Step By Step

One foot ahead of the other,
successively exercised,
is a conversation of feet
with dust and pine needles.

Fern fronds reach to
whisper against shins,
like a cat greeting
a familiar friend.

Step by step, each a further
shedding of useless words;
why should the trees care
what anyone thinks?

Each step away
is a step forward
to something new,
like the unfurling of a flower.

Can you hear the hidden stream
that flows inside your body?
Do you know the music
of the falling leaf?

Of most things that can be seen,
all that is heard and felt,
consideration of these
might be most worthy.

For now, the path is all there is
and all there need be;
every step away is a release
from one perspective to another.

© 2015 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen 

On What Morning Depends

Moon yawns,
her reflection stretching
over the ocean surfaces;
soon, Night Watch
will be over.

The tides race
to meet the morning mail:
Light upon the water,
shimmering sands
along the shore,
birds thronging and
clamoring for breakfast.

If Rosy steps the morn,
she has small white feet
that can walk on water,
and her dazzling smile
blinds one to all else.

© 2015 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Scheherazade and Her Master

He had power,
but no soul;
though he was surrounded by wealth,
he believed in nothing and no one;
when his wife found consolation
in the arms of a servant,
in his fury, he dispatched them both.

From that time,
he felt nothing;
people were mere objects
for him to command—
he alone had power over life and death;
the trail of blood
leading out of his courtyard
to the pit of lifeless virgins
provided ample evidence.

Then She came
—what does it matter where She came from?

What happened next made him so dizzy,
he almost swooned:
She opened her mouth and began to speak.

At the sound of Her voice,

he could feel,
and he knew at once:
he was not worthy to lurk in Her shadow,
all his power and erudition meant nothing;
he was but a thin shell, filled only with shame
at his past thoughts, words and deeds.

Her sound looked like sunlight cutting through clouds,
in order to dance on the distant waves of the limitless ocean;
Her voice tasted like berries drizzled in honey;
it intoxicated like wine.

He was mesmerized by Her voice,
yet he was convinced She was no sorceress.

While Her voice rumbled, purred, caressed and sang,
the sun rose,
the mighty waters parted
and land emerged
now before him,
as at the dawn of creation.

The sound that came from Her lips,
it was unlike any other;
ah, it was life itself!

He somehow knew
if he could live within the tone of Her voice,
there was redemption for his soul,
his life would have meaning,
he would be worth something.

To grant Her rest each night,
to nourish Her body,
to bathe Her in rosewater,
to clothe Her in silk
and adorn Her with gold and jewels,
to let Her rule his kingdom
with equity and peace—
this was but the smallest price to pay
for that heavenly, life-giving music.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

In the Garden of Delights: V. Perfect Storm

By faulty thinking and vision,
having achieved imbalance irrevocable,
there seemed nothing for it
but to throw a party.

Invitations addressed and sent,
an invisible feast was prepared,
a metaphorical table set.

Nothing left
but to await
the coming
of the guests.

First a gathering of winds,
from east and west,
from north and south;
well met were they in song
over a scarred and ravaged land.

The great whirling howl
stood time and travel still;
even the oceans stood in their tracks.

A quiver of lightning arrows
signaled volleys of hail and fireballs;
such foundations as remained
were shaken to the core
and submitted to a tired earth in defeat.

The seas and rivers walked upright,
dancing to the music of the wind,
joining a rhythmic patter of rain,
purifying all places low and plain,
in a symphony of lyrical wetness.

Into the deafening roar, I cried out:
“Save me, O Divine One, save me!
The water is wide upon the earth;
there is no place to stand,
and I drown in my own tears!”

“Save me from the drink!
Don’t let me sink!
Awaken me to think
beyond this gaping pit
of watery depths!”

My Dear,
this rising brew
comes to renew,
to save and sew.

These rivers of water,
walls and sheets of water,
with the leaky clouds and springs,
come by invitation to celebrate!
They come to wash, to heal, renew.

Allow your heart to be opened by your tears,
open your eyes and ears;
a way shall arise
beyond the rubble of former years,
a way of peace and wellness.

These watery guardians shall eventually recede,
their dancing shall give way to pure land;
in the places where monsters tormented,
sweet grasses and herbs shall rise.

Through the merry waving thickets,
a highway shall verily appear,
bidding you welcome
to a new journey.

O Daughter of Zion,
cast off the lameness
that paralyzes you!
Open your voice
to the dawn of day
with the new song
that all life is a celebration!

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

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We are too rational to realize that weather is a wild party. All the natural forces are our neighbors who we might wish would party in a quieter and less destructive fashion. The destruction wrought at such times is an invitation to build anew, with better plans, better materials and better intentions.

Luke 14:16-23; Psalm 107: 29; Psalm 18:13-15; Psalm 69:14-15; Isaiah 41:18; Isaiah 35; Zephaniah 3:14