Washed Whispers of the Sea
The wind dances barefoot
spreading warm fingers of pure light.
I smell the scent of heaven in
the robin eggshell sky as
love is released into horizon,
colors of turquoise and aqua
melded in symphony of sea.
Vanilla foam washes whispers in
warmth, radiating naked and pure,
waves cresting in pulsing heartbeat,
souls dancing in spirit of sunshine.
Emerald facets of sea kiss
cinnamon sand, washing it clean.
Sundrenched in sultry heat,
energy flows and captures darkness
in rhythm of oceanic daylight,
cradled by warm currents sighing.
Kaleidoscope of cascading clouds
reflects its joy in sea sparkles,
a gentle reminder of a pure beauty
that is wide open and free as
I am cottoned in arms of serenity.
Salt and tears
From the Point
Then I hear
the foghorn blow,
the billows roar,
and sense the
brave and true
upon the sea.
There is a
to the anger
of the ocean
and a brotherhood
in their devotion
to this element.
the weather frees
all but initiates
from this worship.
For good or bad
the sea is impartial
in a judgement
and weeping widows
in empty homes.
I am cured
of my disease
falls on better
men than me.
For I am done
and I may stay
neat and clean
with the girl
of my dreams
in the cottage
by the shore
and I need
sea no more.
I marvel at you with trembling tears.
You are scoffed at
You are called weakness,
unfashioned for this world.
A stumbling block to pragmatism.
We never looked you in the eye
yet we knew when you were near…
You were in our way!
If you ever spoke we missed it
For our ears were closed and our eyes shut
We would shout you down with venomous screams
We would raise our mirth ever louder
until nothing could be heard but the sound of our own laughter
and we mistook that for your death as you were nowhere to be seen.
But you had simply walked away.
Shaking your head.
And we danced on the ground where your tears had fallen.
And pummelled your memory into the dust
Then..., like a familiar but long forgotten scene, I saw you passing by...
I saw you and your light shone so brightly on my dimming grey heart -
and I could not breathe
I fell and wept
I fell and wept and wished and cried
and choked and pleaded
and cried and wished
that you would return.
Return and forgive
Return and give
Something even I could not darken.
So you returned
And I marvel at you with trembling tears.
For sure, the question is what's pure.
Untainted? Untouched? Demure?
Does one bathe in bath salts tinged with gold?
Or refrain in the cloister of the fold?
Deny one's passions for divine approval?
Object, refute to deem perusal?
Purity is honest, the unscathed truth,
The blemished and shameful,
The frivolities of youth.
The swathe of the hateful,
A community of whines,
A lathe of grime,
All the time.
To bask in the glow of critical eyes,
To relive the fire of former thighs,
To connect the past with future why's,
To distract them all with present lives.
What's pure, to be sure, is nothing more,
Than the name you're fighting for,
The soul only you know so well,
Your horrible heaven, your perfect hell.
The Lost Purity
She wore a white dress. It was tattered and soiled. She had just climbed through a sagging barbed wire fence and it snagged on her tiny ankle. The wound was red and gaping. She cried, but there was no comfort to be found.
I started digging through my backpack, looking for a bandage, a wipe.
It wasn’t enough. There wasn’t a wipe or bandage in the world that could fix what was wrong with this picture.
She lived in a rag-picking slum. Her home was an open, dirt floor, cloth shanty with a tin roof held in place by rocks.
I’ve never experienced hopelessness that says, “You have no value. This is your lot in life. It’s the best you can expect.”
Untouchable. Uninvited. Worthless.
Her culture might tell her she’s untouchable, She is not uninvited. She is not untouchable. She is not worthless. She has purity.
We can’t do it alone, but together we can reach across barriers and cultures and join hands to make a difference.
This little girl is created in His image. The sparrows are unseen and unvalued by most. Yet God sees them, and He sees her purity.
Amid soiled walls
stitched and knotted haphazardly
built on thread columns and beams
swaying in the cold breeze
that blows from the silent river at night
On sheets of carton
laid on the colder floor
stained with mud and footprints
coated in the thickest dust
that sails the skies by day
Clad in thin shreds of rags
tainted with the purest blood,
there lay like moonlight
the most innocent face, the smoothest skin
the coldest in the night.
A child's laughter,
Like a water balloon,
Bubbly and lively,
A small little flower,
On a mountain top,
For the day
The sun will shine
A measly caterpillar,
Dragging its feet,
Despised or ignored,
That one day
It will spread its wings
As a beautiful butterfly.
Purity resembling the color white,
Clean and unblemished like virginal snow.
Where innocence and decency unite,
Captivating with a hypnotic glow.
Blissfully flawless and unpolluted,
Radiating blinding saturation.
Wholesomely honest and undiluted,
Surviving free from adulteration.
Exquisitely and impeccably chaste,
Bestowing subliminal affection.
Immune from animosity displaced,
Occupying transcendent perfection.
Sovereign safety from myriad woes,
Undamaged by hate from they who oppose.
A foundation of integrity grows from the heart
Untampered, untouched & morally clean.
No blemish or stain may the eyes of God, have seen.
Let no more dirty or harmful substances taint the empirical virtue, but let it be washed over the white soul to renew & eschew
Continue in the pledge of servitude that is towards any & all
Hold the spiritual belief, for it is
The purity of your faith that attends to those who fall.
Ten years old
virginal but early puberty
sitting on the toilet at school
reading the instructions
to insert her first tampon
a thought flashed
if this would ruin her purity
she puts the cardboard tube in a place
she doesn't know and pushes the cotton wad up dry.