The Silent Voice of the Spirit

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Easter brings a time of reflection on what the meaning of the death and resurrection of Jesus means to us who are part of the Christian faith. For me it reinforces the power of God’s love in my life. Some get bogged down in rules and rituals and debates over theological interpretations, but for me the gospel boils down to Love and Grace… God’s Love for me and Grace that goes beyond all my sins.  I wrote this poem earlier this year which sums up and focuses on the way all this plays out in my life.

The Silent Voice of the Spirit
In the recesses of the mind
Where reason and conscience lie
Right along side the knowledge of good and evil
There comes a sound // not in words
But a silent voice speaking to me
Not with scream nor shout
But with a still small (silent) voice
Heard above the noise of loud voices
Clamoring for my attention
Heard above the noise of city streets
Roaring trucks and honking taxies
Above social media smart phones
Spewing out trivial pursuits
The silent voice always there.
The other option…
Some call it mystical
Others hear nothing
But I hear the silent voice of God
Speaking into my soul…
The voice that says, “I love you my child.”
“No matter what you might do,
I love you!”
“Be all you can be!”

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

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Remember When…

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Remember when Corvettes were small

with white-wall tires

 spinners on their wheels

and four barrel carburetors on the engines;

A time when AM was the only choice

for listening to tunes on the push button radio;

Remember when the top was down

and the homecoming queen sat on the back of the seat

waving  to everyone as it slowly rolled along

It was a time when gas was only 19.9 cents a gallon

and lead in the gas prevented engine knock;

It was a different world back then…

The year was 1958

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Poster Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Losing Touch…

See the source image

This incident happened  several years ago when we were shopping at our Walmart. It is sad to see anyone loose touch with reality. But when you see someone in public who appears to be lost and disoriented, it is very sad.  I wrote this poem after seeing a man like this as we were checking out. It was a very emotional experience to see this.

Losing Touch …The Point of No Return

He was wondering across the checkout lanes
At the local Super Wal-Mart
With a look of concern on his face
As he looked across the carts
He was unaware of his condition.
His pants were soaked and soiled
His only concern was to find his wife…
And surely she would come through soon
As I watched him move from lane to lane
My heart went out to this man
Who seemed not to know the state he was in
But had only one plan
I asked him if I could be of help
He said he didn’t think so
She would be coming through very soon.
And he wandered on down the row
I went to find a manager
Who could help him find his wife
But when we returned he had vanished
He was nowhere in sight
I still think about the old man not much older than myself
And wonder if he found her
And what it must be like
Not to know who you are
I cried many tears as I recalled
The empty look, the lack of concern
Unaware of the condition he was in
And for the mind that had grown dim
I wonder if I too will reach
That point of no return
The place where my only concern will be
Just to find the one I love

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Photo from Edge Images: cbsnews .com

Where Does the Spirit Dwell

 

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Spirit Questions (a Rubaiyat)
Where dwells the spirit before life begins
Waiting to entwine with genes at man’s whim
Does it float in space riding red star dust
Or in ocean waves where the teeming swim

Where dwells the spirit when I took my first
Breath of life merged with heart and lungs first thirst
Spirit seems at home in this flesh and bone
Fragile body // heart pumping till it bursts

Where does my spirit dwell when life is done
As eyes close in death and the race is run
Breath leaves the body and the spirit’s rises
Rejoining spirit with Spirit // lives on

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

I posted this poem a year ago, but thought it would be a good one for Holy Week.
Today Frank at d’Verse asked us to write a rubia or a rubaiyat.
“A rubai or stanza in a rubaiyat is four lines long and rhymes AABA in iambic pentameter meter. That is how Edward Fitzgerald translated Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat. Khayyam was an 11th century Persian. Fitzgerald’s translation appeared in 1859.”
This is my first attempt at this so I hope I come close to what is expected.

Light

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Capturing Light
Ever try capturing light in a box
Close the lid tightly to contain it
Light in a box is a paradox
There’s no source there to maintain it
As you snap the lid shut
Think you have it at last
The rays disappear in an instant
For rays alone do not make light
With rays there’s no way save them
For light you see of every kind
From Rabbi, priest, or committee
Does not come from their simple minds
It comes from a source that’s emitting
Reflecting is all we can ever do
Our creator’s the source of our light
When it comes right down to me and to you
The best we can do is to shine bright
Light is not something to capture and hold
Thinking surely we can improve it
How disappointed we will be
Finding blackness boxed up all through it

Painting – Capturing Light : Dwight L. Roth

April Moon

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This beautiful moon was captured by my sister-in-law in Southern British Columbia. Frank Tassone, shared with us today that early native Americans set time by the lunar cycle. They gave names to each one. The April full moon is called the Pink Moon! Seems to fit in very well with the falling of pink cherry blossoms. He asked us to write a Haikai poem that in some way included the pink April Moon.

 April Full Moon shines
Light rubbing off on the trees
Spring lights up the world
Shades of pink cherry blossoms fall
Soft petals become Spring snow

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        Moon Photo: Miriam Keyes

Join us at: https://frankjtassone.com/2019/04/13/haikai-challenge-81-4-13-19-pink-moon-haiku-senryu-haibun-tanka-haiga-renga/

 

 

Little Green Blob

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The potatoes were done // it was time for the meat
I took off the grill cover // prepared for some heat
But there by the lid sat a small blob of light green
Just staring at me // wondering if I would scream
He startled me at first // this tiny little man
With big bulging eyes and perfect little hands
Hiding from the rain //he crawled under the cover
Staying dry and warm // ‘til night’s rain was over
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I knew he had to go // frog legs not on the menu
With the flick of my hand he stretched out his sinews
In one flying leap he sailed through the rails
Landing in the grass // putting himself in peril
The next day I went out //after the grill had cooled
Picked up the cover to put over the hood
As I spread it out // I felt a cold slime
Hiding in the cover was a froggy of lime
This time I jumped back // it was totally unexpected
I smiled when I saw him // he sat there and waited

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today, Grace at d’Verse suggested we work with rhyming patterns in our poem. This is my poem about the little tree frog that took up residence under my grill cover. I did not follow any suggested poetic form as was suggested. I simply wrote a free verse poem that had rhyming end words.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

 

Lasting Friendship

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I met Sri in 2011 when we moved into our new neighborhood. He had just gotten married the year before and moved into the neighborhood about six months earlier. We connected right away and became great friends.  He was thirty years younger than me, but that did not matter!

Sri was a Project Manager from India, and worked in the city using public transportation. As a result, he never needed to learn to drive.  He had his permit and asked if I would be willing to teach him to drive. I agreed, and we spent many evenings that summer driving through the countryside just before sunset. It was a great time to learn to know one another better. He now has his license and drives into Charlotte most days to work at one of the local banks.

Since then, we have done many projects together. He moved out of our neighborhood and closer to Charlotte which helps his commute. We still stay in touch and he often consults with me regarding things around the house. Although we see each other less, our friendship is still as strong as ever.

Lasting friendship bonds

kindred spirits together.

Sun sets // friends will last

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth