Wisdom is not grey, it is not abstract, it is not a metaphor.
It is human, flesh and blood and kind and good.
It is my favorite color. I am lucky it befriended me and I will never not love it.
Author Archives: Lisa Rosier
Flash Crash Rumble
One mind, two minds, three minds more
may tear down the barriers and open doors.
Want to be audacious and work towards what is kind?
Welcome to the table rolled up sleeves and open minds.
These Questions: A Haiku
Or when morning’s greet
daylong takes away the breath?
I’d say Earth’s afire.
Praying for pancakes
Lord, You saw fit that I be vulnerable to harsh and to sweet alike, as the world is both.
Regarding the world, if I permit it to do what I refuse to let You alone do Lord God,
then cover my ears,
seal my eyes,
silence my mouth,
fix my feet.
But my soul.
My soul.
Please leave it with its heightened awareness of Your life-giving voice.
Please may it with crystal clarity see the glory in what You’ve created.
Please allow its lips to speak with unending love and thankfulness.
And of its wings, they are in Your hands.
While Whispering
(I love glitter in a jar,
but not wanting from afar.
Come paint the fleeted tips
-release the glitter from the jar….)
I Asked
My petitions are few,
but like a child, determined.
Though driven by impulse to run ahead with visions of playthings and candy,
my respect for wisdom compels me to take hold of His hand and dwell in His shadow -assured He knows the way to my favorite playground.
Open Lips
These lips have power,
To bring down the mighty,
To build up the fallen.
I’ll never close them.
They’ll speak kind bliss.
Waking From Bad Dreams
My right hand lie in perpetual slumber, so I turned to my left.
Instead of indifference, there came songs hearkening me to focus not on images of nightmares, but to wake up to all that I believe.
Piercing the silence was a clever invitation to please speak about breath and giving -things we should dream of instead.
Toys on the Floor
You draw warm, shadowy abstracts.
And too, color specifics.
But then don’t clean things up.
How will you scribble once I’ve melted your crayons?
Witnessing Morning
Faintest light
Paints the clouds
Pale to bright
****
Birds’ songs pure
Speak of wings
Of this I’m sure
****
Wind begins
Shifts all things
Hope it wins
