisper again
to me of forgetfulness.

And what it is to remember -
beautiful things.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Clark Little

Nothing Short of a Miracle

New tools may be placed in old hands
where learning occurs.

Eyes that open from the inward
may affect the way all outward
things are seen.

A pregnant idea is not yet birthed.

Wait for true ripening;
then clarity may follow.

We are too much in a hurry with ourselves,
lest we lose our way.

Or slow into the breath.

Lifting a quilt under a sky of cold nights,
mists of exhalation dissipate
on each dream
just out of reach.

Come back to yourself.

When comfortable in your skin
everything ordinary and commonplace
becomes something to marvel at.

There is a large downy feather in the bathroom -
you have no idea where it came from.

And your neighbour is nothing short of
a miracle.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - PortLove

When We Didn't Know

We sometimes sow seeds in the ground
unable to discern if they
will ever sprout.

We sometimes wait on the
edge of a drought
for one drop of rain.

If only things would be simple
like they used to be when we didn't know.

We walk over river stones so smooth
in our bathing suits as Mom sketches us
caught up on a page in time.

We have all changed.

We search for innocence
to meet with us where we are,
so that we may travel back through
a wardrobe into our childhood fantasies.

There is a secret garden, and we have the key.

There is a first love foundation
where we first met
for the first time
on a breath and a sigh;

And we have it still.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - TurningBear Mason

The Wake of Awareness

Fairer than the early hours fair.
With the hand of the clock, ticking
for more.

Light narrows the hours
and a pendulum sets into motion.

Braver than the midnight gong brave.

A soul of parchment is translucent
at dawn.
Every colour before the sun rises
touches the centre with soft warmth.

A friend or foe, each thought
must be determined
before driving out the latter.

To dwell in darkness though a
midday sun shines on the awning?

A kiss on the cheek of fears
at the leavetaking of each
acknowledged.

No longer the knee-jerk reactions.
Base instincts have slept in the
wake of awareness.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Norman Duenas

Remember what it is to be

When the straw falls on the back
of one too many camels,
it is time to shed weight.

To set up a tent beside an oasis
outside of civilization
where date palms hang heavy with fruit
and the sky is your only entertainment.

Here the water calls you
to remember the promises
etched on your inner skin,

where scriptures live as
tattoos on your heart.

And your fullness will overflow
as an oasis to others
who have traipsed through the desert;

just wishing to hurl all of the
doom and gloom into a pit
and longing to believe life

can be more simply lived.

So we remember ourselves into the moment
where time cannot drive eternity's pulse.

We go right back to the memories
of life without anything digital,
where nature suggests a rhythm for life
and we flow with it.

We know what we are supposed to be doing,
because we remember what it is to be.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Leanna Teneyoke

Masterpiece

You may tell yourself nice things
like: it's really not that bad,
grin and bear it.

You may tell yourself:
I'm fine.
Happiness is an inside job
and the sun will come up tomorrow.

And it's true.
The sun will rise
on mountains that share in her beauty.

Trees will keep in their cycles
of growth as they should.
Birds will fly, and sing.

Laughter is healing.

And it could be a lot worse.

When you rearrange
what life has dealt you with,

you create for yourself
a masterpiece of
abstract art.

And you don't have to explain anymore
or justify responses.

It is good to express the goodness
that has been kept for so long
on the inside of
unique and wonderful you.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Francoise Nielly

Open Up Our Dreams

What would it feel like
to run up a mountain and then
run back down again?

To tell about what it looks like from the top
and let others know, yes!
You can do it too.

To listen to the stories people
have to share
and pass on the wisdom we gain.

To put aside agendas
and imagine again what things could be like -
and live into those possibilities.

To wake up knowing
our feet can walk on water.

To know like a child knows,
that nothing is impossible.

We can open up our dreams,
and not give up for one moment.

We can accept only what is energised
through love
and see all lies lose capacity.

Only God can show us how
powerful we really are.
Only we can
believe it.

Jenneth Graser

#write31days
Day 31 Prompt - only

Photo credit unknown

Holy Disruption

A man with a halo of white hair
spoke about holy disruptions
on Sunday.

We were visiting the Lutheran congregation
in Cape Town, on Strand Street.

The Eurochor had come to sing
beautiful and hope-gracious praise,
and he spoke of the angels we meet
in the strangers we face.

We have grown in the vine.
We have had our withered branches
cut off.

We have felt a promise of fruitfulness
surge through with juicy sap
and learned to be grateful
for the things that have fallen away.

A holy disruption
is necessary.

It is good to be disrupted:
to have your feathers ruffled,
to be shaken up a bit,
to see things in a new way.

When you are hurled into the sky,
it is then that
you will find your wings.

Jenneth Graser

#write31days
Day 30 Prompt - cut

Photo credit unknown

Listen to the Eurochor