Jenny's Poetry
--by Jenny --
Truly, You come from the north as golden splendor,
A gentle arc of sunlight,
Dappled shadow through the trees.
And this, the quiet simplicity of Your message,
You say:
"Be still and know I am God".
How rich this knowledge, hidden deep,
The levels of it ever-emerging,
You, Creator and God Almighty
Have inscribed me on the palms of Your hands.
What can be uttered to speak this thing?
My eloquence ever fails me,
Dimming in the brilliant Light of You.
And if language were as liquid
Flowing freely from my soul
Surely the words could not contain
The meaning of my love for You.
SOLOMON'S GARDEN
For years he has let himself into the garden
Slipped over the wall under cover of night,
Plunged his fingers into the deep, dark earth,
Planting and tending, toiling and trimming,
Giving life and courage to every tender shoot.
She hasn't known how he has sung to the petals,
Giving them reason to open to him.
She has only known that at daybreak
Her garden seems far more beautiful,
Stirring in her the longing to open the gate
And let someone share its depth
And the deep green peace beyond its walls.
How richly amazing that the one who has tended it all along
Will finally be invited in,
Never whispering a word about his silent handiwork.
But, oh how the petals will leap with joy
At the sight of the gardener's gentle hands!
How full of sweetness will her garden be,
Singing a chorus of color and wonder,
Of love long nourished,
Tested and given room to grow,
Abiding in the shadow of a most wonderful Grace.
WHITE FUNERAL
You ask this death
The leaving behind
Complete and deliberate
A funeral dressed in white.
So I will braid my hair
Tie the ribbons in rows just so
Alabaster candle's glow
to light the way
Oh, I will walk this path,
Stand at the graveside smiling,
Place the first measure of earth
on the casket with my own hands.
I will marry You today,
The wedding at a funeral
Dressed in white.
WITH YOU
Oh, the smell of rain
Gentle patter rising and falling like waves,
Cool, wet earth releasing its perfume to the wind
And up to my window
Across my face and through my hair
As so many fingers
Finding themselves in the long reddish strands.
Time alone with You.
Your creation renewing itself outside,
You have sent the soft rain wisely
To feed and to restore.
It's like a gentle dance among the leaves,
Drop upon drop shaking their frail frames
As they descend.
Down, down and all around
The sweet, sweet rhythm of the rain.
I remember that I write more
Always when I am closest to You,
Scribbling away in wonder of all that You are.
You inspire the song of my fingers
Light my brain on fire,
Fill me with love and passion and hope.
I will sit on the swing now
Drinking in the rain
And the song of the earth and rustling leaves
Reveling in this wonderful moment alone
With You.
AS THE SON
I am a flower opening
Finding its petals
Turning its face to the warmth above.
(perhaps for the first time, yes)
perhaps for the first time in truth.
And I have become unafraid
Of the part of You that opens and closes me
For I know now that it must be.
This delicate dance of pain and release
Of binding and letting go
Will not shake me anymore.
I have decided to turn my petals,
I have let my colors bloom and shine in radiance
Look fully on them,
Leaves of violent green unfurled
They have decided to love You,
To love you as the Son.
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
--George Eliot--
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