A Prayer for All Creatives

I have paced myself with the paces of exuberance

and littered the floor with scrumpled-up papers.

I’ve peeled myself like a ripe fruit

and shared the segments, squeezed out juices.

Of grace, I have wondered upon

and peered between the slats of your kingdom,

but  you have been to me closer than

what is cherished as close

and have shown me the kingdom within.

You have handed me brushes, and a palette of colours,

You have reached out to take my hand

and kept my hand in your hand.

You are not in a hurry

and wait to hear my voice as it stumbles

in wave upon wave on the tide of your shores.

You have handed me a pen, and some paper on a table

and you have shown me the garden, on the edge of attention.

We have breathed the same breath, under the pre-dawn light

and thought the same thoughts, trembling on what begins.

There are times when your face alone is enough for my heart,

because the words have lain down, and gone into hibernation.

And when this comes, I mustn’t fight it, but take it instead

as the most intimate of invitations.

I feel the turning of what must be borne,

as it grows and lurches deep down

And finds its first breath when we least expect it,

howling to come out and make itself known.

So untidy, we are not made for perfection,

but find our truest expression when we run into ourselves,

to find the Son there is rising.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Johannes Plenio Pexels

It is Time

There were blank canvasses in cupboards

Unwritten pages in many journals,

Oil paints in wrapping, as yet untouched.

There were books like notes

On staves, unread on shelves

And dancing shoes under the dust.

There were days of perfect sun

Light, making history on the water,

With an empty bench for the view.

There were jackets needing mending

And clutter building up

In the kitchen, pots, utensils.

There were many buttons in

Grandmother’s box, from the good old days.

Envelopes and stamps as yet unlicked, unsent.

There were photographs set on origami

Paper cranes, from which eyes

Observed the passage of time.

There were guitars in their cases

And a piano, needing tuning.

~

Take out the canvasses, dear

Today is a perfect day for painting.

Write your poetry and your gratitude

In a journal of your choosing.

Squish your oils on a palette –

Mess with colour, mix, ooze.

Take out a book that speaks

Of places yet unseen, turn pages.

Put on shoes for dancing

To the beat popping the air.

Slow into your time dear,

On the bench made for you,

To satiate your mind with all you care to see.

Take those old jackets down to charity,

The pots, utensils too.

Make mosaic button rainbows,

Write a letter in your leisure;

Then call up the tuner

And peel off the cases –

It is time to make music.

Jenneth Graser

Photography credit unknown

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

The Remembrance of Paint

The pages have long been

At rest between folders in drawers.

The watercolours parched as the Mojave.

Brushes have gathered dust

In the shadow of curtains.

The heart of the artist, asleep.

Wake up, Dear One, to colour 

In the music of life around you.

The differentiation of tone in one leaf,

The feathers of that bird caught up in nectar.

Pay attention again to the longings.

Wake up, oh Sleeper,

Rise into the remembrance of paint.

Make all things new for your easel,

It is time to begin again.

Jenneth Graser

#write31days 

Prompt Day 2 - Paint

Artist credit - unknown