Until Limits Burst (Easter Sunday)

source

1.

You are full of learning, my friend,

you can absorb no more—that is,

to pull more in, your sides must give

or your seams must rupture—that is,

you stored and hoarded way beyond

capacity.  Without release,

first flaccidity, then rigor

mortis will set in.  And then—if

you’re lucky—your container will

relax into open channels

allowing knowledge flow to flush

away what is useless, restore

what is wise and ageless, and make

room for the new and evolving.

In short, my friend, rebirth is real

if we should choose the path of life.

Death is real, too, and we submit

when tired, defeated, completed,

or petrified into non-life.

But come with me to the sunrise

service and open your eyes to

what is possible if you choose

revolution, evolution,

resurrection—if you can choose

emptying and releasing, can

share in truth and power and love.

But if that is too many ANDS

for you, it is time to let go.

2.

Walking alone

in the dark, scared

until freedom

sinks in, and then

over the hill,

the silhouette

of city, in

blue by Van Gogh,

unfinished,

just a brush stroke.

The lumps ahead

turn out to be

four people close

on a blanket

sitting, kneeling,

watching the sky

become lighter,

welcoming Light.

Blink, rest your eyes

for a second

and sunrise has

advanced so far

you stay alert

and your borders

open to know

God does not die—

God lives deeper

than we ever go. 

When chill sets in

you stand to leave.

Three still lumps

in the distance

turn out to be

wild turkey who

let us join them.

3.

God never tires of gratitude.

oh, words may be tiring, but deeds?

Trees say thank you by growing wide

and tall, by stretching out to touch,

by being available and

obedient.  You laugh and call

them “women” but I say you’re wrong—

they are obedient to God,

not to you or to men or to

power.  They are the truth of strength,

they live into their nature and

in that way they are women free

and men free, too, child free, you, me.

Laugh without cruelty if you can,

my friend.  God never tires of joy.

Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry #349

(April is International Poetry Month.)

I started a 4th section that I lopped off because I thought it was too preachy:  

4.

You may think if 

you’re white or male

or wealthy or 

physically fit

you are exempt 

from the Soul death

of greedy people.  

You are not. 

Beware the rust and 

crust of knowing all,

beware damming 

up the rivers

that were meant to 

flow free, beware

ego that blinds, 

beware the cells

of privilege 

that bind and stop

you from serving 

others, beware

the mental blocks

that prevent Grace.

You can choose 

to grow like a tree,

you can open 

the dam to let

the river flow.  

You can let go.

My blog poems are rough drafts.   

Please respect my copyright. 

© 2017 Susan L. Chast

Taking a Look in that Mirror There

Denslow's Humpty Dumpty

When it became inconvenient to develop

symbiotic relationships with non-humans—

and human beings, too—minds in power devised

ways to divide us from the truth of our relations. 

Therein lies the tale of our two souls, caged and free:

One we believe is free to love and one that longs

to be so free.  One that forgets relationship

and one that needs above all else memory’s wings.

Do you hear laughter from the stands of trees? They mock

the irony of our dark fate, that we who have

the means to speak don’t know, and those who know can’t speak.

We are each other’s twin, the only healing salve.

And we create great hymns longing for unity,

and retell memories of our limitation

in pathos-filled plays that can provide catharsis

while half our souls still tries to get our attention.

Is this the old Pied Piper story that I tell?

Is our strength locked inside the mountain while we carve

the top?  Or is it Humpty Dumpty’s story when

he falls and kings must wait for commoners to serve?  

Therein lies the tale of our two souls, caged and free,

the irony of our shared fate, that we who need

to be whole can’t unite until we take back our

stories, until we enter them and refuse to bleed.

For Sumana's prompt 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Two Souls: Caged and Free

"You can cage the singer but not the song"--Harry Belafonte

(I've been trying to write this poem for two weeks!  It still is not quite the troubling truth I feel, but it's a beginning.)

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2016 Susan L. Chast