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Where Glory Comes From

7 Oct

deep in the forest where eyes don’t see
moss grows out of logs
life out of death

entire civilizations of insects
go about their day
leaves live full lives
floating downward
onto glass lakes

and I’ll never stop trying
to give them voices,

the white foam of water
singing recklessly

an ancient song of
where glory comes from
and I’ll never stop attempting
to sing it back
in full translation

so we all can hear
and know how birds stay at peace
what flowers are trying to say
and where the turtles sleep in the sun

 

 

words and images copyright 2011 Brooke Gale Luby

God Writes

27 Sep

God writes
what looks like chickens scratch
and I see them pecking in the dirt
around a hospital far away from
sterile America
where I will meet a skeleton surrounded by flies
soaking in his own urine
and light around his eyes and mouth
as he will tell me how blessed he is because
Jesus is real
and that will change my story
at seventeen
I will split open and begin to die
to small town dreams and boys with nothing
but beer on their breath and vacant promises
to love me for all my flaws
and I will see I can embrace the whole world
when God writes
scrawling messy cursive notes
bounding off pages
describing and becoming
gardens and glistening cities
itineraries and poetry
not to-do lists like I used to think,
or red marks of graded homework
“Good effort. C +”
and I will  find myself, the novel’s protagonist
written onto a cliff
on the edge of the world
purple light fading shadows on train tracks
as the world awakes and my inner dialogue
wonders how life can be this beautiful
when God writes
finger-painting streaks of turquoise across
bare white mental walls
a mischievous child’s decor
a graffiti artist proclaiming truth
“You are Loved”
God writes

Ten Senses

19 Sep

I’ve been given a new set of senses
whether I use them or not is up to me

a willow tree’s skirt sways in the breeze
beyond where I sit, toes brushing a green carpet

could this be the longing we’ve all been
slowly dying over?

to see all that we have,

this abundant world
a kingdom in our backyard
royalty behind each face

possibilities of pure magic in dull tired traces
of endless tilling and toiling
planting with no show of growth

could this be the sign we’ve all been
constructing from gutted homes to see?

a chaotic cacophony of sound
and color bleeds together
where light and shadows meet

aging paths etched from the corner of eyes
blazing with glory and grace

could this be the daunting desire
that overcomes and suffocates?

until you realize new lungs have been implanted
flowering out songs from each breath

a dazzling finish to seventy years lived
with ten senses

Importance is not Grandeur

6 Sep

“It soon became clear that I was not so much preparing for an important experience, as I was having one.”

- Wendell Berry

 

it’s important to walk on grass with bare feet
important to smell sweet magnolia blossoms
important to spend time talking
long conversations uninterrupted
it’s important to sit here writing my thoughts

because it what keeps me sane
reminds me I am whole
lets me know that this is all worth it
this living thing I do every day
this creating thing
immersing myself in the story
in art
in expression

it’s important because it’s who I am
because no one else thinks like I do
because so many feel alone
because so many want to be free

it’s important to eat slowly
to savor food I make with my own hands
it’s important to forgive quickly
to be thankful for every little thing
yet always dreaming for more
for bigger, for wider

It’s important to discover
to celebrate small things
to know life is slipping away so fast
surely I can be patient for just one more
year. month. day.

It’s important to love myself
and yet not take myself too seriously
to not forget the faces, the voices
to not forget the suffering

yet to know the world is wide and beautiful
that light dances off every blade of grass
it’s important to know that everything is a miracle
when I am reminded of this I know
why I am here:
to somehow use my few weak words to remind others
to say,

“Do you see this life? Do you see this world? Do you see the wonder all around us, inside of us, all over us? Do you SEE?”

I don’t write these things because I always see
often my eyes are closed and it is darkness
it is despair, it is emptiness
it is broken dreams
it is searing pain that sits in front of me
the holds me so I can’t breathe the right way

then, through the dark
through the selfishness, the disillusionment
I’ll see that subtle ray of light
a reflection, bouncing

I’ll see the green, the blue
and in it, I’ll see the hope
I’ll quickly begin to unroll these thoughts
in order to hold on to it
In order to remind myself, and remind the world
there is good left after all
in order to sing a song, slightly off pitch, voice raspy, cracking
on how grace surrounds us

On how redemption really is here
And we begin to see
This is how we see
how important this is

In Your Head

26 Aug

life and death are strung between the choices
words, touch, feelings, what he’s fighting for
he’s teeming with possibility:
whether world domination or world peace,
he’s anything but a pacifist
neutral is no ground to camp on
give him rocks or water
destruction lies in the hands that make art
in his speech
he can pull together or tear apart
strength pours into weapons of mass chaos
or lifting up the weak ones
passion rings with love or hate
living inside greed or gifts
balance is a place to fall
with no circus net to catch him
all of heaven and hell live between his ears
today, he choices one

Art Is Home

23 Jul

notes build like bricks
to create structures to be filled
with souls who find home there

words mix like swirling colors in paint cans
making drab and old weathered browns
new blush reds
and starry-eyed blues

we live inside art because we need to know
our slight hope of excruciating beauty
really means something

that this doesn’t have to fade with childhood
this belief fireflies glow because they need to
light up the black
that willow trees push their way through thick layers
because they have to see the sun

and we’ll know the best thing to fill time and rooms with
is hysterical laughter
and songs that walk through walls

we live inside creativity because
if we don’t see newness
in each morning
we cave into death

we know if we begin to think it’s all been done before
we may as well cripple our legs our gouge out our eyes

so we swing wide the front door
ignoring locks and alarms systems
we let our hearts become a canvas
and our minds a sketch pad
we allow words written across our limbs

and then we know

we live inside beauty because
we need to know beauty lives inside us

1 am and I need to be reminded who I am

24 Jun

I am the girl who never let gravity get in the way

but I am still afraid to fly

I am not bound by the illusion of time and space

yet I find myself grounded in my own mind

I am the girl who dances with gypsys

who walks barefoot alone, empty pockets and complete satisfaction

only to find myself paralyzed with what a non-existent audience thinks

only to want more and more people and things to drown out the screams in my head

I am the girl who goes to the places I see in my dreams

I see miracles in a leaf

I see what others claim don’t exist

I am tuned into the frequency of another realm

I can’t help but see hope in dark places

but sometimes I allow the darkness to overtake me and the world to feel dead and ordinary

Yet, I am the girl that understands that to let go is to live

to love is to have a broken heart

to capture beauty is the best reason to exist

I am the girl that feels enormous mountains and crashing waves

who carries races and nations in my words and in my tears

I need to move and cry and fall apart and feel alive

because I am

this girl has crossed broken bridges and mended broken hearts

and seen things that have left me breathless and hopeless

and wanting to scream and punch walls and rebuild them

I take things too seriously and laugh at mistakes and danger

if  all this isn’t an adventure, then what is the point?

this girl has overcome silence and spoken

played the peacemaker and advocate

heard music in the white noise and saw secrets in the shadows

I can’t help but wonder

I can’t help but try to express

I am the girl that can’t help but see meaning

Both a War Ballad and Lullaby

28 May

Drops of water jump from heaven
singing as they hit every object below
They each play their own tune
melding into a odd orchestra
bringing sky and earth together
connecting atmosphere with underground
and I, stuck watching,waiting
in this in between place
listen
and hear the lyrics, clearly:

this is a place of darkness, light
love and fear
where all comes together
and falls apart
a place of mystery and common knowledge
frailty and resilience
a place to see with your tired mind
jaded and broken and bored
or  like a child
with wonder, majesty, beauty,
infinite potential
how you see it is up to you…

It muddles as puddles form
I am struck to the core
by this ancient song
written at the same time
rain was thought up
both a war ballad and lullaby
I know it
I feel it
I cannot escape it
It seems now
my skin is leaking
I am bleeding these words
I look up at a troubled sky,
colorless, ready to break
tense from all histories events
pouring out
pounding dust into life
things will grow in time
it can’t be helped
and I know in the green emerging
somehow without asking for it
my ears have been privy to something
rarely heard
yet always playing on repeat
the soundtrack of the
the universe

How Brilliant

15 May

(A simple ode to simple times, a oldie but goody)

Until the glowing red coals breathe their last breath and turn black
Until the conversation dwindles and the stars say all that is left
I will stay here
I will wait
I will be content
Until the ocean calls me away
to somewhere with new faces
Until this chapter reaches its conclusion and a new one begins
I will stay here
I will wait
I will be content
Because nothing is worth more than this day
Maybe you gave us sleep so we would see what it is to be truly awake
This picture of being reborn every morning
You gave us these snapshots of how you think
in the coals
the stars
the ocean
the books
in the closing of our eyes and
in the opening them again to all things being new
how brilliant

Gypsy Heart

10 May

(This is an older poem that never published online, just in my book All Things Are Becoming New.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gypsy Heart

I am so tired of this bouncing ball
It brings an ache to my bones
Causing me to age beyond my years
I can’t see past this waterfall
These round about thoughts turned to crazy tears

So give me a gypsy heart
To run free and wild and unashamed
To let down my hair in the wind
To stand without falling again

I want a vagabond soul
To ride bareback from border to border
To wear bright colors and dance round a fire
To write and kiss life with no fear

This is the look of a free bird
To scream to the air
Be completely absurd
To live madly and truly and freely

I am tired of these practical ideas
These plans and technical aspirations
These bullet points and sickly religions

So give me a sojourners mind
To follow a railway, leave all behind
From ocean to ocean
Barefoot and brave
To sleep in a castle, a tent, and a cave

To walk and talk with the small, forgotten,
Empty and full
To be present, to be alive
I am ready to start
So rip through these calluses
I want a gypsy heart

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