Flow

Leaves have trembled
across my field of vision,
the shadows too. Is it light or dark
or a combination?

I have grown to love the shadows.
I wouldn't have it any other way.

A leaf is only ready to drop
off the tree when new seasons
call.
And then there is nothing to be done
but fall,
accept.

The water can only flow
when the rains come.
Then the debris that has collected
at the mouth, will have no choice
but to be taken by the surge,
will have no choice
but to move
out of the way.

I am in love with rivers at this time of year.
You don't have to try in any way,
the water tells the story.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Jenneth Graser (Jubilee Creek, Knysna)

The Verge of Light

Winds of change have swirled the waters
into disarray.
Streams are flowing over the mountain hewn rock
into a time of change.

You have appeared to us in our dreams
through different guises.
You have been calling for a very long time
on the waters of disarray.

Everything is the same

and yet everything isn't.

The cross that drove the nails of our shame
into your hands must be looked at
before we can be on the threshold of wonder
at an empty tomb.

When we stand there on the brightness of angels
we will hear the words we have been so longing to hear.

We have made peace with the things that have haunted our days
and now we are ready for new things.

We hail you our Son, under the darkest part of the night,
on the verge of light coming.

Creation will awaken us with the news of resurrection.

King of all kings
Prince of Peace, all hail, all hail!
Bright Morning Star
Risen Lamb, all hail, all hail!

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Arthur Hughes

A Time of Resurrection

We have set aside our treasures
and unearthed the familiar
of your voice on the pages of the Gospels
to find you in the flesh as the Son of God.

Every parable seems written with a message
reserved for our ears
to hear.

We have turned off the bright lights
and walked out of consumer packages
promising so much contentment.

We have taken in so much information
and been led to so many sources,
but we are choosing silence.

We are choosing the source of all sources
and learning to forget some new-fangled ways,
so that we can rediscover our foundation.

So that we can see the faces
waiting for our eyes.

We have held your hand on the Via Dolorosa
and cried with you and asked to bear your cross.
And you have carried our tears with each heavy load
into a time of resurrection.

Jenneth Graser

The Prayer of Observation

In the morning of our contemplation

we watch for the pale sky

on nothing but a seamless now.

We lose ourselves in the prayers of observation

where hibiscus petals unfurl nectar havens

waiting for bees,

and every blade of grass is felt under our feet.

The early sun is drawing us higher

where spirits merge with yours.

Lying on our backs we feel the earth 

beneath,

but it is the sky drawing pictures of birds

whirling into breakfast,

it is the clouds with no hurry

that hold our attention.

And it is ourselves we find no longer jaded

created on a morning in Eden

so many years ago, breathed from clay

into life.

Jenneth Graser

The Love of the Godhead

The Trinity ever before me
The Blessed Trinity hand in hand
A perfect circle around me
Deep in the centre of love.

The Father around me
The Son around me
The Spirit around me
Three in One around me.

The Godhead at my back
A shield in my left hand
A sword in my right hand
The Mighty Three undergirding me.

Christ at my side, ever beside me
Spirit in my breath, ever inside me
Father at one with my living spirit.

The blessings of the Father on my head
The blessings of the Spirit on my spirit
The blessings of Christ on my heart, mind and soul.

The love of the Godhead on me
The mighty tide of love
Living water rushing through me
The mighty tide of love
The love of the Godhead on me.

Jenneth Graser
(In honour of St Patrick's Day)

Listen to Encircling by Iona

You Will Fill This Temple

You have drawn us out of the room into the house,
so that we may see with fresh eyes
what we have been storing.

We have opened the windows,
so that the freshness of air
may find its way into every place.

You have called to us through our devotions,
through the mystery of art and song,
we have listened for you in each scripture.

We have come to the throne of grace,
ever spacious and welcoming,
with the contents of our temple, offered.

We have invited your Spirit into every place
and have opened the realms of our mind
to your breath.

These are the days of Lent
and we have learned that it bears no fruit
to be too hard on ourselves.

So we have brought ourselves to you
in humble self reflection and glorious adoration
and you will fill this temple anew.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Gaby Stein

Listen to You're Gonna Be Okay by Jenn Johnson

The Turning of Lenten Days

Be closer to me now dear Lord,

than at any other time.

If I pour the oils of frankincense and myrrh 

over my heart,

and step into the water living,

I will hear the questions asked

for the turning of Lenten days.

What will you relinquish?

What will you receive?

Do we fast from unforgiveness

when we see your blood on the stones 

of the stations of the cross,

blood that has paid?

Lord, I have become a listener

to every question you may ask.

I do not watch from the sidelines,

but make myself available to you.

I do not know all of the answers, yes.

But it is enough to travel the road of Lent

side by side,

and listen to each other

as those in love do.

Jenneth Graser

Lean into the Prayer That Holds Us

Silent on the still ways of wandering,
hope in the new breath that comes.

Pressed into the moments that lie before us,
we are bearing no heavy burdens today.

There are things going on everywhere we look,
much ado about so much.

The lines on our brow are a textured map
of deep thoughts, measured.

We have lifted up our hands like autumn leaves.
We have turned golden, red, and brown
under the pressure of elements that keep coming.

We are letting the things we know, drift outwards,
we are allowing our spirit to be felt and sown.

There is a kingdom within you have said
and the children inherit.

Earthly treasure cannot come close in comparison
to what is already in the field.

Would we be willing to sell all things for
such a fine pearl?

We would be willing to come if we saw you
on the horizon, beckoning.

But you have called to us from within, not far off.

It is time to rest into the kingdom you have placed here.
It is time to find the compassion that grows.
It is time to lean into the prayer that holds us.

It is the right time for such things
to bear us into your inner court.

We are the treasure you have been
waiting for.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Petra

Listen to Beautiful Jesus by Melissa Helser

A Very New Time

My Dear

You are on the verge of a very new time
even though the mist is still thick on the fields.

As you notice the dew on leaves
and the fragrance of trodden earth,
I am there in the places you feel the most lack,
working.

My purposes are to build you up in the weakness
you face, especially in the places that feel impossible.
I am there, present.

In your heart's cry and needs, with your family and friends,
every relationship that bears down on your shoulders -
I am there, working.

You are on the verge of a very new time
and I have been restoring the history of your life.

In every small act of forgiveness, I am there.
You are not as far off as you feel,
in fact, the radiance of my face beholds you.

My love is as real as it was when you first knew me.

I am there,
I AM.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Benjamin Balazs  

Listen to Julie True- I Need You Lord, Meet Me Here

To Know You Again

We were walking alongside thunder
before the first drops thump the earth.

There was the smell of waiting for things to happen
thick on the air, heavy on a sigh of prayers.

We were remembering what it is to be present
to each other.

The first time we gave our life over,
read your holy words,
heard your voice in unexpected ways,
felt your touch from within...

There have been times of forgetfulness.

Tears have been stored for another time
when tears will be more convenient.

But you have called us into the storm
where the wind whips through our cavernous
longing for you to meet with us in new ways.

The lightning illuminates the profile of your face,
but there is no wisdom forthcoming, no vision
or dream in the night to explain all things.

Only your hand holding my hand
in such a way, that I know with a grip like yours
I'm going to be held like this forever.

Let us journey into the rain
and feel the old things melt away,
making way for me to know you again.

Jenneth Graser

Listen to Audrey Assad: I Wonder As I Wander/ How Can I Keep From Singing featuring Sarah Kroger

Your Breath on the Wind

You have beckoned us with no haste
to take off our shoes for what is holy.

We have felt the soil of compassion
between our toes squelching with readiness
for what must be planted.

Change has come to us on an olive branch
in the mouth of a dove,
when we finally opened the window.

The outer case of our old ways of doing
has peeled slowly into revelation.

All butterflies at first look bedraggled,
and messy lumps of wings take time.

Leaving the things we found comfortable
and predictable,
we wait for the colours of a broader spectrum.

But we also stopped searching for silver linings
when we learned to appreciate thunderstorm grey.

There were butterflies under the rain
coming up into the sky
and being taken
wherever the wind was going.

We forget to take control
when we see your breath on the wind.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - David Mark

Listen to Gravity - Jenn Johnson

Still Small Whispers

The simple things have grounded me with praise.

I was reminded to lift my eyes to the hills
when there were mountains
of everything out of my control.

After all where does the governance of matters reside
but between your shoulders resting.

We have tried to figure it all out.
We have tried to put two and two together.
But things have not been adding up
to our satisfaction.

Underneath are the arms that carry
the weight of all things heavy.

We have been carried from underneath
and lifted to the high places.

At rest between your shoulders
where Benjamin received his blessings.

We abide in the still small whispers.

Beloved I am your home
Come back to the sweet place of trust
In the last days the love of most will grow cold
But you will remember first love

You will remember first love.

Jenneth Graser

Listen to Looking For A Savior (feat. Will Reagan)

You Are Known Child

You are known Child.

Crunching the snow
where the frost bites your nose.

All of last night's falling, covers the mud-slush of
yesterday's mistakes.

You are loved Child.

Each day piled up into ice on the lake
where holes are dug by the fishermen searching for
a catch of comfort on bitter days.

You are remembered Child.

There is a lot of forget around
when too much information presses you into
too many invitations demanding your attention.

The snow will bring you back to your childself.

Your thoughts are noted Child.

Each of your prayers is a personal
relationship when boots are taken off around
a log fire cracking the room into warmth

and you thaw into simplicity
with everything that really matters.

Jenneth Graser

Photography David Mark

The Sound of Amen - this newly released collection of 100 poems for download at Noisetrade is birthed out of a one year pilgrimage with God through difficulty, loss, the end of seasons and the beginning of new things. Discover an adventure into the deep places of your listening heart.

The Sound of Forgiveness

What does forgiveness sound like?
When people's hearts are willing
to see each other with new eyes.
What does reconnection feel like?
Or a breaking down of walls?

A situation may feel lost,
but when we fall upon the cross
"It is finished" is what we hear.

Animosity - It is finished.
Despair, death - It is finished.
Separation - It is finished.
Judgement with no mercy - It is finished.

We do not need a list of laws
to motivate us.

Your gracious Spirit meets
us courageous
from every temptation Jesus suffered
and overcame.

We are met with "It is finished".

No more are we to live under
the yoke of guilt ploughing
through the soil of no going back.

We can turn around and face
every unmentionable
only because of these three words
:
It is finished.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Frank Becker

The Sound of Amen - this newly released collection of 100 poems for download at Noisetrade is birthed out of a one year pilgrimage with God through difficulty, loss, the end of seasons and the beginning of new things. Discover an adventure into the deep places of your listening heart.

Reach into the Side

Ashes strewn to the ocean
have returned to us as birds.

Notes are tied to these messengers
for the ones who have waited too long.

You felt forgotten amongst the heavy agenda
of Heaven's timetables.

Intercessions floating up to the throne
didn't seem to bear your particular fragrance.

But God has written down something for you
in his own hand.

Communion is once again opening
with lines that are clear.

You've been blessed with the
blessings of fumbling Thomas.

We too, have felt the doubt and the pain.

We too, can reach into the side of Christ
and come away with resurrections of faith

on wounds and scars, transformed.

Jenneth Graser

The Sound of Amen - this newly released collection of 100 poems for download at Noisetrade is birthed out of a one year pilgrimage with God through difficulty, loss, the end of seasons and the beginning of new things. Discover an adventure into the deep places of your listening heart. 

Crossing over Seasons

We have looked over the resolutions
of former years.

We have contemplated the possibility
of accomplishment.

Crossing over seasons, we hear a hum of bees
on the nectar of our dreams.

Every flower in the garden has potential
buds for the people,
each tree, potential fruit.

But what we try so hard to achieve
with our goals cannot reach you now.
It is into the heart you are seeking.

You ask me questions with your eyes
that only I can answer.
Time is sown into the areas we deem worthy.
What do you deem worthy?

What are we willing to set aside
to look with you into our hearts
and really see, as though for the first time?

We are willing to bravely look
with the courage your eyes impart.

We are willing to find the kingdom
you have placed within.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Myriams-Fotos

The Moment of Meeting

Is it enough to choose to step upon the waters
of the crystal sea encircling your throne?

Is it enough to present myself to you as I am,
and reach for your outstretched hands?

Yes, to look at you and feel the universe
pivot around the grace of encounter.

To feel everything else orbit about
your magnetic invitation.

To be swirled on your foundations
and find my restless thoughts swung into oblivion.

It is enough to be myself with you here
and yourself with me here, where eyes do the talking.

To feel the acceptance you always show me,
as I've strayed on the rims of truth.

I will find you on the sea of glass
in the breath of us waiting.

We will hold this moment of meeting
and abide, where the rest falls away.

Jenneth Graser

The Unknown Seas of a New Year

There is a wind blowing off the sea
urging clouds across thirsty mountains.
A sail has responded internally
setting course for the unknown seas of a new year.

The goaded feet of many travellers
have found the chains, broken,
the fetters smashed.

It was enough to be reminded
of waters from within the most Beautiful Man
that may be drawn to quench all thirst.

Amidst one Son, a countless variety
of pilgrims are voyaging, many sails aloft.

Inside, the breath of the Spirit sets the course
as we stand with wind in our faces
setting our sights on what fills the horizon.

The waves may veer us to the left or the right,
but we hear a voice directing
with true compass navigation.

As the elements swirl around us on this blustery fine day,
we know with a sure anchor
that when we come into harbour tonight
the driven strife will have blown away
and we will feel filled with open spaces
waiting to be travelled.

The map is in the hands of our Captain
and his weather-worn face assures us
that this harbour under the stars
is a place for now, to call home

until tomorrow we set sail again,
and we will be carried
by the four winds of the Spirit
into whatever's ahead.

All we need do is raise anchor,
and hoist the sails.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - A. D. Blake

I wish all of you a Very Blessed and Merry Christmas and Joyous New Year!  Thank you for being part of the journey at Prayers on the Wing this year.  It has been for me in many ways a poetry journal and process of some very transitional times in our lives.  I appreciate each one of you and pray every blessing over you and your families into the New Year.

~ Available from Secret Place Devotions: A Listening Reflection for New Year 2017

~ Did you know that Catching the Light is available for audiobook download? ~ Episode 1-10 and 11-20: scripture reading, gentle piano background music, a devotional reflection and poetry for contemplation: Audiobook Catching the Light Episode 11-20

I Will Find You Again

I come to you between the lines,
in the places no one else can see
where seeds lie dormant under snow
waiting through cracks in the pavement.

Here is where you are to be found -
where no one is looking,
I will find you.

When relationships lag behind
expectations that cannot be met,
when the longing for a rekindling
of connection leaves us feeling bereft -
It is here I meet you.

You make for me a home
where Advent light realigns
the needs of family and friends
both near and far -
I will see you.

When I miss the people
who are no longer a part of my life,
when the children wake up
on the excitement of long ago mornings,

and when I look forward to so much
it cannot be contained -
it is here
I will find you again.

Jenneth Graser

Gift of Wonder

In the fledgling of this day
a gift of wonder is waiting.

Where a branch meets the welcoming sky,
leaves break the brightening palette with green.

A bird not yet grown
shows newly adult feathers peeking through
the down in shimmers of emerald and red.

A curtaining of vine shadows lace the walls
and family faces look like strangers wanting to be known.

Every smile is not taken for granted
where laughter is medicine
and we open this precious gift
that costs us nothing.

We come upon it as grace,
while imagination flickers with picture upon picture
of how the world could be.

We find ourselves praying into dark places
with hopes that are longing for more.

Wonder promises us that miracles
are here to stay.

Through every impossible dark,
there is one ray of light to point the way.

So we pick up the fractured pieces
as Spirit somehow makes sense of it all
in the way only Spirit can,

beyond reasoning or understanding
peace combines with wonder
as healing melts through the sun.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Silvia Stödter

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

Resting Seat

There are many things that could be said,
many that could be done.

Mountains to climb, up to the very top,
lists of the bucket kind.

A feeling of to-do lingers at the fringes of the day
as we drop exhausted into bed.

And Lord you are calling us,
you are calling us still...

Come my Beloved,
into a time outside of time.

Come to the resting seat in the garden
of my habitation.

There are no nagging voices or things to be done.

Here, there is presence that guides
everything you do on earth.

Listen to my voice, put on the music, lay aside your rushing.

Move into the pace of ease where my Spirit speaks
strength into your frame.

And whatever you need to face,
we will do it together.

Jenneth Graser

"My lover is mine, and I am his.
Nightly he strolls in our garden,
Delighting in the flowers
until dawn breathes its light and night slips away."

Song of Songs 2:16 MSG

Photography - Jenneth Graser

Listen to Ruth Fazal - instrumental violin album - Songs from the River 2

Make Room for You

It is time to make room for you
to come in ways I have not known.

My heart has become eager for the stretch
of tent pegs and widening of stakes.

The pain of a good stretch will be worth it,
to receive the mystery of your voice in the shade.

I will meet with you in places unfamiliar
and break bread with you, and drink wine.

I will linger over your features
and we will be silent for awhile.

I may not feel like talking,
you may not feel like talking too.

But we will be with the love that grows
through all things hard in a breaking of ground.

We will stay and observe what may come
from such a union, where old love feels new.

As our hearts synchronise,
we hear the rhythm combined.

Jenneth Graser

Image credit unknown

Brother Lawrence's Kitchen

I fold back the sleeves of the day
into Brother Lawrence's kitchen.

The dusky light shines through motes
making a silhouette of this homely monk.

The hard work of food, cooking and dishes
happens without the use of the word busy.

I feel love through the pores of him breathing
and his eyes connected to fellow, self and God.

No ordering about and yet, everything has a place.
No rushing, and yet look, it is all done.

There is peace in each duty performed.
There is a divine connection in the work.

Lord, your presence is all around me as I do,
everything that has a need can be settled into
without the driven edge of stress.

Let us practice the presence of grace
and rest in the bosom of your love
where work is worship.

Jenneth Graser

Credit unknown - From a book published by Fleming Revell Co. in 1900

An audio reading of the book The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence:

Born out of time

On her death bed,
a woman transported on one of her final
breaths
to a time in her past.

Young as ever she did appear
and aware of what awaited her,
this window
into life as it had been lived
was given as a gift before she travelled through.

The moment chosen for her to relive
was on the blink of a mid-life
realisation
whilst snuggling her daughter during nightnight prayers.

She was with the little ones when they were so
small
and words rippled out of their mouths,
confounding them with sage-like wisdom.

"I love you with all the colours of my heart"
"Thank you that we are the praise of God"
"Your songs come into my mouth and my songs go into yours"

Fingers, each so like petals held
on,
as she leant into a beating heart.

Her daughter stroked her hair
as though she was the comforting mother
and the mother, her child.

And the revelation came: she could see herself as an old woman
looking back over time to this moment,
(a time often raced through to get to the next thing),

and she felt herself travel back to be here, be here now
and she knew that for the rest of her life she would
make every attempt to abandon herself to the call of love
by becoming more mindful
of living
in
the
present.

And then the woman found herself back in her bed
with the faces of those she loved around her.
A holding of hands, a kiss on a
breath
and she was born out of time into God.

Jenneth Graser

Photo credit unknown

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