Question Mark ?


*I often sit watching the clouds change into different shapes. I wrote this poem this morning after a few minutes of meditation.

 

I looked up at the sky this morning

mindful of its enormity

yet so serene

Breathed in and out

so gratefully.

 

Then  a white-grayish cloud framed in lavender

morphed into a question mark

so proudly

it spread across the sky

and asked me,

“When is it that all of you will learn to love each other?”

The cloud stretched

and stretched

until it became an endless line,

Now we need to fill in the blank.

Will we?

 

Quote: Food For Thought


“A generous and elevated mind is distinguished by nothing more certainly than an eminent degree of curiosity.”   Samuel Johnson

She Learns Everyday

Today she learned

why the sun shines so much

then she touched a daffodil.

Her lively sense of curiosity

The wondering of why

will germinate seeds

filled with questions

about what is eternity

and as millions before

see how apples fall

only a few like Newton

asked why

She will never shy

from the curious

child within

How marvelous to be just three

and so full of curiosity.

 

 

Déjà vu?


Déjà vu?

Perhaps a past life has collided

with my present one,

When I heard someone ask,

“Have you been here before?”

I respond, “Do I know you?”

It answered, “Yes, but you only lived in the present.”

My present life became angry, frustrated.

The questions about life were so many.

It could not remember the Now.

 

Déjà vu?

“Who are you?”

“I AM!”

 

Déjà vu?

“Will you be there too?”

“Only if you live with purpose.”

“Is that all that is required? I get it.”

 

Déjà vu?

“I think I get it. Do you?”

DSC_0092

 

Ask Yourself


Ask Yourself

Ask yourself , why? 

Ask yourself,   when?

Ask yourself , how?

Ask yourself, who?

Ask yourself, where?

The answers may not readily appear.

But from what I could hear:

The answers adhere

to One Source,

with only one course.

Your heart will finally respond

believe it

and pass it on.

The Heart is your Home

Journey


Paths

Melba Christie

 

 

We all start our journey through life,

with the pitter-patter of our feet.

a milestone most of us meet,

by about the age of one,

all is discovery and so much fun.

 

But life will take you down many paths

some will be rough and some smooth

some you will hate

some you will love

some created just for you with blessings from above

 

Each journey a stop but not a destiny

each step purposeful and meaningful

so many lessons to be learned

even when you decide to make a sharp turn.

The journey of life

no one knows the measure

but try to make each moment

one to be treasured.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happiness


hello sunshine

Happiness went walking one day
And caught up with me
Quite unexpectedly

It asked me to give it all my sadness
It bundled all my fears
And soaked up all my tears

Happiness knew exactly what to do
To put a smile on my face
It reminded me of my blessings
They outweigh the bad
So there is really no good reason
To be ever sad

Happiness is a choice we make;
it waits for you the minute you wake.
Always look on the sunny side
It’s a rule you must abide
What good is it to dwell on the negative
When you can choose to be happy
Keep your life in check
and keep in sight the positive.

Unfinished Painting


 

 

 

 

 

It was supposed to have been a masterpiece

like a Degas or a Renoir,

carefully crafted to live a life of its own

way beyond the life of its painter.

the palette colorful,

the theme clear,

incredible perspective,

and free of creative conventions.

But life got in the way;

the brush strokes became careless,

the lines extended beyond the canvas;

and all was out of control.

Self-love diminished,

the paint brush, stiff and dry,

the idea confused.

Regrets and more regrets

relentlessly restricted

the soul’s creative path.

An unfinished painting

buried under the debris of all hope is a sad thing.

An unfinished painting

that could have been a masterpiece once

sits quietly on the easel.

People still sigh as they

walk by it.

No one will ever know

its joy and inspiration;

no one will ever know

its real purpose.

Life is sometimes like

an unfinished painting.

My advice is this:

(or it may have been someone else who said:

“Make of your life a masterpiece.”

Butterfly 1

“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”


peace

“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”
“What’s in a name?”
A name possesses a soul of its own
A soul does not leave the body until it garners enough love
For eternity to judge its worth

My heart hankers for peace if that is what it is called
Because sometimes it seems what we have entitled it
does not truly claim or maintain it,
“Peace is not a season but a way of life.”

“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”
Am I to blame for such uncertainty?
A longing for something so elusive,
So exclusive
That not even my brain can perceive
Or receive
“What is in a name, I asked my muse.”
“All my life, my heart has longed for a thing I could not name.”

Will my desire be the refrain?

 

Love of Life


Inside me is a profound love
for life itself
Each breath I take reminds me
life is too short
Too brief compared to eternity

And what is eternity?
Who truly knows its measure?
I know my love is forever and
Shall be eternal
I count the stars every night
to make it so

The leaves of grass,
Waves,
Clouds,
They will outlive me
And when I am laid to rest
They will know somehow
I loved their presence
In my life
image

A Call for Certainty


“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”
“What’s in a name?”
A name possesses a soul of its own
A soul does not leave the body until it garners enough love
For eternity to judge its worth

My heart hankers for peace if that is what it is called
Because sometimes it seems what we have entitled it
does not truly claim or maintain it,
“Peace is not a season but a way of life.”

“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”
Am I to blame for such uncertainty?
A longing for something so elusive,
So exclusive
That not even my brain can perceive
Or receive
“What is in a name, I asked my muse.”
“All my life, my heart has longed for a thing I could not name.”

Will my desire be the refrain?