Monday, May 30, 2016

The Trees Speak
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


Those who can hear the trees speak have never
had a thought of loneliness. What they know
is joy, and something of grief.

Trees tell amazing stories. Stories told by
generations of trees. They pass them along.
Wherever it is you stand now, there is a tree
that knows the story of that place.

How do I know these things?

I’m crazy enough to ask. That’s all that
this delightful world requires of us:


to be crazy enough.


(c) 2016-2019/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press 

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Sunday, May 15, 2016

The Blue Iris




















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


But, what if it is the blue iris?
What if that is all we need to speak
to God, or the gods, or some other
form of the sacred?

I try to pay attention. I piece words together.
This is prayer, yes. But, more so, it is ceremony.
I want to hear another voice. I want a reply.
I want to know that I’m not alone and that
all of this matters.

May I put it in a vase?  May I decorate my home
with it? It is beautiful.

Could I be worthy of something
that I love?



~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author
Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"

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Sunday, May 8, 2016

My Mother Was




















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


My mother was the purple iris,
sometimes a peony, but never
the carnation. My mother was
red lipstick and a big, bright smile
that sometimes lied about how
much she loved her life. She counted
her burdens and could recite them
with ease, but she said that you
could make things better with a bag
of peanut M&Ms. Green ones, especially.
You don’t forget, not all of it.

But when you bury someone
in a blue ceramic jar
near the old boxwoods
and walk away,
things start to become
hard to remember.

I don’t know the meaning of life.
But, maybe, it is simply to take notice.



© 2016-2018/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press

Feel free to share