Unquenchable, I sally forth in song
Unbreakable, I shatter into view.
Unmakeable, I plop onto the wheel
Unanchored now, I give myself to You.
Come down, come close, come change this mottled clay
Into the Living Woman that I am.
Take every barb and barrier stinging sharp
And give Your song, that bright celestial jam
Let Heaven flow into my tattered soul
Let earth be rent and give up all my dead.
I rise remade, renewed from sorrow’s bed
Your daughter, touched, delivered, and made Whole.
Look. Past appearance, past hair and smell
and braying wheezing dischord as my soul
Strives to sing.
I am HERE!
Singing, dancing and waiting.
I groan and ache.
Who I am is not here,
Who knew that emptiness,
null could be so
concrete, so staunch,
so unyielding and
sternly hard?
My absence is a pit that breaks my teeth.
PULL ME OUT OF MYSELF ALIVE!
Let me live, be.
Please? Deliver me.
God grant me grace,
chance to let the knife
Cut away the bray
and set my heartsong free.
She spins,
drawing down and deep
from her most secret treasure.
She carries with her silk,
gossamer strands and strategy
and patiently she makes
from who she is inside…
her one and only option.
And need. Her One Desire.
She gets life, sustenance,
exists for transformation
and creation
of her web of life.
And I watch, fascinated
by her patience,
her diligent patience,
her perseverance.
Mama, teach me
to take the traumas,
desires, longings,
emptinesses, hurts, wounds,
deposits and experiences,
Teach me to yield
and let this whirling
confusion become spinning,
and spinning out of who I am,
that I might spin a web
to catch Your Sacred blessings
and life.
I walk slow on a
road that bears leaves in mountains
on the peaks of spring.
#1
rain-filled ruts reflect
an apple-red summer sky
that highlights brown hills.
in the wind my skin
revels amidst bitter-sweet
echoes of that day.
wind, you will have a
terrible time smothering
my soft clarity.
#2
in fog a tree steps
back graceful, allows passage
shedding misty skin.
light fall of the moon
gently caresses the tree
and subtracts some dark.
silver sliver slides
through dark blue breaths of still night
on a cricket’s song
#3
voices of snowmen
call the white-haired children home
then melt in their mouths.
beggar’s withered hand
stretched out inert, silent as
if already dead.
The old ones, bookends
whose bodies encrust their lives
find peace yet again.
#4
a good poem somehow
makes what’s true a little more
DISTURBING/PROFOUND.
melting candles drip
with hidden light most precious
a grain-growth of gold
Poem within the poem
Grace inhabits this body–
Image finds its Source.
#5
I love you, but it’s
not the finish, not the end
but the beginning.
flow’ring thru silk sleeves
are come memories of all
the moments of life.
You say “I love you”
a sound so tender that the
dead could even hear!
#6
I raise my hands high
to have them remember you
they trace you in air.
together they sway
like a small boat on a lake
hull snuggling waves
there is no rainfall
no wind’s taste nor full moon’s touch
soft enough for you.
#7: Final Call
Come. Walk beside me
Heads held high we’ll sing into
the difficult dark.
River meets river
They meld, one to another
our beings, the streams
We journey slow, on
a long road that leads to a
Final, Always-Dawn.
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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