Now Here, Now There

Back and forth the interpretation
Of events vacillate
Now here, now there.

Now you are leaping from the stern
Of a great yacht into crystal seas
Receiving your hilarity.

Now you are on the verge of a cliff
Wondering how you got there,
Terrified.

Now you are with the birds swooping
Over rooftops, free to come, go
Alight.

Now you are carrying loaded
Baggage from one train platform to
Another, getting lost easily.

Then you are finding a map well worn
By other eager travellers, discerning
Wisdom appears as graffiti on the
Walls, unbidden.

Truth arises from the gutter,
Where ferns grow in earnest.

Up the side of half a mountain
With half a mountain to go.

The view will only look this way,
This moment,
From here, now.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Candice Swanepoel

This Dangerous Love

The ocean has risen from the
Boulders with fierce intention.

Grace can be disguised in power.

A surge of purpose can come with
Storms of re-direction.

Nothing is too large or too small
To be noticed, taken in, seen.

The arc of each wave has crested over
Our heads with just enough room to breathe.

The waves will greet the shores
Of every landmass the planet provides.

And we, we too will be met relentless
In ways we do not yet understand.

We will be baptised into what is different.
We will be humbled by love that reminds

But doesn't crush.

We will be safe in the presence of danger,
This dangerous love.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Clark Little

We will be Pilgrims

We traverse terrain
Cut out of the mountain
By the ones before us,
Who paid the sacrificial cost.

To harrow out a road
In the rock, with guts and sweat
Mixed with granite dust?
Trailing tears.

You may dream of another life,
But fresh perspective is only
Possible when willing
To fork off the trampled path.

We will do the pilgrim thing,
No, we will be
Pilgrims.

Keep my heart out of the stone
With the strength of Kilimanjaro
Rising.

Keep my mind out of the dirt,
But down to the earth
Rooted.

And my spirit, must be kept
Beyond all earthly things:
Keep it with your Spirit

Cumulonimbus soaring.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Matjaz Cater

Shamah Cloth

There is a child in soft folds of cloth.
She breathes in the fragrance
Of a billion prayers on the altar.

And there is a place for her there,
In the Shamah cloth, enfolded.

She feels the hand stroke her brow,
Ease the troubling thoughts
That alight like crows in the pine
Tree on the garden verge.

A restless bicker of caws
Is hard to silence.

She feels the greeting of a kiss like whispers
On her forehead,
Until every thought flies free.

The pine soughs in the wind
Of his breath on her face.

She can smell the resin he collected
In the night watch, ever wakeful.

She can see the intentions of his
Heart are for her ever good.

Folding deeper into softness of
The Shamah cloth, invitation
Is substance.

She grows into the gift of One who is,
One who is There.

Jenneth Graser

Photo credit unknown

What Hurts and what is Healing

I find myself open to sound,
Quiet on the morning's gift.

Dancing waves of Arabic rhythm
Syncopate with the formation of
Every letter on the page.

There is forgiveness to be released.
Myself reminded, our own treasures
Grow in the blessings we bestow, unmerited.

People wait today
For art to dip into their pain with something
To show how grateful adoration
Appeases loss.

People waiting as a gift between the
Holding walls of my abode.

The gift I capture with my hands
Open wide in thanks, to let each soar away
And settle on my shoulder
Of their own free choice.

I find myself a radiant blessing on the eye's
Reflection of the man who loves me so;
He does not need reminding that his bliss is mine
And mine is to be his, always.

I find myself open, and opening wider.
I find myself new and old, both new and old.

I find myself placed, inside the place
That feels just right for me to be for
Now, alongside what hurts and is healing,

Both: what hurts and what is healing.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Christian Schloe

Pearls in the dark

I am drawn to you looking at
Me from beyond the veil.
On wafts of incense and icon

Your instruments tell tales of
Other places, distant times,
Families.

Where to be all grown up
Looks altogether different.
On woven threads of colour,

Many feet dance as fabric swirls the air.
Prayers sigh from cliff to cliff
In flight between the mountains.

You discover God in the way
Your grandmother tells stories.
Firelight flickers a ritual between

The folds and wrinkles of her face.
You experience the presence of
God in the beating of your drum.

As you light each candle, the words
Fold from the scrolls, chanted.
All of your senses seek and discover

Pearls in the dark; you share so kindly.

Jenneth Graser

Jaisalmer India - photo credit unknown

Taking Some Risks

One of the most special experiences so far this year was when I joined a Poem-a-thon for the first time with Tiferet Journal in April.

Leaping into a writing adventure with fellow poets was such a growing and widening time.  I learnt so much and felt myself stretching to release each poem into the day, a response to each sensitively written prompt.  A poem a day for the whole month of April!

THIS HAS BEEN A YEAR OF TAKING SOME RISKS.

Secondly, the notion of joining a poetry competition was something only for "maybe one day when...".  But my husband encouraged me to go for it and just enter.  Not for the possible outcome, but for the pure pleasure of it.  So I found myself click "enter" as my poems found their way into a first ever poetry competition.

We have been leaving some old seasons behind.  With grateful thanks to God for the richness, growth and great learning curve of the last 7 years those seasons had to offer.

And now we are looking ahead with a, "What's next Pappa?"  And finding it's OK to not know.  To trust.  To embrace the present moment.  To take a leap into something new, and to take some risks.

What are the risks you are being invited to take?

It can be something small, so as to feel almost insignificant.  It can be something you've been wanting to do for a long time, but always felt maybe one day.  It can be something really big.  But you know what it means to you.  And when you step out into that fresh new experience, you know you are never going to be the same again.

Here is a link to my poetry on the Tiferet website: http://tiferetjournal.com/april-2016-poem-a-thon/poems-by-jenneth-graser-2016/
Please also take a look at the wonderful writing of fellow poets and friends I had the privilege to meet: http://tiferetjournal.com/april-2016-poem-a-thon/

My poem Convergence from the Poem-a-thon was published in the Tiferet Spring Journal 2016.  You can subscribe to the Tiferet Journal here: http://tiferetjournal.com/the-journal

Fall on the Snow

A woman once fell upon the snow,
Her heart asking the sky for answers.

The lake spread out in silence
As trees framed each question.

Every part of her surroundings
Accepted her, unconditional.

The sky watched her make angels
In the soft keeping snow.

The tops of the trees shushed her
With a lullaby of pine needles.

The path beside her feet
Asked nothing of her.

And the rock at her back
Kept vigil all the while.

There is a place in the deep woods
That will hold the memory of

The falling of a woman
On the snow.

Jenneth Graser

Cycles that Flow

Rain that falls on the inside of the skin
Hits the roof of the heart
With loud presence.

Gathers in the gutters,
Streams across the walls of flesh
Hitting hard.

Such rain may drive,
Drizzle, splatter, drip
Drench and shower.

The soul may not know
What to do with such a
Downpour.

It is best to allow the rain
To collect in pools of
Reflection.

And to not allow the pools
To dam up
In any way.

Once you have reached a sufficient
Level, you may form
Rivers.

You may flood even,
If you so choose;
Into any place.

It is through rainfall
Heading for the sea of
Eventual evaporation,

That you may once again
Precipitate your way
Into cycles that flow.

Jenneth Graser

Photograph - Hannes Kock, Florian Ortkrass and Briton Stuart Wood - The Rain Room

Misfits

Collect your tears from the face of the sky
Clouds do not refrain.

Be with the dew suspended on the leaf
Drip into the river waiting.

Sigh on the highest mountain breeze
Where it is difficult to breathe.

Open a gift with fingers tentative,
As though it is the only gift you may receive.

Grateful thanks may rise with greater thanks
When borne through the ashes.

Be with roots who remember the music of light
In dark places, go deeper.

Live with an egg in its stages,
On a nest of what is to come.

Be with composting fruit on the manure pile;
A steam of matter rises from loss.

Once you were content to smile at flowers -
Now you bury your nose into scent.

Once you were happy to watch from airport windows -
Now you have booked your flight.

Other travellers have made room for your beauty,
Misfits have joined hands in strange peace.

Jenneth Graser

Artist - Moki Mioke

For the Pilgrims

Delight in the barefoot grass between toes. 
Dare to be without shoes here, 
Where shoes are expected. 

Slowly the smiles will find their way 
Back to the place they belong. 

Peacefully lift your face into the stars - 
Go with the swirl of light 
Scattered across possibility. 

Every dream is striking the matchbox 
And lighting candles 
For the pilgrims. 

Too many dreams are embers on the path: 
See the ones who love, give soft breath 
Without expectation. 

Every dream glows 
Until the feeding of the fire 
Ignites the night. 

All things will once again 
Feel like they are bound to happen 
With grace. 

All things will once again feel 
Like they are 
Possible. 

Jenneth Graser

Painting "Ascension" J. Kirk Richards

Rest in the Centre of Things - Five Minute Friday

Under the river, the riverbed
Under the mountain, cavernous rooms.
Under my mind, my heart rests.

Beneath the roots, the water
Under the waterfall, the pool so deep.
Under the sea, great darkness in crevices.

Under my mind, my mouth, my speech
Observations of word and thought.
Under the boat, a rudder.

Beneath the hen, chicks are warmed
Under the feathers, the skin.
Below the clouds, the rain falls.

Beneath the surface of appearances
The reality abides -
Underneath the symptoms, the source.

Under the heart, the Godhead hides
At rest in the centre of things.

At rest in the centre of things.

Jenneth Graser

Adrift

On the cusp of the already
and the not as yet,
I am carried on gossamer silken
threads.

High into the thermals, seeds
made for being carried on winds
rise in circular navigation
and I go with it.

I feel gravitation as a memory
and thought as a possible stance,
but Spirit knows what is best
and so I acquiesce.

It has been a tremor
of fluctuating postulations
without getting to grips
with any formula.

A mystery must remain so
until, leaps across time
make conjunctions with reason.

Perhaps a year will take me
to the root of the great oak;
for now I am carried, hushed
across treetops.

For now I am touching base
with the uppermost leaves
at the soles of my feet
and drifting higher.

Then higher again.

Jenneth Graser

The Wonder of Normal Things

To listen to the breath of the wind
In every word of your being,
Where you wait for me
Alive to the outsideoftime
In the wonder of normal things:
This is what I want.

To be aware,
Notice the light through my petals
Unfold in the soft rain,
Be awake to the gift of now
Listen again and then hear:
This is what I want.

To slow into my breath
And find you there breathing,
Where the kingdom within
Is my friendship of Trinity
To be always and forever one:
This is what I have.

All of my wants become
A part of your wants,
As all of my time
Becomes a part of your time.

I am a child of the dreams you
scatter through the air
into the hearts of every dreamer,
planted.

Jenneth Graser

Tapestry

You feed me threads of colour woven
through the tapestry you have chosen

for my life, there have been choices proffered
and I may freely act on what's been offered.

What will happen if I feed the colour back
in the complete wrong direction, off track?

Scientifically deserted, mathematically absurd
to turn away from equations and the written word.

But I feel loved behind the tapestry, unseen
hands keep feeding colours, it certainly must mean

that there is not so much a right or wrong.
Rather I discover you send me what belongs

for moments such as these, when it comes to me
that my life is not determined by another history.

I must weave the colours given in the way that pleases
and find out for myself who you are to me, Jesus.

Jenneth Graser

Expectations - Five Minute Friday

What have I discovered along the way?
To have expectations
is a very natural inclination.
But to listen to the voices of each?

I'm choosing to dial down the clamour,
by tuning into the silence -

Of God's expectations.
I am not expected to be anything
other than me.

I find the greatness of love makes room
for surprises and a bended
fork in the road.

I find as I cause what I expect to whisper
away on the four winds,
I feel lighter and less
disappointed.

I feel open to something new about life,
about God, about me.

Let the things I expect:
not define me as much.

Let the ways of life:
be ways of wonder
and trust.

Jenneth Graser

Preparations for Eternity - in memory of Leaan

The day recorded on the calendar:
When realms meet at the point of death,
What do I wish for then?

People are the gift
Nothing else will carry through -
No ornament, or clutter kept
Or pendant, medal on the wall
No guilty stain, or shadow of regret.

Are words spoken in the libraries of time
Stored for future viewing?

Will I move into forever with a spirit that I grew
And watered, turned towards
The hands of my Great Gardener
For secret rendezvous of hearts combined?

Unfold each lesson from the offerings before me
As a gift from wisdom to be learnt and to be sung.

Build into the spirit, listen for the steps ahead.
Create beauty from the ashes
Allow the stars to touch my soul.

Hold the hands of my dear children,
Breathe into the space life makes
For those who set aside what does not matter.

Look carefully into the eyes of others,
Spend time with the people who are my treasure
Instead of money on what cannot last for long.

Get rid of what can't satisfy,
Be generous to the world at large.
Don't try to always understand what's going on.


Be one with my true self.
Embrace the unknown - mystery must do its work.
Turn over stones to see the smallness there.

Keep on peeling off the scales of all life throws
Massage oils of forgiveness into my heart
Dream and don't give up on dreaming,
Live in the senses of the now.

When it comes time to pass on through, this is what I wish for:
That eternity will not take me by surprise
If I make friends with it
This side.

Jenneth Graser

Sansui vintage Japanese scroll painting, Sage & Pine Tree Mountain

Dream Dancer

She has taken off the clothes
of borrowed dreams
and stepped into the wardrobe
of colour, texture, drop and line.

Gingerly, she reaches out
for gloves of new purpose
and dares to linger over
jewels, plentiful.

It is time to slip into
delicate intention,
to feel the fabric
fold onto her body warm.

She walks into a night
so close, heaven can be reached
by taking one deep breath.
Her eyes struggle to take
in beauty so extravagant.

She feels the rise
and fall of her garments
and begins to take the first
steps of dreamers dancing
under quilted nights of sequined stars.

She contemplates firework astronomy;
and makes for the road
of those who find their way.

She does not need to ask permission.

Jenneth Graser

Artwork - Christian Schloe

Ever Unknowing

I wish to have the fragrance of your face
Linger in-between me,

As if I walk through your garden every morning
As if I live with the feel of Heaven
On my creases.

I wish to be one flesh with your life
At ease with the knowing of you
As you draw me magnetic
To the ever knowing
Ever unknowing.

I am awake in the middle of the night
With longing.
It must be that I caught a glimpse
Of your eyes in the dark.

Will you be this close in the morning?

I will be your friend;
I will be here for you when the first bird sings.
I will dip my feet in your river
With the baptism of first light
As the dawn-rise of another world
Blushes the time of mine, with eternity.

It is only a short while...
A blink in the scheme of things.

It is only a short while
Until I breathe you in, until

I breathe you in.

J Graser

Painting - Daniel Ridgway Knight, Woman in a Garden

First Time Feeling - Five Minute Friday

The first time I took a breath in this world
The first time I opened my eyes to see your face

The first time I held an autumn leaf, turning colours as it whirled to the ground
The first time I held your hand

The first time I saw the mountains of snow
And the first time I fell to the snow and made an angel
All that happiness spread out under my body.

The first time I dreamed and woke up remembering what I dreamed about
The first time I baked in the kitchen with Mom and laughed in the flour drifting

The first time we moved over seas and started up a whole new life
The first time I felt my heart twist with my first disappointment
The first time I cried in the rain and let it soak me, through.

The first time I felt your presence touch me so deep I knew you were real
The first time I climbed up the mountain and the sunset colours
Poured over us in the waterfall of clouds, orange, pink, gold.

There is a first time for everything.
And when I woke up this morning, I had that kind of First Time Feeling
That everything that feels old and stale, is going to have a chance
To feel First Time
Again.