"The Author-Preneur with Something To Say That You'll Love To Read." #authorpreneurTJM

Gentle The Hands

Gentle
and quietly

the tender hands
of the gardener

reveal the nature
of the gardener’s

heart.

Gentle.

Quiet. 

Tender.

When his hands
are in the soil,

his heart and mind
are at rest - still beyond

all adversity and despair.

He whispers to each
plant, “Come forth
dear seed and stem.
flower, and root,

and bring beauty
to this earth. Open
our hearts to wonder

and the grandeur of
awe. In you we learn
to see life;

striving and straining
to exist against all odds.
Life finds its way. And,

the seasons we endure
sustain us into the next.”

He whispers these words
as a melody that nurtures
his plants with grace.

With this grace
ALL THINGS FLOURISH!

**********

THANK YOU, Bruce,
the Gardner-brother who
showed me these truths.

I love you guys,

Tom



Beyond the Glass

There is
a world just
beyond

the window;

there is 
glory just
beyond

the glass.

Do not
yield this
precious life

until you have
found THE WAY
to 

THAT SPACE;

where beauty,
radical amazement,
awe, wonder, and
grandeur
are planted

and grow together,

entwined 
beneath the surface
of the soil of our selves.


Perhaps Especially

Often,
even, and
perhaps

especially

in their final days
and hours,

beauty, radical
amazement,
awe, wonder,
and grandeur

burst forth
from the living

and crack open
an awareness in us

that moves us to a
quiet hope;

a silent
assurance.

LIFE FINDS A
WAY.  Life

must

find a way.



The Hollers


The places that call 

to me in our mountain home 

are the hollers and low flats 

that hold deep beds of peat.  



Often these spaces are 

treed with tall pines – only 

having twenty feet of greenery 

atop an eighty-foot tree.  



The hollers less crowded 

than the low flats.  Both share 

a variety of needle bedding.  



They are hush.



It is the feel of shapeliness 

or spaciousness protected by 

holler walls and treetop canopy 

that calls out to me the most.  



That, and the usual sound 

of water, as it courses its gurgling 

way along and through these idylls.  



Stillness rises in these places and 

hangs low enough in the air to stay 

cool and breathable and delightful 

all at once.  They induce and imbue 

contemplative rest.  They are still.

They are often connected in their 

aperture and display.  The light 

passing through them - just so - 

to reveal a sense of seclusion.  



If you muddle down the sides of 

a holler and land in the flat lands 

adjacent to the notch, you will 

feel as if you are wending about 

in a glen or a dale that has been 

hit hard with tall trees.  The smell 

of loam and humus rise to meet 

your nose in warm and cold alike.  

They drowse you into a sleepiness 

that just might have been responsible 

for Van Winkles's demise.  



Their lichen and spidery white roots 

crawling through the heaping 

tufts of unearthed peat that have 

given off this aroma of intoxication.



It takes so little for me to find a pad 

of needles and lean myself to sleep 

against the bark and on the loam 

that is at once mine and beyond me.  

These places on the landscape give rise 

to feelings of being at home.  It is 

not unusual to hear the rakish chatter 

of blue jays or the chirping squawks 

of chipmunks as I settle in.  Years ago 

I would have needed some nag-champa 

incense to fill the air with a sense of 

calm release; today I know the dirt 

as all I need to be at one with all I see.




Always Looking

I am looking,
always looking

through a glass
darkly -

through a glass
dimly

for the light.

Hoping
to be able to

make sense of what
I see before it

comes completely into
full vision and disappears.

Catching it early

means I can
hold it longer

in my heart,
longer in my mind,
and longer
in my soul where
passion hides with dreams
and longings for

more.

Because
all that lay
open and
in the light
is exposed

for

just

so

long.  And then,
it disappears to what
we were able to grab of it
and hold

somewhere

within.

All That Lay Between Us

All that lay between us 
as people striving on 
the surface of this sometime
broken earth -

especially in the coldness 
and the storms of temporal life - 

can turn our eye towards 
beauty and our heart 
towards grace 

if but seen 
in the showering 
endless Light.

How shall we
question

what lay betwixt;
what shall we

hold to the Light
for Query.

That shall make

ALL the difference.


Spaciousness and Empty Benches

Spaciousness and
empty benches call
us out of the noise
and into the quiet.

Hold yourself there
just long enough
to find the crack inside
and release the light.

It is hidden just
behind the shadow
of stillness, and
darkness of silence.

Seek.

Sit.

Be still.