Category: poetry

A vision of plenty in Carlton Gardens.

Deep in the dappled light
beauty spreads its way
in Carlton Gardens. Everywhere
the sun is bringing colour and liveliness
and flavour and joy—trees
bask gratefully in the embrace,
lovers take selfies on seats,
sunglasses on and happiness
abounding. Shadows recede
and an expanding thankfulness blesses all who
walk by the fountains, exhibiting signs of delight
on their faces, residue from the noonday sun
making their smiles radiant and unabashed. This
is abundance and fullness, an experience of wonder
and awe and all that is magnificent about day.

It seems everyone can have a sunny
Autumn day in Carlton Gardens — 
leaves decomposing under foot, trading
shades of green for orange and gold. 
The opulence of creation is here
for all to enjoy—the hungry and the satisfied, 
the grateful and the worried alike.

Somewhere close by
a troubled man walks through the gardens,
unable to fathom the light that surrounds him, 
so filled up with regret, riddled with loss,
and conscious only of the ground
beneath his feet, the Autumn leaves more copper than gold.
This one lonely man trudges through the gardens
his eyes downcast, and the lovers continue taking photos, the
trees continue their earnest embrace of sky
until their branches look on him with compassion
and drop leaves into his path. Noticing, and
overcome with the emotion of all he has been carrying,
our man finds himself weeping and
dropping to his knees and the leaves fold into love
before his eyes and the world resumes its colour, 
and his loss, though terrible, now seems less consuming. 
The brilliant light surrounds him and the lovers begin to notice: 
the sun, this man on his knees, an abundance of leaves 
falling like red tears 
from the branches above.
In a moment, our man will rise, 
pick up his crumpled bag 
and walk to the other side of the gardens.
But for now something close to 
joy moves within him —
fresh as wonder, dappled as light.

A poem remembering a spiritual experience I had while on an overseas trip in early 2008:

On a tropical afternoon more than a decade ago 
I remember feeling a warmth
rise within my chest, a fire burning. This experience
consumed me with a sense of call. I woke with a new
consciousness of being loved, and began walking with
a profound sense of direction.

But I wanted more of that warmth, 
with its tender, blessed light. I sought its
return, and, sometimes felt the heat 
moving deep in my heart. And following such
persistent efforts, the experience was released— 
the fire had become smoke.

In the years that followed, I found new images for a vocabulary 
of encounter: water tumbling over rocks, mustard
seeds, and fertile soil in which to grow. I was invited to
rolling fields of conversation. In naming my experiences,
I began to behold the embrace of the giver 
who kept sending sought and unsought gifts.

Sitting on my balcony one morning, sun hidden 
behind great Winter clouds, I felt fresh warmth
resting within my lungs. I paused gently in stillness,
breathing in all these memories
breathing out appreciation
rising to now write it all down.

Part of my graced history.