10 January 2018

Poem About Being in My Body


Heart-1.jpg by Plismo

When I decided I’d written enough about
my body, I already had old waffle skin,
a loosely wrapped and scarred birthday suit I loved
but rarely showed—
even swimming fully clothed.

Jaws in action are my favorite body parts;
and mine I still jut out, determined as a rock
someone can stand upon. Yours, I love to watch talk
and chew unlocked,
so confident, unblocked.

Hands are my second favorite for expression.
Yours dance as you speak, shaping ideas in the air,
while I hide my chewed, bleeding and clenched fingers,
fists buried deep
in pockets of secrets I keep.

I’m oddly shy about the best, what I replay
from days of hands and jaws setting our souls on fire
inside our skin through moist caress, our love leading
to unity
that still provides immunity.

It’s this power that bids me sit today and write,
bent small and wrinkled at my keyboard window seat:
We carry knowledge, body-borne, that our lifespan
is merely part
of the great purpose of the heart.

For Sumana's prompt

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Poetry about the Body

My blog poems are rough drafts. 

Please respect my copyright. 

© 2018 Susan L. Chast

08 January 2018

Words That Came During Worship, Revised

Image result for Green Street Meeting

At Green Street Meeting                    

I know how to appear at prayer.
Today, today, I pray to go
beyond “seem” to the center.

My own center has rocks of grief 
not yet ground to their inner jewels.
Today, today I pray to go 

beyond rock to the gem. I’ve been 
here before.  I’ve visited the
apparatus in the body.

I check in.  I address each limb 
and organ “Have you welcomed God 
today?”  Whatever God is, it 

works me body and soul.  It knows 
my buttons better than I do.
My triggers and I say “So What?”

“Keep going, please, beneath these, please~
go beyond these to where all is 
empowered, to where I am a 

"Citizen of the Universe ~
starry and fiery, hot and cold."
Clay, flesh and breath is shaped in this

Tiny package for a purpose
by design, nothing is wasted.
I seem now to be writing, but 

This is an illusion.  Hear this 
prayer today, today: Show us 
our places and take us there.

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright. 

© 2018 Susan L. Chast

03 January 2018

Opening to the Living

Rooms by the Sea, 1951 by Edward Hopper
Rooms by the Sea, 1951 by Edward Hopper

Which door will we open wide so
humans will reveal their faces?
Simple doorways are all we need
to imagine better places.

The lucky ones, those not locked in,
are leaning out the doorways now
gathering cloud and clay and life
to build what we don’t know how.

Recipes, patterns and blueprints
won't help us.  Our senses tell us
“Lean further than ever before,
and trust in your inner voices.”

What will we find?  What will we make?
We know little before we start.
But, O, the freedom is thrilling!
It freshens and reshapes our hearts.

For my Prompt Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Doorways

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright. 

© 2018 Susan L. Chast

31 December 2017

New Year’s Eve 2018

December's Full Cold Supermoon as seen at sea in the Atlantic. (WTOP/Greg Redfern)

Whether you meet in sun today
or meet at Midnight's moonlit hour, 
let spirit light your holy circle
and music carry your words’ succor.

As years spin by too fast for breath,
as you grow young to test the tide:
Perform like half your age, forget
both growth and erosion of time.

I speak to me, as well, you know
(who most days play too safe for magic’s
flow), to recall how falling is like
rising, how age can be aglow.

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright. 

© 2017 Susan L. Chast

19 December 2017

Finding Heaven on Earth

"Amy Flower" by Susan 

We long for heaven with faith, hope and love*
and find it often here on earth—oh, yes!
In faith, we open to divine being.
In hope, we lean in to let go. In love,
we dedicate our hands and mouths and all.
Such flowers we are, drawing from the source
to root and grow and bloom. This is God’s work.

But when it’s hard for us to use the word
God, we know instead a steady glowing light
in darkness and a source of water in
the desert and food in natural things:
To root and grow and bloom is close enough
to having faith and hope and love to be
equivalent—oh, yes!  We are alive. 

Inspired by Fr. Richard Rohr's Meditation "Returning to Union"
Tuesday, December 19, 2017

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright. 

© 2017 Susan L. Chast

17 December 2017

The Speck In Our Eyes

File:The American Museum journal (c1900-(1918)) (17537527214).jpg

. . . but she doesn’t even attend . . .
To the wide sky through the windshield?
To trees turning, children tossing balls,
flattened plastic bottles curbside,
prescriptions for the grandmother,
New Year’s tips for mailman, trash cans,
dead buds on rose bushes, street signs,
matches, veteran on crutches, your
words, a small inner voice, her god?

. . . but he doesn’t worship . . .  Our
robes, rings, churches, money, God?
Who he loves and what he reads? 
In community and sacred spaces?
     Maybe he hears words in the wind,
     in traffic, inside.  Perhaps he sings
     his psalms alone, savoring sounds
     falling off lips into cheek cavities,
     living rooms and oceans.

. . . but they don’t practice what we . . . 
What we tell them?  Babel,  hic et nunc!  
God speaks and at once all hear
in their own tongues as promised. What
would you say in any tongue for any ear?
What was your earliest experience of the divine? 
What is your image of God?  What 
daily food sustains your faith?
What call do you hear and follow?

  A revision of "Faith" from 2012

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright. 

© 2017 Susan L. Chast