Possibly, Be There Two, and Why?
Three poems by Maggie Mosher
Possibly
If we could stand
Taller than Cathedrals,
Pierce the clouds,
And marvel in the withheld rain
Make a case
For what it is we’re doing here,
Would we become utterly ourselves?
If we could marvel
In each moment,
Find light
Within the shattered darkness,
Stretch out
Like fireworks
Which speak
In cursive questions
Would we recognize our answers?
If we could love
With its mountains and valleys,
Reaching out
To grasp the nearest root,
Remain planted,
All while haggling the Heavens
For something more-
Allegiant love
With a need to bear fruit
Ready for the plucking,
Would we yield
Or curl into our shell,
Like the lily
Protecting her delicate stem?
Would we break free
In ripples of opening,
As the carnation
Caressed by the sun
Or hold tight within our grasp
Our scavenging-
Crows incessant in our need?
Would we cling to our mistakes
As mosquitos to flesh
Leaving behind marks
Reminders to scratch our pain?
Would we find ourselves
Wrapped in each other’s arms?
Notice beauty
Where we once found imperfection?
Would we open
To all that could be
If we saw
All that God can see?
Taller than Cathedrals,
Pierce the clouds,
And marvel in the withheld rain
Make a case
For what it is we’re doing here,
Would we become utterly ourselves?
If we could marvel
In each moment,
Find light
Within the shattered darkness,
Stretch out
Like fireworks
Which speak
In cursive questions
Would we recognize our answers?
If we could love
With its mountains and valleys,
Reaching out
To grasp the nearest root,
Remain planted,
All while haggling the Heavens
For something more-
Allegiant love
With a need to bear fruit
Ready for the plucking,
Would we yield
Or curl into our shell,
Like the lily
Protecting her delicate stem?
Would we break free
In ripples of opening,
As the carnation
Caressed by the sun
Or hold tight within our grasp
Our scavenging-
Crows incessant in our need?
Would we cling to our mistakes
As mosquitos to flesh
Leaving behind marks
Reminders to scratch our pain?
Would we find ourselves
Wrapped in each other’s arms?
Notice beauty
Where we once found imperfection?
Would we open
To all that could be
If we saw
All that God can see?
Be There Two
Remind me
Of the song
Of the sparrows
At Spring’s first inhale,
Of the dew which covers the earth
And the swell of rain ready to fill
Their opened beaks,
Cleanse their feathers,
As they look on,
Shivering with delight
In the still.
Remind me
Of the content
Of the Tom Cat
Which basks his fur
In summer sun beams
As his purr joins the rhythm of the earth
And the long lean stretch he bows
Upon awakening
Reverencing as the day gives birth.
Remind me
Of the reach
Of the branches
Of an old Sugar Maple
At the dawn of Fall
Making a show
Of its glorious auburn, golden, and lime green leaves.
All while reaching
Through the tips of each branch
To touch the Heavens;
Reminding the clouds
Of what a grounded being achieves.
Remind me
Of the calm
That’s birthed from winter’s blanket
The snow that tucks the earth
To a lullabied sleep
And the hearths within dwellings
Which crackle and glisten
Warming fingers to hearts
As all lay down their keep.
Remind me
Of times past
Which nestle into the confines
Of this weary mind
Longing to be retrieved
And of the magical mystery
Of moments to come
Awaiting to be divinely conceived.
Remind me
Lest I forget.
Of the song
Of the sparrows
At Spring’s first inhale,
Of the dew which covers the earth
And the swell of rain ready to fill
Their opened beaks,
Cleanse their feathers,
As they look on,
Shivering with delight
In the still.
Remind me
Of the content
Of the Tom Cat
Which basks his fur
In summer sun beams
As his purr joins the rhythm of the earth
And the long lean stretch he bows
Upon awakening
Reverencing as the day gives birth.
Remind me
Of the reach
Of the branches
Of an old Sugar Maple
At the dawn of Fall
Making a show
Of its glorious auburn, golden, and lime green leaves.
All while reaching
Through the tips of each branch
To touch the Heavens;
Reminding the clouds
Of what a grounded being achieves.
Remind me
Of the calm
That’s birthed from winter’s blanket
The snow that tucks the earth
To a lullabied sleep
And the hearths within dwellings
Which crackle and glisten
Warming fingers to hearts
As all lay down their keep.
Remind me
Of times past
Which nestle into the confines
Of this weary mind
Longing to be retrieved
And of the magical mystery
Of moments to come
Awaiting to be divinely conceived.
Remind me
Lest I forget.
Why?
Sometimes it’s part of what you pray
A vow of sorts
Lifted by a drift cloud
To the keeper of the stars.
Sometimes it’s part of what you say
A breathless wish
Spoken in the chill of night
When no one’s near to listen.
Always felt through weary bones
And that constant beating heart
Which reminds you: you’re still here
Willing to let go of all the knowns
And be born into color,
Despite your need for black and white.
You see it in every pebble cast
Against its crystal smooth playground,
Those immortal migrants
Creating ripples for a time.
You know it when you gaze at nature’s past
The fallen pieces of a whole
The wind snatches for its play toy.
You hear it like the rasp and sizzle as katydids try
To call life to each cricket’s buzz, cicada’s snaps.
You want it like a cardinal wants its chicks to fly
Bidding on with a whistle, chirp, nudge, and trill.
You sense it like a worn December’s chill
Breathing down
Awakening the hairs on your skin
Which stand in outrage over lost warmth.
You stroke it like a stubborn will
An undeveloped conflict
Constant internal nag
Iron weight upon your chest
Invisible restraints preventing movement.
It holds you as the sky holds the sun- at its best
Aware of the path in which it’s sent,
Rise and fall keeping time,
A dance whose whole only God can see
Seeking to trace the history of the sublime
Aesthetics into another way
For a universe awaiting...
Why?
Sometimes it’s part of what you pray.
A vow of sorts
Lifted by a drift cloud
To the keeper of the stars.
Sometimes it’s part of what you say
A breathless wish
Spoken in the chill of night
When no one’s near to listen.
Always felt through weary bones
And that constant beating heart
Which reminds you: you’re still here
Willing to let go of all the knowns
And be born into color,
Despite your need for black and white.
You see it in every pebble cast
Against its crystal smooth playground,
Those immortal migrants
Creating ripples for a time.
You know it when you gaze at nature’s past
The fallen pieces of a whole
The wind snatches for its play toy.
You hear it like the rasp and sizzle as katydids try
To call life to each cricket’s buzz, cicada’s snaps.
You want it like a cardinal wants its chicks to fly
Bidding on with a whistle, chirp, nudge, and trill.
You sense it like a worn December’s chill
Breathing down
Awakening the hairs on your skin
Which stand in outrage over lost warmth.
You stroke it like a stubborn will
An undeveloped conflict
Constant internal nag
Iron weight upon your chest
Invisible restraints preventing movement.
It holds you as the sky holds the sun- at its best
Aware of the path in which it’s sent,
Rise and fall keeping time,
A dance whose whole only God can see
Seeking to trace the history of the sublime
Aesthetics into another way
For a universe awaiting...
Why?
Sometimes it’s part of what you pray.
Maggie grew up in New Mexico between the Navajo and Zuni Reservations. It was there, at 15, that her first two plays were published. At age 18, Margaret was named one of the “Top Twenty Teens Who Will Change the World” by Teen People Magazine. Maggie has taught students with special needs since 2001 and as a passion for giving a voice to the voiceless. Her first book, Because of Love, was published in 2011 to raise funds for free therapy groups for children who have been abused. Due to living with an incurable autoimmune disorder, Maggie began writing for Turning Point in 2012, an organization which brings together those suffering from chronic illnesses. A Franciscan University of Steubenville Graduate in Education, a Horizon Award Winner and National William E. Simon Fellowship for Nobel Purpose Recipient, Mosher went on to obtain her Masters in School Leadership and currently serves as the Executive Director of a non-profit, EMBRACE, which provides free resources and services for students with special needs. This award-winning author, teacher, inventor, and dancer has delivered key-note speeches at conferences around the world. Now 35, Maggie uses words to remind us who we are in this fragile world while propelling us onward. You can find more of her work on amazon and at http://wordsinglass.blogspot.com/ and https://mytreecalledlife.wordpress.com/.
