Friday, November 11, 2016

The World's Voice

















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

You can hear it on some nights...the world's voice...wisdomed
yet also astonished, asking a question that is meant for us. "What
are you doing? This your life." Tonight is one of those nights.


(c) 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
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Tuesday, November 8, 2016

What is the World You Want to Wake Up To?
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


What is the world that you want to wake up to?
I want mine to be colorful and rich in texture.
I want to hear children laughing in the woods
as leaves crackle under the scamper of bare feet.
I want to sit in awe of the faces of people
who have grown old enough and wise enough
to wear their storylines.

I want to be able to sit on park benches with
my friends in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran
and so many other places
and hold them close,
to cry on their shoulders,
and to wipe their tears.

I want to hold food to my mouth and know that
it is nourishment for this, my body.
It is the only body that I have.

And it is my body. Of this I am certain.
And it is a most sacred temple, not a commodity
to be traded in the market places or
put to work in order to carry out
deeds that indefinitely burden the soul.

I want to be awakened at dawn by the voices of
tiny birds that traverse continents
and be wooed to sleep by streams and owls
and coyotes who are telling me that
they have nothing to fear of my kind.

I want to have faith that the young ones who
will be making decisions when I am weary and
wrinkled are well educated in the school of
worldly experience, and dearly love
this planet that is their inheritance.

I want to call you my Brother,
and you my Sister,
and have no doubt that you see me
as family irrespective of our
differences.

I want us to live together in wonderment
of this heart-cracking world,
not in terror of the skies or the oceans
or the earth beneath our feet because
we collectively betrayed our own Mother.

Sigh.

This is all I want.

This, and to wake up knowing that you
too have your eyes open enough

to go place your vote for the world
that you want to wake up to.



© 2012-2016/Jamie K. Reaser

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Sunday, November 6, 2016

Protect What Matters




















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

I want to live in a world in which people
protect what matters. The simple things.
The lovely things. Things that grow in our
hearts and feed our souls. We have it here
and now, the chance, that chance. It
won’t be here tomorrow. This won’t be
here tomorrow. Tell the children, or
step up, speak up, protect what matters.

This land is our land to reap and sow and tend.
Tenderness is how we become human, it’s our humanity.
Step up, speak up, protect what matters

Under skies, under rooves, stories get told and beliefs get made.
If we believe we are enough, we don’t need more than this.
Tell the children, or step up, speak up, protect what matters

Anything good is worth attentiveness.
Anything good is worth saying no for and yes to.
Step up, speak up, protect what matters.

Step up, speak up, protect what matters.

This place is maybe or maybe not, you decide.
This choice is a future in the making, make it well.
Tell the children, or step up, speak up, protect what matters.

I want to live in a world in which people
protect what matters. The simple things.
The lovely things. Things that grow in our
hearts and feed our souls. We have it here
and now, the chance, that chance. It
won’t be here tomorrow. This won’t be
here tomorrow. Tell the children, or
step up, speak up, protect what matters.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Wonderment: New and Selected Poems
To be published by Talking Waters Press

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Sunday, October 16, 2016

Mists in the Morning
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


How can we get so lost, banter
on and on about such frivolous things?
The mists lift every morning so that
we can see what is behind
the thick, heavy veils.
Sigh if you are sad. To grieve for what
is lost or broken is an act of attentiveness.
All I ask is that you don’t let them take
your soul. Remember this, please:
you inhabit more than
one world.

© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From “Wonderment: New and Selected Poems”
A work in progress

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Sunday, September 11, 2016

The Late Summer Day
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


I had many things planned for this precious life,
but I’ve since learned that planning is a binding,
a tether, a grip that, when taken up in earnest,
keeps us from freely roaming all of the grand
possibilities. Like old mountains, and cricketed
fields, and long, edgy shorelines.

Now, not knowing is my practice. It works okay.
On most days, and some nights. The dark-skied ones.

I think that mystery is the only medicine for the
wild soul that nags at the feet restlessly;
predictability and sameness pain its true nature.

This, I understand.

Summer is going somewhere, but not in any way
that we can imagine. I could tell you things:

A battered white moth will lose itself to
the chill surrounding a porch light.

The sunflowers will hang their heavy
finch-beaded heads until their bodies snap
and they lie there, welcoming the molds.

The bird voice that was your awakening for
four straight months is gone, but you will be
confounded as to why you overslept.

And, the bear, the bear cares about nothing
more than its belly. You’ll come around a
sharp curve in the trail and, startled by
form and scent, halt. The bear’s head is in
thick duff and acorns. You don’t matter.

Keep walking.

But that won’t be it. It will be something else
entirely; more bold and more subtle.

Yes.

I want the next day to be that for me.



(c) 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press

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Sunday, August 14, 2016

The Right Place
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


Some know what they want. Yes, maybe it is to be among the trees. Or, to be in a garden in some place where a garden is an act of defiance of something.

You advise: Try to find the right place for yourself.

But, I don’t think that’s it. I think we want to be found. I think we need to be found. That’s harder than finding, don’t you agree? To be found, you have to be still. You have to be vulnerable to something that wants you. It could be dangerous. You’re lucky if it is.

People are not alone, but they are lonely. The body has forgotten what it is made of. So has the spirit. I watched a meteor shower last night. I’m not going to go into the details, but that’s some of the stuff.

Here is a good place to be, especially when I take notice of the fact that I’m breathing and muster the gratitude for it. When was the last time you heard your breath? We were given ways of knowing that we are alive and well.

When I talk to the gods, they don’t say much. Why utter lies? I think they are well aware that we are not yet ready for the truth. It’s an interesting thought, that.

The experts say that when you are lost, you should just stay put. Sit. Wait. I haven’t been particularly good at waiting. Maybe that’s because, up until now, I hadn’t really realized what I was waiting for.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press

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Saturday, July 23, 2016

It Will Be in the Silence
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Sometimes you come upon a place that
beckons you into silence: an old stone bench,
a lake shore, a certain time in your life. Nothing
small can reside there.

I’m looking for that place now, the kind of place
that puts clocks to rest because something must
come forth to reset everything. I don’t want to
follow these rules and constructs anymore -
written, not written, felt.

Something is asking me not to, and it is wise.

Reason doesn’t have roots that run deep enough
to tap the place that I am longing for, that place
where obvious things cannot be explained. That
place that is called sacred even by those who
have never used the word before.

I want you to sit and wait with me, away from the
noise and the voices of those who speak only to rob
you of your name. What most needs to be heard
hasn’t yet been said.



(c) 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

Feel free to share