I miss them.
I miss them all.
The years have flung them about,
Scattered them to the four winds
With little care,
And less a say.
My friends, not here,
But there,
And everywhere.
So hard to hold,
Though near, in heart,
But, oh, so very far apart.
So very dear!
I want them,
Here.
copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Awash on shores of errant heart,
Crystalline soldiers wend their depart.The battle o’er, the mend begun,
Hovering Spirit break forth thy sun.You tugged as moon on ebbing tide,
To etch and burrow as to chide,But than as swells of billowed lace,
You left a smile of radiant grace.To purge my soul of sorrow’s trough,
You gently rain to Spirit offThe crust and brine of life’s past sin,
and let your troves of laughter in.Providence of wind and wave
Serve but to resurrect and save.©2010 Joann Nelander
It’s time once again for Sunday Snippets. We are Catholic bloggers sharing weekly our best posts with one another. Join us to read and/or contribute. To participate, go to your blog and create a post titled Sunday Snippets–A Catholic Carnival. Make sure that the post links back to here, and leave a link to your snippets post on our host, RAnn’s, site, This, That and the Other Thing.
It seems…
I am always talking to You,
That I am always with You,
And have no doubt
You are with me,
Listening and silent.
I am an endless monologue.
You, hovering Spirit,
Wordlessly eloquent
Abide.
You are Presence and Truth,
Listening and silent,
Thunderously silent,
Save for the stirring of my heart,
And the sometime rush of thought,
Coming, as it were,
From the bowels of my being
With frightening conviction,
And challenging my reticence
To speak aloud
The thoughts of solitude.
Reluctant always
To go about,
And leave the cloister of my heart,
Where in Your chambers I find,
And hold dear,
Private audience with the King,
The world without is a noisy charade,
And woos the pride of me take center stage.
Where suddenly I realize
I have been talking much, too much,
To my regret.
I, naggingly, suspect
I have diminished
What was my treasure
And ceased to learn.
Cacophany of me,
I cease to learn,
And simply rearrange,
That with which I am familiar.
Where do prophet, poet and a would be recluse
Find voice if not in You,
Rejecting even audience
To find You in my silence,
Your silence.
©2012 Joann Nelander
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What are you saying, dear Lord?
You Who speak with Your poor creature.
Give voice to Your desire.
Place Your lips to my ear.
How do You speak?
Will I hear a voice?
See a vision?
Feel Your stirrings in my soul?
Will there be thunder as on Sinai
Or the breeze of Carmel?
Can I see in my blindness?
Hear, despite ears that have inclined to foreign gods?
Barnacles of perversion weigh on me.
Encrustations of sin hamper my ascent.
Give me feathers,
And wings of desire,
That I might rise, weightless and free,
Drawn by Your Love for me,
As music on the Wind of Your Spirit.
©2011 Joann Nelander
Be Holy! 