PRAYER (The Noun) , PRAYER (The Person)

Prayer,
Who are you,
Holding,
In one of those poses
Required by all the laws of man unkind,
How many postures and bendings.
Twisted, some would say,
While to others, beautiful
With overwhelming grace.
Listen, lips form mantras.
Words, sounds,
The breath of others left to spiral
Forever,
On whirling currents,
Passed on to me.
Tiny prayer,
Enveloped in bubble-wrap
Protecting the one who
Talks to God.
That everyday stuff for which we are grateful,
That we use when we move house,
When the dwelling offers a different view.
Each bubble holding to the other, fragmenting light anew
Through nature’s crackling dance ,
Each creating the whole.
To protect the earthly goods.
We do so love to pop the bubbles.
The fun part.
Prayer,
What is on offer as I open my heart, crack it hard
Against the elder tree in a forest joined by rhizome roots
Deep down beneath the visible,
To be the broken vessel
Shattered by love,
Cracked by fearsome awe,
Some kind of mumblety spell of words and magic.
A magpie flies through my barb-wired mind
Unscathed on this graceful night
Because I choose to name it thus.
Prayer,
I ask you more,
What lies in the
Field fallow in waiting
To know the crop
To come
In the spring’s
Own
Time.
Snow on the ground, but it’s all mixed up.
The jet stream is lower this year, they say.
I don’t understand.
I rejoice in the mild, lovely winter, my dear.
Why are the polar bears drowning,
Sailing away on floes that melt, sun overhead, under their feet,
Watching as their babies and their grandmamas call
From their own broken islands.
Last year it was one long walk with
Time to romp and roll in an embrace of content and a moment to play.
While in the civilized land of what we call the Continent,
Overwhelmed with snow and the horror of freezing where it never did before,
Like this,
It’s killing people,
Like polar bears,
Though the bears be too hot and the
People too cold.
Prayer,
Be me, be mine,
Give voice, fill my emptiness.
Sea of light, empty bright,
Fight no more.
Hush! Listen,
One story from one book from among so many
All with the,
Dare I say, round and wrinkled ring of
Truth.
Remember Jacob and that angel,
Forty days and forty nights,
Doing battle in the desert,
Sand and heat, cicadas and burning white light.
Imagine the thirst!
That angel so impressed,
Just couldn’t let go.
Warrior’s respect is a
Prayer
Doing what a prayer must do.
That angel left a score on Jacob’s thigh, so he’d never
Put it out of mind,
What kindness!
Mark me, I beseech thee,
I forget so fast and furious.