Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Snow on Trees

 

Don’t despair the soul season

when all the green is gone

and you feel darkened

and bare.

These are the times when

you stand alone, while

everyone looks past you

to escape to the horizon beyond.

You feel planted in place

with nowhere to grow, and

the present brittleness

makes you snap easily.

Though unpleasant and cold –

while in this raw nakedness, 

please be reminded that

you are in a good position.

You are in the right place –

the proper season.

You are ripe for grace.

A season of cold and dark

is a gift like no other.

For when the white glow arrives,

softly blanketing and

offering beauty and peace –

healing is gifted.

You are born again with the

verdant seeds needed

to bloom again

and commune with others.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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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

Short and Sweet

To be a poet,

wake up with wings poised to 

float on your morning breath.

Let your eyes open as windows

that God may see.

Turn on the inner flame

and alight the senses.

Choose to be the love

you seek to understand.

Be watchful as

the words arrive

and sing faithfully

from the heart of your soul.

Surrender to how

they change you

as the poem 

is born.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Word Provider

 

Often when I sit to write,

the decision is spontaneous.

I may be in my usual routine,

and then the urge bubbles up.

A thought comes…

        Maybe I will write.

Then I simply position my fingers on the keyboard

and out it flows.

My head, heart, and fingers

are connected to that larger reality

that usually slips through the fingers.

It is an act of faith –

to put myself in the position

to be available

and receive.

I trust the words will come.

And when they do,

I am one with Inspiration

and being 

me.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

I Can See Who You Are

We hustle.

We bustle.

We cover up.

We avoid.

In the constant press forward,

the moments are lost.

When able to still ourselves,

we can catch glimpses of 

what is real.

I sat with a patient,

one of the sweet ones

with dementia.

Her eyes alive

with love and openness…

Her speech cute and senseless

most of the time.

I am present to her

and focus on being –

instead of doing.

When the time for goodbye comes,

I touch her shoulder

and lean in.

Her eyes widen

as these words spill forth

in clarity and affection:

           “I can see who you are!”

Grace finds me

and I am blessed by her glimpse.

I am reminded…

I am Love.

Copyright@ Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Be Lifted

I sometimes like to watch

the float of a feather.

It can show up unannounced

and bless me

with fresh lightness.

Watching its flowing movement

with no steering wheel

to direct 

or engine powering it –

Well, it looks like freedom.

Most of us 

tend to be weighted

by our day to day.

We load up our minds

with fiction

that keeps us from

the float of grace

intended for us.

Watch the feather,

I tell myself.

It has no need to 

drive or direct,

no agenda to meet,

no cares to protect.

It simply rests

on the unseen flow of life.

It rises above beautifully.

The feather’s lift

is a wonder to behold –

the mystery and gift

of grace realized.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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