“Conversation”

nicolerookbuttercups

Me-to-God:

Where shall I look for reassurance of your love?
Every cloud in the sky is of your design;
the moon and stars flew hither on your breath,
the sun a molecule of fire from your throne –
yet none of them bear a fingerprint.
Not one of them is marked by bumps and grooves
and curls of tender caress.
The sun and the angels both are pure light;
the heavenly beings and bodies all glow,
but none of them are of dust and of air,
none of them are of earthy, gritty stuff –
of breath, blood and sweat – You care
for us, the dusty, weather-worn and small,
not glorious, but placed in rank near all
the wonders, angels, gods of life and light;
You’ve crowned us with your glory in your sight.

God-to-Me:

I will not promise you an easy life,
I will not shield you from all pain,
but woe to those who delight
in your suffering.
Their gleaming joy I will swiftly trample;
with a mighty roar I will storm their boasts.
My face is ever turned toward you –
tear for tear, I match your weeping.
I will be angry, fiercely angry
at the joy of your oppressors,
for how dare they pierce your heart
and laugh with glee!
Though I have yet allowed your trials
it is crucifixion to me;
you are my loved one, loved so dearly,
and I promise: you will be free.

The Inspiration:
Psalm 7:6-8 – “Arise, O Lord, in your anger; rise up against the rage of my enemies. Awake, my God; decree justice. Let the assembled peoples gather around you. Rule over them from on high; let the Lord judge the peoples. Judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness, according to my integrity, O Most High.”
Psalm 8:3-5 – “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place; what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? You have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.”

Written Oct. 2014, Emma Dumitra.
Photo credit: Nicole Rook. 

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“Violet Spring”

motleynews.net
You are
a hurtling violet comet in full bloom;
a stillborn flower, furiously alive.

You have
never swayed to stronger than a breath,
yet are beautiful
as love as strong as death.

You rise above
the sprawling, leafy canopy,
yet from the ground
are barely one foot high.

You are
a breathless veil,
a captivated spring inside circumference,
not bound by the pot that holds you
as you leap from earth to sky.

Written October 2011, Emma Dumitra.
Image from motleynews.net.

“The Old Young Pear Tree”

peartree

Look yonder as some husky tree
with woven mossy beard and many jools
asunder by the empty brook
a nest of hollows in its roots prepares.

And there
with emeralds beclothed, and leaves,
the old young pear tree sighs
as empty water wind
and breathless breeze
hen-feathers ruffle, beckoning to skies.

Look yonder where the branches bow and sway
o’erhead the nest in folded disarray;
a treasured egg laid by its mother’s feet
come spring shall turn to leafy dome –
its children bud
and tow’rds the heavens roam.

Written April 2012, Emma Dumitra.
Image from www.treepicturesonline.com.

“Unbreakable as Anything”

#NicoleUnbreakable

I fear
that we are as unbreakable as anything,
that we only find
a fragile strength in our stillborn sky,
that the mountains
are violent sleepers.

The speckled indigo heavens sigh
upon my fear.
Your tender eyes and rainy smile
unbreakable as anything.

I fear
that if we’re about to die
the sesame seeds become meaningless;
that memories exist
simply for the taking.
But You are not
as anything.

Inspired by Psalm 121.
Written July 2012, Emma Dumitra.
Photo credit Nicole Rook.

“Twin Tornadoes”

twintornadoes

Twin tornadoes
you and I;
we love, we fight,
we’re undefined.

Each wagon wheel
a face of time.
Each pauper rich
in poverty.

A train of thoughts
to chase the wind,
to trail the line
as track goes by.

We love, we fight,
as spins the hour.
Where do tornadoes
get their power?

Each dawning day
an open plain
for stormy calm
to blow again.

Written August 2012, Emma Dumitra.
Image from bvilleweatherman.deviantart.com.

 

“Potholes and Paper Cuts”

stevewheenpothole

The world I held today
was like a snow globe in my hands,
confined by naught
but frigid glass
and my imagination.

I saw between red cheeks
a window to the world as it is:
the goodness my fantasies neglect,
the good bad that is really here
and the bad good we pretend.

Maybe it’s okay
that the world is as it is
with its potholes and paper cuts.
Maybe the lines on our fingers
become a maze with an end,
when your fingers cling to mine
and mine to yours.

Written March 2012, Emma Dumitra.
Image from urbanghostsmedia.com. A pothole garden by Steve Wheen.

“Susanna’s Sailing Poem”

(Photo credit: Nat Nahirney)

Flying high, but not on air; oh tilting world.
Skies are fair as the sun is hauled into the skies,
as someone’s dream gravity defies.

Would that I was on carefree seas,
where all my woes flew with the breeze.

Through wave and wind my boat would go,
and sail and leave my cares below.

Wish I had you to sail with me,
then never would I leave the sea.

Written February 2012, Emma Dumitra.