Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Enough Already

 

Don’t worry about the direction

ahead, or the matters of the day.

Simply place your hand

on your own heart

and feel the love there – love 

that was given long ago

that you may have forgotten.

 

Don’t be the person who

allows busyness to run

over your life, squashing it

with good intentions, and

all that learned stupidness which

pulls us away from

this preciousness given.

 

Remember those moments

when God has broken through –

those glimpses when you

knew beyond a doubt that

you are made of the same stuff

as the flowers and trees, and

forever is possible – that 

Love is You, and 

You are Love.

 

Let yourself glow, please.

For those who do, are

born in true freedom.

For in stepping aside from 

the pettiness of all our 

misdirected ways, we can

float like a feather

on the breath of God.

 

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Nurture

 

You are but a drooping plant

with a bowed-browned bloom.

Your light is not reflecting –

the shadows grow.

Grief visible like this

is more easily watered.

It calls out for nurturance.

When hidden,

it festers 

and roots into every pore,

making us sick –

stealing the colors.

This is the usual way…

for we are all good at facades

and hiding.

We smile brightly,

despite the pained cracks within.

    Where does it hurt, my friend?

Show me the place

and tell me the story.

Dig out the pain from

your hardened crusts – fashionably covered.

Lift your voice and let the cry be born.

Let me know what is needed.

Take the covers off

and allow the hurt to move you

to a new place of freedom.

All is well, and

I am here with you.

You belong.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

When Loved Ones Return

Its a strange gathering –

all of us in our cars at the airport

anxious and watchful for that familiar smile and gait

to be seen among the masses…

Everyone is searching for that connection

to home.

It is like the perfect metaphor for life…

for daily we get lost in the crowdedness

of others in our space

as we journey anxiously –

searching and expectant –

until we are finally recognized, and

our place in the midst of it all

is secured.

We understand where we belong.

Now parked and watchful –

cell phones busy with directions,

our eyes finally meet.

Once bags are stowed, 

and the heated car is filled,

the lively chatter of connection begins.

We navigate the traffic,

and reach the hearth and tree alighted,

exhausted in a happy way.

My daughter releases her bag to the floor –

“I didn’t hug you yet.”

Arms wrap around,

and eager hearts touch.

Christmas has arrived.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry

This Golden Crack

Like a canvas

before the artist’s brush,

we get our markings.

Our unique hues

and textures

create the picture 

of what seems to be true

about us.

But sometimes life is lived

more like a ceramic pot –

one that gets cracked

along the way…

shattered, even –

the mending of which

is complicated work.

It takes the artist’s hands

and keen attention to detail

to put the pieces together,

beautifully.

It is a necessary process.

This breaking,

followed by the recognition of the mess,

enables us to be held

and mended.

When we submit to the

Master’s hands,

and allow for the

hard work to be done,

we are fashioned anew.

Our cracks become golden

and essential. 

We are forever changed, and

we shine with humble strength

from our broken places.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit,

we have been loved into

becoming more real.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

Tea bowl Tea bowl
; Japan; 17th century; Stoneware with clear, crackled glaze, stained by ink; gold lacquer repairs.; H x W: 10.5 x 12.2 cm (4 1/8 x 4 13/16 in); Gift of Charles Lang Freer