Flow

Dear Lord,

Today, please grant me the patience
and courage to sit with the experiences
I would rather rush past.

To linger and learn from dark memories.
To see the best in the worst.
To be fearfully and wonderfully mad, glad, sad.

To drag the saturation filter up
on my life-processing program.
Let it all pop.

To be a person of rich text
and infinite spectrum of colour
in a bleached-out, faded world.

To flow richer, fuller, more.
To be your kingdom come.
Amen.





With deepest thanks to Henry Rempel, Cheryl Miller, Joshua Gorenflo, Bethany Bassett, Kelly @ Love Well and John Blase who, by their conversations, lit these fireworks of daily prayer one hot day in August 2014.

Photo mine: “Inflow” by Jay Bigam (oil), Spring 2018 exhibition, Akokiniskiway Gallery, Rosebud, Alberta

Be

Be kind
Be safe
Be neat
Be true

Pretty much covers it all.




Photo: personal collection, text added via WordSwag

To Be

To be

Love comes first
like a mirror
the more he shows me
who I am
the more I see
who he is
and when I look
in the mirror and see
him beside me
he is what I want
who I want
where I want no more

Inspired by 2 Corinthians 3:16-18




Photo: Personal collection, text edit on Wordswag

Gifts

Yellow flowers
grow quiet
by the highway,
lifting faces to God
while most drivers
rush blindly on.

Messenger of Death

Disregard his whispered threats
fear-inducing innuendo
Ignore his lies, only God decides
the time, the place.

Deny his power,
he has none, this messenger
only comes at divine appointment
when Heaven is longing for you.





Photo: personal collection, Cascade Mountain, Banff National Park

I Believe

 

I believe

the artist I wish to be

will surface

from under the pressure

as a diamond;

sparkling light to shine

in the dark, coal-stained

caverns of other trapped miners...

and we shall all rise, bright

shining as the sun, completing

the work we've begun.

~Joyce E. Rempel

Photo by Ivana Cajina on Unsplash

Last Gasp

Last Gasp

A weary walk
through a frozen world
raging fire behind the eyes
face stung by tearing wind
winter's last gasp cast

Tomorrow I rise
above this clay
Burst into bloom

~Joyce E. Rempel

Warm Westerly

Chinook arch is strong today,
lingers long across the sky.
Southeast to northwest the way
clouds bow and stretch from side to side.

The western wind warms all below.
Changes temps to balmy height,
releases streams of melting snow,
elates the heart and brings delight.

Beware if it should make landfall--
where you stand becomes a fright.
At a hundred clicks or more, the squall
will tumble all within its might.

Fast it’s gone and birds can rest
on the branch tips without fear;
sing their songs and build their nest
as sky returns to blue and clear.

​Photos: from my back deck on this date

Sometimes

Having a dog roots me.
Sometimes
like feet in gumbo
the suction so strong
if I walk
my foot slides out
of the stuck rubber boot
and lands splat
back in terra muck

Having a dog roots me
Sometimes
like the strength
of hundred year oaks
made patient by the grasp
of ancient acorn
reaching through its leathery shell
for life and the love of dirt

Or like the extendable leash
keeping us connected
Hard to tell who’s walking whom
but the red woven strap
gives and takes
keeps us both secure, entwined
Together

She roots through blankets,
garbage, and my heart.
Sometimes
she blankets my heart
and roots out the garbage.

Having a dog roots me
Sometimes
I circle three times
before sighing to sleep
Letting go of
the leash
the muck
the grasping

Colon Cancer

I am a passenger in a van
My mother is driving
My mother never drove
Two people are in the backseat
We drive into a building
A deep pool of water
we are sinking
This is my one phobia
trapped submerged
I rehearse how to escape
Wait while
the interior fills with water
I’ve rehearsed this
Don’t panic.
As the car fills I fill my lungs
Try to roll down the window
No power
Reach for a manual handle
In the miracle of dreams
It is there
Roll it down
We all slip out

Except my mother.

On the surface
I refill my lungs
Look down
Still no mother
The van is nose down and sinking
I take the rear bumper
Pull it up like superman
Spin it around
To get to the drivers side
Reach in and pull mom out
To surface and safety
She’s not breathing
I hold her hug her
do the Heimlich
the Heimlich?
We call for help
But she revives
I save her life
Because it’s my dream.






Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Cold Cuts

Ah, bitter January,
sandwiched between
festive December
and loving February,
your cold silence
is brittle
and unbecoming.