Peace Is

yellow pollen

Peace is pollen, miniscule seed

That roots in mindful soil; it breeds

Where thoughts are harboured, captured by

A mind that chooses what supply

To water, weed, and tend with care,

And which to deny access there.

After thoughts which harm are routed

Peaceful seeds can then be sprouted;

Global gardens introspected

Are the places peace perfected.

Peace begins within – before hatred can grow and germinate, it must be thought, considered, ingested into the soul. As our hearts move toward those in Paris and Beirut who have suffered at the hands of hatred, I must ask – How does your garden grow?

Her Balcony

Romeo balcony

She ordered Romeo from

her balcony of happy

endings; what came in the mail

dried dreams to dust, delivered

disillusionment stillborn.

Seeking life in the garden

below reduced love to mere

snake in the grass; unnumbered

shattered crescent moons, galling

tear-stained timekeepers, kept pace

with waning confidence, while

wounds slowly faded, shadows

on the dial. When once she

lifted her head, above thorns

and crafty serpents, True Love

waited there, on silvery

wings. Inhaling sweeter air

gave new dreams fresh purpose; her

songs, sung not from empty purse

but full heart, hold the power

to stir even paradise

lost. From her balcony she

commands nothing, but receives

what the moon delivers as

a legacy wrapped in love.

An Invitation

garden view

 

Step into my garden,

Linger in the lane;

Wrap yourself in rosemary,

Scent yourself with sage.

Rosebuds beckon, daisies nod,

Treetops lend their shade;

Peace awaits the wanderer

Whose heart is sorrow-swayed.

 

 

You Call My Name

deadnettlelight.jpg

You call my name in the garden,

in tones of purest sunshine.

I hear,

and come out of my tomb,

my ears cradled

in the radiance

of this voice

that can wake the

dead.

*

Spotted Deadnettle in bloom

For a devotional on this topic, visit Growing With God in My Garden