Archive for the ‘Contemplation’ Category

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Bear Care

With all the turmoil
in the news each morn,
I turn to a bear
who doesn’t care.

Many in Europe
now lean to the right,
North Korea may do
blah, blah, blah,
lots in DC are falling
from great heights,

but I turn to a silly bear
who doesn’t care.

Every morning
I check the zoo cam
to find my panda friend
leading his life,
trotting about
and climbing there,

thankfully,
I can turn to this bear
who doesn’t care.

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Fragrance

sweet tart orange—
tinges of this taste
embed a fragrance

the old mock orange
vines over a fence
in gentle greeting

 

At old house in Lombard, IL

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Because

Because of what happened
this garden is my refuge,
this silence amongst purple coleus
trailing inquisitive vinca vines.

I hear not one opinion
uttered from the plants,
just their perky faces toward morning light,
their spines straight with innocence
and disregard for my life,

or possibly standing tall
to demonstrate graceful endurance.
Only their lives matter—being God’s
earthly ambassadors, holding
no one accountable for silliness.

Even the overgrown fern
showers delight from its crowded
nest of green fronds,
drooping, bowing to reality.

Time, I say.
Time they tell me is needed
for strides of growth. Time and rain—
rain from dark clouds pouring
into patient soil, rearing
the pointed caladium leaves of fiery red
and starlight of white impatiens’ flowers.

My Patio in August

My Patio in August

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Still Living

I will be alive
when I am dead,
did you know that?
I will not be still
like a hard stone,
but breathing
as roses do,
as robins do,
as the heart
of mountains
which change
and move,
as the mycelium
of mushrooms
under the soil,
unseen, ignored,
sprouting up
at a moment’s notice.

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Dark Moaning

And now December
After changing the clock
This deep gray sky
This dark moaning day
This cold wind and threat

From which will come
the light
From which will come
the music
From which will come
the hope

Posted December 16, 2012 by perettipoems in Contemplation, POEMS & ART COPYRIGHTED, Poetry, Spiritual

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When the Tree Comes Down

On New Year’s Day
or some day later,
reluctant to move on in time,
we clutter the room with empty boxes —

those marked with black felt-tip pens,
crooked letters scrawled to label:
“shiny bells”, “twinkle stars”,
“golden garlands”, “silvery icicles” —
hesitant to pack away the glitter

of this brief respite:
The Holy Christmas Time,
now forced to face
thin naked trees across blank skies,
gray days to come,
oursleves.

Posted December 13, 2011 by perettipoems in Contemplation

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Taking Merton’s Path

This moving away
from the world,
this moving inside
somewhere near
the center, to hold onto
God
is one way,
but avoidance,

then one day
in the clatter
of the world
God enters in,
tells me She is in
my heart — the quiet
which has been
growing there is God,

the One who takes
me by the hand
into the tumult,
to be there without
noise, without distress,
with new compassion.