Together is a better way to travel

I am open to become,
the petals of my soul are responsive.

I will walk one step at a time
when the road calls for gentle progress.

Yes, I will put one foot in front
of the other, when the road is dim.

I am prepared to be wrong
and discover something I didn't know
about you or me.

Together is a better way to travel.

I am becoming, a field of many
flowers, instead of one particular bloom.

The fragrance is best when untampered
by human hands

and left to seed, carrying the memory
of the first flowers that showed up
on the rolling hills of Eden.

The ancient varieties don't always look
as well put together,
but their imperfection
is what makes them so lovely.

We will enjoy our own uniqueness
and will come upon a deeper sense
of you and me.

When we learn to move, at a quiet pace
until it is time to leap courageous.

Time ages our long ago plans
and we come upon a slow discovery
of everything new that is growing between us,
beautiful.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Nathan Jefferis Unsplash

A Blessing for Writers

I bless you with the major rivers of the earth
to run through your veins,
the Ganges, Yangtze, Mississippi.

I bless you with the flow of great waters
upon your inspiration.

I bless all of your latent ideas to materialise
from out of your DNA.

I bless the story abiding deep within
the cracks of the moment,
to be discovered, your hand on paper.

I bless you with a deluge rushing
in to fill your Okavango
and for wandering pilgrims to fall into
the oasis of your words.

I bless your voice to be heard from
the utmost heights of Mt Everest, Annapurna, Kilimanjaro.

I bless you with a blank page, a pen in your grip,
taken by the current of your dreams,
realising your own personal power,

disappointment swept away by the
mighty resilience of you, coming to life
in this place, being born upon a time and season

that has been waiting so long
to receive this epiphany:

your words arterial
channelling from out of your soul
straight into a sea of hearts,

torrential.

Jenneth Graser

Pixabay

Mercy Seat

Heaven opens above our heads
on the shouts of all who throw stones.

If we could suspend the moment
and partner with the cries of Stephen,

we too would be able to see
the Lamb of God on the mercy seat.

And the scales would fall away
from all of our eyes,

the stones would drop and knees,
the knees would bow.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Mike's Photos Pexels

A Blessing for One Who Has Nothing Left to Give

There is a blessing poured upon the head
of one who has nothing left to give.

The blessing from above the heights
oozes over the hair,

cascade-drips over the face,
the forehead glistens with it.

What is given to the one who has nothing,
who stands with empty heart, empty hands, empty voice

is a blessing of more than what can be given
to one who stands with hands
grandly occupied.

And when the one who is bereft of kindness
stands under the heights of kindness lavished,

the blessing drenches, slowly gives of itself
generous.

The anointed one drips
with the blessing given to the one who has nothing
left to give,

who has come to stand in the gift and
has learned to receive the gift

that turns all of those nothings
into something
that can begin
again.

Jenneth Graser

Photograph David Hofmann Unsplash

A Psalm of Broken Praise

Lord you have made yourself
to be my rearguard.

Your angels assign themselves
as ministers to all
who call on your name.

And I say, thank you
and the gratitude spills plenteous.

I have broken open my heart
as a vial of perfume.

I have poured the inner oil
over your feet beautiful.

I am coming through what fractures
into a greater praise.

I am entering by the gate narrow
to find a garden expanding on my sight.

I will put on shoes of the news that is good
and walk it holy into the ground

where healing herbs are bruised, the fragrance seeps,
and we are loved as we are.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Wang Xi Unsplash

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

Waking Up

I find you under crushed weeds lining the path
of our morning rambles.

Someone got here first and strew them out of the way,
pulled up by the roots.

How many things are you pulling up by the root
to reveal the turned over loam in us?

The sun briskly challenges the mountain,
which cannot hold back the pure poured-out light

generously misting the dew amongst reeds,
all standing like champions and witnesses.

I am being attended by the chorus of rooster,
a playful enterprise of birds so unafraid.

My prayers tumble out of my mouth
into the cracks of the valley, exposing lies for lies,
truth for truth.

We can walk here and stop being fearful of
what could be lurking in every unknown future.

We can run here and feel what it is to
have the blood surge through our muscles,

reminding us that we are a body too,
a temple called into the holy of a body-made prayer.

First thing in the morning, when the sun is bursting
at its seams with enthusiasm and there is

so much breath puffing out like clouds
all over the trails, and the day is waking, waking,
waking up all over the place.

I am waking up too.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Ban Yido Unsplash

An Archaeology of Time and Secrets

We fled the hungry streets
To find solace in upturned faces,
The eyes always speak what the mouth cannot.

The pedestal, such a lonely place
And craving for what can never fill,
The heart expands into precipitation and rain.

We are peeling the layers of earth
To dig up an archaeology of time and secrets,
Gently we brush away soil from each bone.

We have found inside of us a voice
Interlinked with the wisdom of generations,
A whisper is all it takes for these bones to rise once again.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Dane Deaner Unsplash

Join the Poetry as Therapy online Retreat - it's easy, just enter your email into the sign up form at www.secretplacedevotion.weebly.com and you will receive an email a day for 21 days in the comfort of your own home 1-21 June this year.

There Go I

Where the ones who search for precious metals
in the seams of the earth go, there go I.

The ones who leap off the edge of earth
to fly as flying foxes, at one with risk, there go I.

Those who dive below the corals under
nourishment of sun to delve for treasure obscure,
there go I with them.

To navigate the passages of hospitals to hold the hand
of one who has already been wept dry, there go I.

To look death in the face and show no fear
because fear has been exposed, can hide no more
I go there too.

Where the ones go who said, I will never
and who say, On the other side, that was not so bad,
after all, I could, I did.
There I wish to be willing to go.

The ones who left the verge of reason
and reasonable request to take a chance for the Beloved,

The ones who plundered darkness convinced
there must be something greater there than dark,

The ones who defied gravity in the face of all
fingers pointing, voices doubting

To find themselves much more than only human,
there I wish to be willing to go.

There I wish to say, I could, I did.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Jarin Bontrager Unsplash

Join the Poetry as Therapy free online Retreat 1 - 21 June 2018

Reach Forward

Lord, you have carried me behind the mountain
to speak what only I can hear.

It is necessary to reach forward by hiding
in your shadow.

You have settled me in the hollow of the earth
so that the soles of my feet may remember.

You have searched me for what, I do not know
but I have said to you, please, come.

There were knocks on the door I could not recognise.
You appeared as a stranger and I would not let you in.

Come to me in a way I can comprehend
and I will open every door in my house to you.

I want to learn the languages of your speech,
so that I do not need a translator.

I want to embed myself in the rumble of your voice
and my spirit will receive what my mind can't understand.

You are willing to surprise me out of my old skin
so that I may fall upon the ground at your feet

And find my true form, made before light
touched the first horizon.

Jenneth Graser

Join the 21 Day Poetry as Therapy Online Retreat 1 - 21 June 2018 by clicking here.

The Silent Place - a prayer

I pray to be lifted in beauty,
to see the cool bright day before me
and take in the music of garden,
the distant murmur of the sea.

To remember the stars above my head
whenever I waken
and the moon slowly turning
around the planet turning too.

To remember the continents afloat
and the sands over the mountain
at the beck and call of waves.

To enjoy each breath I am afforded
and to smile more than I have, to smile in the eyes.

To smell the freshness of time in the morning
instead of feeling chased all my life.

To learn the meaning of rest in a given moment
and to give back generously.

I am seeking to throw off this old skin that
hinders movement.

May I be born all over again
and see everything for the first time?

May I be able to appreciate the
glorious life I've been offered?

May I take your hands and be led
in peace and quiet even though there
is a noise, a chaos all around me.

Let me be in the silent place
of knowing I am loved.

Amen.

Jenneth Graser

Photography - Bethany Legg Unsplash

Halfway to the Other Side

We have shifted sideways
where shadows lengthen the lawn
and we have parted with grieving.

The pathways through the garden
have been to us a maze of high hedges
manicured to perfection and yet,
too high to see over.

A cul-de-sac appears around every corner
and we have persevered so as to navigate
ourselves into other dead-ends.

A hole in the hedge reveals
a window through which to peer
and there is the house we have been
searching for.

A river runs under the house
and cools the feet after so long a walk.
Every room is lined with books
where words are threaded into the
quilt of lives lived halfway to the other side.

The trees still speak to us, as always.
But we have asked the gardener to kindly
open more doorways for us.
He told me, they have been there all along.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Thomas Gearty

A Mother Has a Mountain Inside of Her

A mother has a mountain inside of her,
but her head is above the clouds.

She must be prepared to feel the
rivers run from a collection of rain
into the sea at her feet.

A woman stretches out her clenched fist
to feel a sunbird in the pool of her hand, bathe
and then fly off.

It is important to know
when to hold onto the dirt and the root
and when to cleanse your hands in the fountain.

Birds swoop from her soul into her heart,
catching insects on summer days softened by rain.

Love is here beating upon her.

She has only to observe the threshold of her womb
to know how much love
has passed through her body.

She is a threshold of many doors
and will let the feelings find a way on
through.

Wind must usher forth the rest of it
with seeds finding a place to grow,
carrying only the burdens away.

The sky clears with high clouds cirrus
speaking of everything hopeful.

Inside of her is a place no noise can reach.

She is floating on a sea of courage
bearing her aloft.

Under water a whole world is thriving unseen,
but such seekers of silence dive into it
and come up themselves reborn,

ready for dry land once again.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Victor Carvalho Unsplash

Relinquish the Words

You may be walking into a forest

and smelling everything -

the cones crushed underfoot,

the sap rising.

You may be navigating stones

on the shore of countless waves.

You may be learning to re-love

your own heart again

and making time for a line of birds

on the mid-point of the horizon.

You may be wondering whatever 

happened to the grace of first wonder?

You may be checking yourself

for holes in your pockets.

But your body is surrounded by trees and water,

your mind is bowing down

and your spirit is in tune with all wings.

You may be wondering what you are doing

here after all these years?

You may be pausing to observe the hour.

Waves thrust your toes deep into sand

and you stumble upon the sky speaking

your language.

You are being birthed upon yourself

and learning to relinquish the words

for the meaning,

while feathers drift out of the sun

and settle at your feet.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Aaron Burden Unsplash

A Psalm of Noticing

Lord you are the author of the green leaf
and the turning of its colour.

You lay me down in the grasses
to take in the zest of the earth.

Contemplation is among us now
in the living of quiet things.

The brilliant shiny blue shell of a beetle
with contrasting orange body, whirs out of confinement.

Lord, you are my teacher from creation
leading me on paths worn well.

You also invite me on the upward ways
not many are inclined to take.

Noticing the blessings I see in nature
trains me to become more aware within.

Not everything has beauty, but once you touch
these things with your hands, it all gains perspective.

Lord, you are my abiding Person of mystery
and my greatest friend of all description.

You are always a place to come home to
and at the same time, my pilgrim adventure.

Amen.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Micah Hallahan Unsplash

Silence Beckons to Us First Thing

Silence beckons to us first thing,
ascending in the pre-dawn mist
on the call of animals
that can sense day is coming.

We wait until we feel the invitation
to approach first light
with the prayers we have kept for the earth.

We drift each benediction into sky,
out of reach of gravity.

Our prayers spread out over the
circumnavigating planet
and enfold the people waiting
for answers from the firmament.

Our prayers swirl out of the Milky Way
and head on through stars into heavenly realms,
as incense carried through angel's feathers
and inhaled into God's very nostrils.

Each star pales and then we cannot see the stars
anymore, but that doesn't mean they are not there.

We come upon the sun as our planet turns
by degree into the movements of a day.

The moon hugs the earth with swivelled bliss,
and lingers over the horizon.

Our souls reach far beyond the confines of our bodies
into the places banquet feasts are thrown
for the ones that have gone ahead.

Spirit mentions each of us by name
in a language meant for the time
Babel crumbles into dust and we are able
to look at each other, and finally understand.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Fernando Pereira Unsplash

We Have Found a Good Home

Our hands lay palms upon knees
and we have rested.

Breath upon breath
and we have listened.

Hope leads to greater hope
and we have moved quietly.

It all comes to us gradually
that we belong.

We have searched
until we realise we are found.

We knock
and the door opens wide.

We have stopped looking
for meaning elsewhere.

We have found a good home
here.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Arno Smit

Stories of Trees

birch, elm, maple

trees have grown

across the continents of my life

eucalyptus, cedar, pine

transplanted sometimes

into new gardens

oak, poplar, succulent

resin oozes as
rings in the trunk tell time

wild cherry, mulberry, plum

roots silently delve,

while some trees die

weeping willow

many leaves in colder climes
turn colour and fall

but our deciduous branches

start to bud mid-winter

jacaranda, avocado, yellowwood 

and there are always saplings

in the undergrowth

Jenneth Graser

Photography Rob Mulally Unsplash

A Psalm of Holy Invitation

Lord you are my refuge of long ages past.
I run into your strength.

Only you are the one who is able
to search me out for enemies within.

You blow through the rooms of my inward home,
as I open the windows for your Spirit
to see me in my entirety.

You rout out my inner darkness.
You expose my foes and reveal each scheme.

You are able to bring my turmoil
into peace that goes beyond all my striving efforts
to achieve peace.

It is only in your righteousness that I can rest.
I will offer the gifts of my gratitude.

I will sing over the last touches of night
that are broken with the first bird's kiss.

I will sing over the morning thanks
that rises with the sun from my back
and warms my every inclination into praise.

Your holiness is an invitation
and the pure in heart will see God.

When you ripped the curtain of deep separation,
you cleansed my heart at once.

I will see your face everywhere,
when I look.

Amen.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Natalie Collins Unsplash

Where Hearts Make Gardens

You have said, Let not haste be upon you
for I've gone ahead and I've got your back.

It is the herald who will run
with the revelation.

Waiting
will make room for living.

Longing
will make room for belonging.

There has been only a whisper of wisdom
to go on.

But a whisper is what called Elijah
to the mouth of the cave.

And each breath is what carries us
from day to day.

We will not wait for the eventuality of Heaven
or for all of our dreams to come true,
only to lose sight of the door.

Because Heaven has already been planted
where hearts make gardens.

And all it takes is for us to turn the key
and we're there.

Jenneth Graser

Photography by Benjamin Combs Unsplash