Aim for the simple
hidden acts of love
which keep time ticking
like tiny golden gears
in the pocket-watch of the stars.
Reach for the ordinary goodness
that rarely makes the news
but forms the loamy ground on which we walk.
Paths our ancestors wore in the living of their days
now yield to our imprint, gently propelling us
out of the gravity of singularity
to leap beyond ourselves and see that I am
because they were and we are.
Take the unassuming
tossed by the wind across the parking lot
holding the list written in your hand
bread, eggs, fruit, mustard
driving the bus, behind the counter,
leaning over the patient.Care little for pithy memes and what is trending now
or the preening of curated selves
in your reflection on the screens.
It is you in that old ratty sweater
to lean down and put on your shoes,
pouring milk on your cereal
praying for your children
whom I am trusting in and living for.
The woman in the red hat
waiting at the corner for the light to change
waves back when I wave.
For a moment, an eternity,
the struck flame of connection
crackles between us
tugs us from our separate cells,
uniting to say
we are one here on this corner
and indeed, we are made of miracles.
communion is served on a corner near you
eucharist pours from heaven
runs down the street
children jump in the puddles -
maybe you do too.
Thank you for this realistic, down to earth, hopeful poem!
Thank you for this realistic, down-to-earth poem, filled with hope and gratitude for the signs of love and life all around.
Thank you. Surprising and resonant imagery brought delight and a deeper thought.
Thanks, Ken. I hope you are still writing. Peace
I am writing. Family stories and a monthly blog for Presbyterians Today online called “Sightings.” It’s fun to find an apt word or phrase and make something on the page.
I love this so very much. Thank you for capturing the holy in the ordinary.
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Thank you! Peace to you.