I've never found God in a church
But I think I've found Him sitting at the bottom
of a nice cup of tea.
I've never seen God in a temple
But I think I may have spied Him on a tree branch
while the goldfinches ate thistle from the feeder.
I've never felt peace while meditating
For my mind is too busy trying to be peaceful
But I've felt peace while watching raindrops
slide down my window.
I've never talked to God while praying
But when I move a turtle away from a busy road
Or squeeze through a door
so as not to disturb the day's work of a spider
Maybe He understands me.
But when I move a turtle away from a busy road
Or squeeze through a door
so as not to disturb the day's work of a spider
Maybe He understands me.
Am I somehow less to God
Because my religion has no name
And my church has no walls?
When I hear the barred owl call at dusk
I think I know God's voice.
When I witness the green striped caterpillar
emerge into the swallowtail butterfly
emerge into the swallowtail butterfly
I start to believe in the rebirth of the spirit.
When I listen to my child breath as she sleeps
And feel the warm body of my love near me at night
I know I am blessed.
When I hear the gentle snores of the dogs
And the chirps of the crickets
And the coffee as it drips into the pot
and waits, hot, for me in the morning
24 comments:
Wow.
thats a great poem.
good stuff. beautiful.
honest and creative,,
Thanks for sharing...
A++
This poem touches the depths of the soul.
How lovely!! I share your sentiment too, Lola... Religion is just a word/a name .. often abused...
The real act lies in appreciating everything around us... for without it, life would be so meaningless...
What a beautiful thought and poem, my friend!
Stunning piece. Peaceful, spiritual, intense yet relaxing... wonderful take on the prompt.
Interesting take of one of the theologians dilemmas. Read like very introspective musings on the subtle differences between religion and spirituality. Enjoyed reading your submission.
crb.
beautiful -- the poem and the honesty :)
Oh! How gentle. Soft rhythm. Ya, very nice.
I sat in a church yesterday,listening to Mary Oliver read Tecumseh and on the hard pews,with hymnals close at hand,I heard a sob somewhere.Even there,even there in the wasteland a trace of the divine remains.Lovely poem,savor and keep speaking of your blessings-especially the religion with no name.
I agree. Beautiful poem!
I sit quiet
to hear 'one voice'
then, all around me
speak at once.
Is this the voice?
Lolamouse, I believe our voices sing the same tune.
I believe..............I am a member of your church.
Wonderfully written and given to those of us that believe that your deeds echo louder than your words when they bounce off four walls.
:0)
Great title. Very nice. I completely agree with what you're saying here.
Wow! I awoke this morning to all these wonderful comments! I'm humbled that my poem touched a chord with so many of you. Thank you so much! Warm fuzzies to all!
-lolamouse
very beautiful.. I think there is God everywhere, but depends on how we see His presence.. thanks for sharing!
mine is here:
http://leonnyes.wordpress.com/2011/01/31/searching/
Brava, lolamouse.
True spirituality beautifully, lovingly articulated.
Very nice.
God is every where and surely within us...lovely poem
This is wonderful. I can relate. Nicely wrough poem and fine contribution to Potluck. Thank you! Hope you are enjoying your visits and visitors.
I think God is happy when She reads this :)
Your poem kept playing in my head,thought you might like to hear the echo,post as a comment-or not.
The walls are only privet
And there’s flotsam for a floor
The table ‘s a fallen tree trunk
And there isn’t any door.
Light through the leaves is windows
And bareheaded beneath the sky
I look with both shame and pride
Directly in god’s eye.
A hawk calls me to worship
He just cries one word “die”
His shadow passes over me
Perhaps the word was “try”.
Spiraling back again
Beneath the blue so high
The word I hear this time
Most surly it is “lie”.
At this my arms rise up
And from my throat breaks a cry
For in that circling shadowmaker
I perceive now my lover who did die.
She left me poems in her clear hand
Green ink that is long dry.
And spoke of how within my life
I would of our love lie.
The ways I would diminish
In my future wife’s eye
That fierce force that convulsed us both
As we did together fly.
And fight and tear most fiercely
With talons sharp to try
To tear out from each other
Some parts that would not die.
Those which we could not accept
In one with whom we would lie.
On Scottish hills and in Welsh towns
Our bliss blazed bright
Night after night.
But twas a passing thing we knew
For some thing was not right.
You penned the words we both knew deep
And they remain right here.
They tell of passion’s passing
Lies that were yet to be,
You knew they would be spoken
Both by you and me.
And wheeling high and keening
You tell again both what was and will be
And passion for you lives forever
As long as I am me.
Communion is crackers and beer
now the benediction’s near.
I’ll go and pass my seven days again
and hope to come back here.
That's beautiful and heartbreaking. Thanks so much for sharing!
This is incredibly beautiful, Lolamouse! I think we believe in the same God.
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