Purple Poetry Path
Volume 7
Wandering the deserts
Wandering the streets,
Searching for something,
Missing in our lives.
A deep cavernous hunger,
Starving to death on eight course meals,
Being parched surrounded by water,
Lost, not knowing where to turn.
Tempted and tormented,
By demons and dragons,
Long and lonely,
Praying for death.
40 years or 40 days
Looking for the Lord,
Longing for His loving light,
Feeling abandoned.
Memories of the Lord's table,
Satisfying food found in the flesh,
Of the Son of Man,
Drinking His life giving blood.
Feeling His presence again,
The LORD - in capital letters,
His come to feed His children,
A bountiful blessing of His love.
A family gathered around His table,
Lovingly following His well,
Their hunger forever satisfied,
Their longing lost in His love.
May 25, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Standing alone on the beach,
Wrapped in a warm blanket of fog,
Tasting the words that float on the salt air,
Hearing their lilt as they crash and foam onto the sand,
Feeling the water as it tickles the toes and then runs away.
My lover stand beside me,
holding my hand,
Silently, we turn and
walk down the beach,
Our hearts beating the rhythm
our feet our drumming,
We walk toward the future,
our past following behind,
as we bask in the present.
As we walk, the sun flickers
through small windows of clarity
that break through the fog,
We stop and admire the
rainbow of refraction's
as a wave of tears rains down,
a paradox of joy and sorrow
shining through the slivers of glass.
A voice calls and my
lover leaves me,
I continue on
walking alone,
without him,
the sand becomes
cold and coarse,
The fog becomes
dense and wet
It weighs me down.
In the distance, I hear singing,
Light, airy sounds that draw me towards them,
As I get closer, the heavy fog lifts,
The sand beneath my feet is warm and dry.
I sense others around me,
but see no one,
a feeling of confidence
seeps through my skin,
slowly my face is drawn into a smile,
the fog envelops me
with it's warm, sultry scent.
As my feet take me forward,
I let go and allow myself to be led,
my eyes strain to see,
my ears search for something familiar.
The minutes turn into hours,
the hours into days,
I accept that I am alone,
and so I must have faith
that the path I travel is true.
Occasionally I cross path with a stranger,
someone who is going my way,
we talk and become friends,
until her path takes a different direction.
The life of a nomad can be a difficult thing,
wandering the desert, always on the move,
sometimes we just want to wear another's shoes
until we realize they just don't fit.
Living the life we were meant to live,
Gives us the joy to soar through the heavens,
Content, we stroll down the beach,
Until the day that our lover returns to us.
January 14, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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We hold on tight to our cup,
Filled with our faults and frailties,
Hoping that no one will see,
And hate us for our weaknesses.
Re-running the reel of our old tapes,
Each memory still fresh with feelings,
The statue of time, still and stale,
As the burning liquid overflows the rim.
Unable to stop the flow,
We stand immobile, enduring the pain,
Not wanting anyone to see our shame,
We smile as the liquid sears our flesh.
In a moment of clarity, we see Jesus,
The one who chose to sit with sinners,
Reminding us that when we empty our cup,
He replaces the space with His mercy.
Our cup, filled with a love that warms the heart,
Melts our cold, congealed anxieties,
And with courage we display our cup,
Proud of what it contains.
January 13, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Looking deeply into our cup,
we see our faults,
heavy stones lining the bottom
starting with a small one,
we pick it out.
Looking it over, we feel its jagged edges,
bleeding, as it cuts into our hands,
dripping red onto the fossilized levels of pain.
Staring closely, we see its dark inner core,
holding it up to the light,
it casts a dark shadow back upon us.
We try to fling it away,
but it boomerangs back
and plops back into our cup.
We try and try to remove the stone,
so God can replace it with a virtue,
but each time it falls back in,
breaking the web of promises,
we had woven over the rim.
One day we reach down into the cup,
and drawing out the stone,
we gently place it on the ground.
Calling on the grace of God,
we pray for the strength to let it go,
He hears our plea and suddenly it's gone,
vanished from our midst.
And in our cup,
its place is taken up,
with a soft pillow of virtue.
We reach in and take out another stone.
January 9, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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As God's chosen ones,
holy and beloved, clothe yourself with
compassion, kindness, humility,
meekness and patience.
--Colossians 3:12
The cloaks of compassion
cheery and bright,
woven with heavy fibers,
perfect for waiting
through the long, cold nights,
for the promise of the Holy Spirit,
to rain down behind locked doors.
The cloaks of kindness are
water resistant, designed to absorb
the tears of joy
as Mary hears the greeting from Elizabeth
the tears of sorrow
as Mary hears the predictions of Simeon.
Cloaks of humility are
braided with strands of courage,
as Mary says her Yes to the angel,
as Jesus wears His crown of thorns.
Mantles of meekness are
made from the cloth of obedience,
as Mary and Joseph present Jesus
to the priests as the temple.
Covering ourselves with the multi-layered
cloak of patience,
helps when our crosses
become to hear to carry.
We change our cloaks constantly, choosing
from the extensive options available,
putting on a cloak of compassion,
or changing into a jacket of jealously.
Some start selecting
their own cloaks at an early age,
others wait until they are adults,
and some will always allow
family and friends to choose for them.
Some of our cloaks are
tattered and torn,
others hang in the closet,
untouched.
When circumstances arise and the
choice of a cloak
must be made,
open the closet door,
call on the grace of God,
His fashion sense
never goes out of style.
December 30, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Waking to the sound of the mechanical buzzing
inhaling the hot, nasal cleaning shower and the cold tasteless
breakfast bar, we set out on our mindless, automatic voyage to
unstable employment, an uneventful day filled with a multitude of
boring assignments, repeated for endless days.
No mechanical buzzing, no hot shower, no breakfast,
just a black hole with smooth walls, a handful of
sparklingly lights sprinkled on the round dark
ceiling, endless nights without days, starring, trying to
pray, but no words escape the dry, parched lips, mumbled
pleas for help, stagnant in the airless pockets, too
heavy to rise, each day sinking lower and lower,
watching people walk by, as we stand invisible to the
dark suits and leather briefcases.
Feeling the light touch of a gentle hand, stroking our
tangled hair and momentarily lifting our spirits, we stare as a shower of
flickering lights rain down, helpless and dazed we feel them come to rest on our
shoulders, illuminating the darkness, they reveal a shiny, silver ladder,
too tired to climb, we stand contemplating with dead eyes,
unsure of what to do and as we weave in endless circles,
the darkness returns and the ladder disappears.
Anger erupts, spewing violent words and raging fists, striking
the walls of dirt, we run in circles until our
anger, melted by tears of frustration, seeps from
the walls of mud, searching the darkness for the light, our
tissue paper patience, shredded by insecurities and fear,
we are overcome with feelings of loneliness and abandonment.
A spark gently floats down, but
disappears, another one appears from
out of nowhere, soon a shower of soft sparks
fall all around, filling the dark hole with
their compassionate, yellow glow, the ladder
re-appears, but this time the steps are an escalator,
shuffling towards the moving metal with
lead-filled feet, we struggle to move our feet, a strong
hand supports our weary shoulders and gives us strength,
a soft voice calls our nam, looking up we see a familiar smile.
We step out of the dark pit and into the bright sunlight,
waking to the sound of mechanical buzzing, we
rise and greet the new dawn.
December 27, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Dearest Lord and God,
On this most glorious day,
When we celebrate Your birth,
May we always remember
The gifts You give us every day.
The love of family and friends,
The gift of Your body and blood
The grace to help us through our struggles,
And the joy that comes from loving You.
As we open the gifts from under the tree,
May we always remember Your love for us,
How you came into this world as a little baby,
To show us the way to follow You.
As we bless the food at this holiday feast,
May we feel Your presence within our hearts,
And as we share Your love with all those at the table,
We say a prayer for all those not here with us today.
December 24, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Before we are daughters and sons,
Before we are brothers and sisters,
Before we are mother and fathers,
We are children of God.
Before we can learn from our parents,
Before we can learn from our teachers,
Before we can learn from our friends,
We need to learn from God.
The loving God who created us,
Knows our strengths and weaknesses
Knows what makes us sad,
Knows what makes us happy.
To Him we are truly special,
To Him we are truly unique,
Like the snowflakes that fall,
Each of us is one of a kind.
In a world of disposable everrything,
We need to hold onto the truth,
That each of us is a blessing from God,
Meant to spread the love He gave us.
So let us treasure our uniqueness,
The divine blessings from a loving God,
By appreciating the love that created us,
And designed us as the exceptional people we are.
December 24, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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After all the gifts have been opened,
The lights from the tree continues to blink,
Children exhausted from all the excitement,
Sit quietly playing with their new toys.
The mounds of brightly colored paper,
Have been cleared from the living room,
Mouth watering smells drip from the ceiling,
Remnants of the huge holiday feast.
The family cooks and cousins and siblings,
Sit relaxing, sipping steaming cups of tea,
Those suffering from temporary turkey coma,
Are sprawled in chairs or laid out on the sofa.
The snowy tree branches and the cool breeze,
Reflect the bright glow of the gentle sun,
Sending multitudes of multi-colored shadows
Gaily dancing up and down the walls.
The bombings and gun fire from
streets near and far
cease, in the
background, the
murmuring of those reading to the
elderly and shut-ins, reaches the
ears of the
homeless ones, sitting contentedly on their
park benches, their
stomachs full to overflowing from their
holiday meal at the
shelter.
The woman with her freshly cut hair,
Holding her beautiful hair combs,
Sitting next to the quiet gentle man,
Holding his watchless pocket chain.
The world looks with awe
And whispers a prayer of gratitude
To the small, helpless babe,
Responsible for this peaceful moment in time.
December 23, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Preparing for winter's long, cold, hibernation,
From November to January we eat,
Huge holiday feasts, plus all the leftovers,
Gorging ourselves on meals fit for a king.
But just as Jesus cleansed the temple,
From the money changers and those selling doves,
Ash Wednesday is the day we cleanse our own temples,
Driving out the demos that hide in the dark recess of our souls.
During Lent, we fast and pray,
Abstaining from meat each Friday,
Spending more time in prayers of repentance,
Preparing our bodies for the feast that is to come.
As we slowly lose our winter fat,
We leave behind the den of thieves,
The dullness and slowness of sin,
That weighs us down from following God.
For forty days we live in the desert,
Being tempted by mirages of food,
Visions meant to sway us,
From keeping our promise to God.
The thing that keeps us going,
When our stomachs growl and complain,
Is the glory of the coming resurrection,
That Jesus gave us with His cross.
November 18, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The star shone brightly that winter's eve,
Leading the shepherds to the manger,
Followed by the three wise men,
To see the helpless babe that would save the world.
Coming from all walks of life,
Many came following that same star,
Becoming shepherds of the Lord,
Tending to flocks of those who were lost.
Confident that the call was for them,
They left behind an old way of life,
They started with something new,
Helping women in distress seeking protection.
Marie-Anne was the first to come to Mother Foundress,
Her name a combination of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
And Mary's own mother, Anne,
A name strong with conviction and love,
That beautiful winter evening star,
Brought many to follow in the footsteps
Of those first few courageous women,
Wanting to become shepherds of the Lord.
November 18, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Faith is not just a whim,
A facet of life, light as the breeze,
Which blows from tree to tree,
Skipping across the calm, blue water.
It comes from deep within,
A force stronger than steel,
But one that bends with ease,
To follow the ways of the Lord.
However, without an open mind,
Our faith will not remain with us,
It escapes the boxes of sin,
That try to hold it prisoner.
Using our faith each and every day,
Protects it from becoming stagnant,
The more we share it with others,
The bigger it grows within us.
Our faith is a gift from God,
A grace bestowed upon all who ask,
Even to those who are blind,
Jesus gives the ability to see.
November 18, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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He was born a helpless babe,
But became a shepherd to all people,
How appropriate that the news of His birth,
Was announced to the shepherds in the fields.
The first shall be last,
The last shall be first,
Those who society condemned as lowly,
Were the first ones to hear the good news.
Suddenly the shepherds were seen in a different light,
They became heralds of the good news,
Modeling the love and compassion of Jesus,
They encouraged many to follow Him.
Those afraid of thunder and lightening,
Those terrified by emotional traumas,
Those running away from every little noise,
All learned to give their fears to Him.
Over time becoming a shepherd,
Was a profession raised in status,
People began to rely on the shepherds
To teach them how to love,
The helpless babe born in the manger.
November 18, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The flowers of the soul,
red with His blood,
nourished by His body,
blooming brightly in the light of the sun.
Seeds of discontent
spring up,
black with despair, fed
with hopelessness, explosions of deafening
colors, creating confusion and chaos. Stems sharp
and painful, plants void of feelings, greed
and apathy abound,
shrouds of sickly silence hovers. Scourged
with thorns, blood dripping from petals, melting
the hard layers of dirt, to the
buds of love, waiting patiently
under the crusty surface.
Trumpets of brilliant colors,
waiting to blast the good news,
singing songs and hymns,
faith filled flowers
clanging cymbals of change.
Piercing green blades of grass,
cut through the fog,
slivers of sunlight seep slowly in,
blinding the dreary thorns.
Charging through the haze,
bright lights blazing off silvery armor,
flags unfurled and rippling,
from the warm, loving sun.
The battle is won,
the flowers are raised up,
the thorns are cast into a bottomless pit,
The sun shines on the flowers of the soul.
November 13, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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And the Son of Man came to seek out
and to save the lost.
--Luke 19:10
Sleeping in the shadow of the sycamore,
Looking up to see its spiral strong limbs,
Watching its seasonal transformations.
Wallowing in the work of everyday life,
Struggling with condescending, corporate bullies,
Who try to stop us from getting to Jesus.
We seek to see from a higher perspective,
To climb out of the pit of greed and apathy,
To rise above a life filled with fear and hate.
Weighed down with wealth and riches,
Severely stunting our spiritual growth,
Inhibiting us from getting close to Jesus.
Drawn to the trunk of the sycamore,
Welcoming limbs that draw us up,
To heights where we can see Him.
Expecting to be rebuked for our unworthiness,
Astonished at the depth of His acceptance,
Overjoyed we immediately repent all our sins.
Giving our money bags to the poor,
Helping all those we have stepped on,
We bow down and beg His forgiveness.
November 4, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The battle lines are drawn,
The two sides face each other,
Each preparing their battle plans,
Ready to fight to the death.
Fear gets ready to march down the middle,
Attachment brings their troops up behind fear,
Control sneaks around to outflank the enemy,
Entitlement mans the tanks and artillery.
Freedom opens the gates and tears down the walls,
Acceptance flies the banners of welcome,
Compassion is ready with open arms,
Energy sets the table with food and drink.
The ego approaches ready to do battle,
Encountering no opposition, they scatter in confusion,
Circling with weapons drawn, they pause,
Unsure of how to continue.
Fear tries to engage freedom,
Failing they begin to dialogue,
Learning about each other,
Shocked they share some common ground.
Attachment pairs off against acceptance,
Unable to fire on targets
That calmly stand before them,
They drop their weapons in disbelief.
Control sneaks up behind compassion
Thinking they will take them by surprise,
Only to find them waiting,
With open arms, ready to embrace them.
Entitlement rolls forward with tanks and artillery,
But are stopped by a powerful energy,
As they emerge from their vehicles,
They are offered a more fulfilling meal.
As they gather together, each side sees their similarities,
The attributes they share with each other,
And the battle which took years to prepare,
Is over before it began.
October 7, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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I have come to set the earth on fire
--Luke 12:49
Sometimes the Lord calls
In the quiet voice of the wind,
Other times His voice calls
In the raging hurricane.
The fire of His passion
Can start with the flame of a candle,
Or He can get our attention
With a fierce forest fire.
There is a darkness in many souls
That needs to see the light,
To bring them from despair,
Into the joy of seeing the Lord.
Even though the flame may flicker,
It can never be totally extinguished,
As the Lord provides the fuel,
To set the earth on fire.
Once Jesus brought His light
To the souls of his disciples,
They could not help but share it
With everyone they met.
They heard, Come Follow Me,
And with that spark of love,
They left everything behind
To follow His fiery passion.
May we all be brought
From the darkness our days,
Into the light of the Lord,
With a passion to set the earth on fire!
October 22, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Opening a door for a friend,
Opening our heart for a stranger,
Reaching out past our comfort zone.
Having the time to join a committee,
Making the time to become a mentor,
Giving up our time for another.
Going out with our friends,
Volunteering at a nursing home,
Sitting with someone who is lonely.
Hanging out with friends at school,
Befriending a shy new kid on his first day,
Taking the chance of being riduculed.
Talking to a group of close friends,
Giving a speech to a roomful of strangers,
Knowing that God gives us the words we need.
Jesus who died on the cross for us,
Gives us the courage and strength,
Each time we go out on a limb.
October 21, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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All the little children,
Who want to stop,
To watch a big on the pavement,
A butterfly posing on a peony.
The tattooed green haired girl,
Who helps a gray haired woman,
Struggling with her walker
And a bag of groceries.
The solitary street person,
Wearing two layers of clothing,
In the hot, humid summer,
Standing with his bag of treasures.
The peaceful simile on the man's face,
Amidst all the beeping machines,
Tubes running in and out of his body,
Laying all alone in his hospital bed.
The woman dressed in her business suit,
Engrossed in a cell phone conversation,
Hangs up her phone and stands up,
To give an elderly gentlemen her seat.
The busy Wall Street banker,
On his way to an important meeting,
Stops and buys his wife flowers,
Just because he loves her.
The TV media mogul,
Consumed in the ratings race,
Has the strength to approve a show,
That portrays values not violence.
The powerful world leader,
In a meeting room filled with
Small third world diplomats,
Seeks a peaceful solution to war.
In the people who hurt us,
Who try to put us down,
Hiding the fear inside them,
Of their own worthlessness.
If we all take the time,
To stop and really see,
We can see the face of Jesus
In everyone we meet.
October 21, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Hearing the call
To leave everything
And follow Him.
Cutting the cord
Of safety and security
Entering into a new world.
Leaving some things is easy,
Mortgages and car payments,
Pressure to climb the corporate ladder.
Others are more difficult,
Family and cherished friends,
A way of life we know.
When we hear the Lord call to us,
Like Matthew, do we run to Him,
Overcome with a fiery passion?
Are we fearful of something new,
Weighing all the pros and cons,
Trying to imagine our new life?
Breaking bread at a brothel,
Slinging hash with sinners,
Taking tea with tax collectors.
Do we share Matthew's passion
His courage and conviction,
Jumping up when we get the call?
When Matthew heard Jesus call,
He knew in his heart it was right,
His love for the Lord gave him strength.
May all we who hear the call,
Rely on the strength of the Lord,
To leave everything and run to Him.
October 21, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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He grew strong in his faith
as he gave glory to God
--Romans 4:20
Sliding down the slippery slope of doubt,
Allowing gravity to take us down,
Down into the deep, dark pit of despair.
Wallowing around, looking for the exit signs,
Lost and alone, we struggle in the dark,
Time loses its grip and we sit in silence.
Waiting for answers that do not come,
We listen to the voice of our own ego,
Telling us that everything will be okay.
Hearing a little voice from above,
Calling to us from the clouds of faith,
We look up, but can see nothing.
Choosing to acknowledge our weakness,
We turn to God and ask for His help,
Praising His name, confident He will hear us.
As we pray to Him, our souls become stronger,
Lifting us up on the wings of angels,
Floating on the light of His love.
Whenever we slip down the slide to despair,
Faith is the light that brings us back up,
Where God is waiting to give us His love.
October 21, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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As autumn approaches,
Colorful bouquets of leaves,
Contrast the winter bleakness,
That soon will appear.
Instead of seeing the whole picture,
Treasuring the present moment,
We fear the future and what it brings,
Focusing on the long, cold, dark nights.
Our spiritual lives have seasons as well,
Filled with bright days and dark nights,
A pattern of summers and winters,
That feed us and give us time to rest.
A spring of brightly colored happy days,
With visions of angels and fragrant moments,
That need the warm spring rains,
To wash away the snow of discontent.
And the summer with its fiery passion,v
Needs the cooling shadows of shade,
To regulate the intense burning sun,
That fuels the fire of our souls.
With the winter comes the dark days of doubt,
But the beauty of the winter white trees,
Wrapped from head to toe with a soft velvet blanket,
Is the hibernation of faith that rejuvenates a tired soul.
As we grow older and experience all the seasons,
We learn to appreciate the beauty of each one,
The rhythm of the seasons is what we need,
To bring us closer to the fullness of God's love.
October 21, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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We know that all things
work together for good
for those who love God, ...
--Romans 8:28-30
Those whom he called,
he also justified,
and those whom he justified,
he also glorified.
Those who have much
Must learn to share,
Those who have little
Must learn to accept help.
When parents raise children,
Taking care of their needs,
They must one day accept
Their children's care for them.
Educators who teach children
Must be willing and open,
To the many hidden lessons
That come from the children.
A marriage of two people,
Becomes successful only
When one is silent,
While the other listens.
Each generation has new ideas,
Brought about by listening,
To the words of wisdom,
From those who came before them.
When we all work together,
Learning the give and take
Of all kinds of relationships,
We work together for God.
October 21, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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That we may be mutually encouraged
by each others faith
both yours and mine.
--Romans 1:12
God brings people into our lives,
To teach us a great many things,
To gently remind us when we forget.
For those born into Catholicism,
Who sometimes forget their teachings,
Without warning a tiredness creeps in.
Just as the disciples,
Who traveled in pairs,
We all help each other.
In preaching and teaching those
In the darkness of doubt,
We discover the depth of our faith.
To those who are new to the faith,
And those who return after leaving,
They all practice with a pure passion.
Their zeal and enthusiasm are contagious,
Discovering each new facet of their faith,
They open the eyes of the old and tired.
As we go through the days of our lives,
Along the various paths we travel,
Going hand in hard, we all help each other.
October 14, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Strong seasonal breezes soaring through the autumn sky,
Tearing the brilliant colored jacket from its arms,
Scattering it into tiny pieces on the cold wet ground.
The seeds that fall lay dormant,
Protected from the cold winter snow,
By the pieces from the brilliant colored jacket.
Warm rays of spring come,
Little seeds, rooted in the soft bed of earth,
Begins to germinate.
Little shoots breaking through to the surface,
Reaching up toward the warm summer sky,
Feeling safe and secure.
Growing up with many siblings,
Shadowed by parents and uncles,
Growing envious of the full leafed adults.
Wishing to be more like them it schemes,
Pitting one cousin against another,
Taking on the leaves of others.
Preening its leaves and pushing others away.
Turning towards the sun and rain,
Developing more leaves than its cousins.
Each bad habit it takes on,
Seems to produce more buds,
That open into lush leaves.
After many seasons autumn, approachs again,
This time the tree begins to look at its life,
Seeing its lush colored leaves for what they were.
Sifting through the memories,
The leaves of time wear heavy,
Remembering all those it treated unfairly.
Praying for forgiveness,
From all those it unintentionally hurt,
It's leaves begin to fall.
As each fault falls from its limbs,
It begins to stand a little straighter,
It continues to pray.
Soon all its leaves are gone,
In a pile around its feet,
Are all the faults it hung onto.
Naked and bare it looks up,
Expecting to be punished,
With torrential wind and rain.
However, its loving Father,
Pleased by its willingness to change,
Letting go of its vanity and pride.
Winter was warm that year,
The groundhog came out on a cloudy day,
And spring was in the air.
Praising God with a willingness to change,
Causes all our faults to fall,
He rewards us with leaves of love.
October 14, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When we are suffering,
Surrounded with pain,
We collapse into our wounds.
Trying to relieve the hurt,
We turn to various addictions,
Food, alcohol or gambling.
Anything to stop the flow,
To cauterize the emotions,
Ripping through our hearts.
We buy ourselves in work,
Hoping to ignore the screams,
That keep us awake at night.
As soon as we turn to God,
Acknowledging the power of the cross,
Begging His forgiveness is the key.
Our lives will begin anew,
Emerging from the womb of God's love,
We are transformed into new beings.
God takes our pain and suffering,
All He asks from us in return,
Is to forgive others as He forgives us.
October 14, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Feeling abandoned and alone
Invisible in a world beset by busyness,
Eyes dry from tears unshed,
Praying to a silent God.
Feeling lost and unworthy,
Not understanding the silence,
That eating the half gallon of ice cream,
Will make us quite unwell.
Resting in the shadow of God's love,
We learn the patience of maturity,
Over time our desires change,
In both substance and in tone.
Through all our tantrums He hears us,
He waits for the calm in our voice,
With His enduring and endless love,
Slowly His purpose dawns on us.
As the mystery of life unfolds,
All those pieces of the puzzle,
That seemed so totally out of place,
Now fit exactly where they belong.
A life filled with pain and suffering,
Now reveals the true power of the cross,
And all the answers to our questions,
Are revealed in all His splendor.
October 7, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Slower than the eye can see is the timeless hand of God,
A loving fatherly hand that picks us up when we fall,
And with discernment, guides us along our path.
A hand that after circumstances have shattered our lives,
Gives us the wisdom and the courage to get back on track,
If only we call out His name.
However, once we invoke His name in our prayers,
We expect instant gratification and have our lives return,
To our limited version of what happy ever after is.
But as any parent who has raised a child knows,
The child does not always have all the answers,
Ignorant of what is best for them.
Their short sighted view of how their life should be,
Does not allow for the myriad of wonderful things,
That their heavenly father has planned for them.
Instead of enjoying the scenery that passes by the window,
Of our train journey to peace and serenity,
We focus instead on the things we think we need to have.
Dreaming about our arrival at our new destination,
Visualizing all the people who will be there waiting for us,
We are missing the beauty of the world in front of us.
As we move the puppets into their places,
Writing the words they will speak,
We want to direct their every move.
It's when we release our control,
Sit back and enjoy the ride,
That God brings joy into our lives.
Unless we allow Him to be the engineer,
Our train travels in endless round abouts,
Lost and spinning in circles.
Looking up and taking the hand of God,
Waiting for His words of direction,
Our life becomes a journey not a destination.
October 7, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Just like Jesus, we need Mary
Her love, her tenderness, her presence in our lives,
As her children, she can teach us so many things,
Most importantly, how to say "yes" to God.
The one who taught Jesus to pray,
Can us all her children as well,
To listen in the silence of our hearts,
To the words of lover from our Father,
As we learn how to surrender to God's will,
With trust and faith in His ways,
As we allow Mary in our hearts,
We grow in the knowledge of His love.
When we receive her into our lives,
And ask her for her motherly help,
To guide us on our journey,
To give us the courage to say our "yes."
October 3, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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While safe in the womb,
We twist and turn and
Our cord gets all tied up,
Her voice unties the knots.
Even after we are born,
And the cord to our mother is severed,
We still get twisted and tangled,
And need to hear her soothing voice.
In the darkness we call out,
Knowing that she is always there,
We listen for the sound of her voice,
To untangle the knots we make.
When the stress in our lives
Turns our stomachs into knots,
She knows just what to say,
To bring peace into our lives.
When our hearts are full of pain,
And the blood is unable to flow,
She unties the vessels around the heart,
Her motherly voice heals all our hurts.
When our words become twisted,
And evil takes control of our minds,
Mary, our Mother intercedes for us,
She brings our struggles to her Son.
He drives the demons from our bodies,
He unlocks the barricades of pain,
That keep our tongues tied in knots,
Through Mary's love, we are able to speak.
October 3, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When pain and suffering come to visit,
We try to slam the door in their face,
It does not matter how strong we are,
Nothing can them stop from coming in.
Sometime the visits are long,
Sometimes they are short,
However, one thing stays the same,
Their visits are never welcome.
There are those who bolt their doors,
Letting no one in at all,
Fearing the hurt they bring,
They also shut out the joy.
Others totally ignore the visitors,
Refusing to acknowledge their existence,
Pushing them away,
Like a half eaten Danish.
While others warmly invite them in,
Showering them with their darkness,
Enjoying the victim role,
Looking forward to their visits.
Some are oblivious to who they are,
Caring only that their shoes match their purse,
That their hair is property combed,
And are crushed when they leave.
The key to being a good hostess,
Is to welcome all those who visit,
Seeing the guests for who they are,
Accepting the gifts that they bring.
We obtain this spiritual insight,
From having the Lord as our Master,
Allowing Him to greet our guests,
He sits them at the appropriate table.
He tells us what to serve,
To keep each guest happy,
The conversation is lively,
He always knows the right thing to say.
And when the party is over,
And the guests have all gone,
We stand in the doorway with the Lord,
Feeling at peace in our eternal home.
October 3, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Watching the thin, black hand,
Sweeping through time,
Clicking, clicking past the numbers,
Falling, then climbing back to the top,
Pushing the long black hand around the dial.
Golden wheels that dance together,
Spinning and turning in a sequence,
Known only to the master clock maker,
The designer of the times of our lives,
Who watches over us with love and compassion.
When tragic circumstances shatter us,
Our hands click and click, but can not move,
The master clock maker reaches down,
With His spiritual key, he winds the wheels,
And gives us the strength to begin again.
As we travel through time,
In the silence between the clicks,
We can hear the voice,
That beckons us to Him,
The timeless voice of love.
October 3, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Life can change in an instant,
As sickness steam rolls through,
Shredding our treasure map,
Jack hammering our heart,
Into tiny pieces of debris,
That slide through a cherry colander.
The smell of loss fills the misty air,
A volcano of words never spoken aloud,
Spews molten lava over cement cheeks,
Frozen feelings wrapped around a stick,
Congealed frustration poured into custard cups,
As desolation drains into a deep depression.
Pouring hot asphalt into pot holes of pain,
Pooling into mounds of grief and torment,
Macabre mustaches drawn on white faces,
Scrapbooks with cut out heads and shoulders,
Cherished china patterns crushed into dust,
Polka dot holes in red and green flannel shirts.
Turnstiles of emotions running rampant,
Angry gray storm clouds covering the blue sky,
Sunny days intermixing with unpredictable showers,
Bare leafless trees shivering in the cold,
Spring flowers buried deep under the snow,
Earthquakes that rock our fragile world.
Dark lifeless days following by long sleepless nights,
As the ship of despair sails off into the dreary night,
With a cargo hold full of shattered dreams,
Sails lost in faith, fluttering in the windless air,
Chartering a course known only to the captain,
We sail in circles waiting for a celestial sign.
When emptiness overflows the mind,
And hope is hidden from our view,
A little spark appears on the horizon,
Growing larger and larger as it comes closer,
And as the light of life slowly reveals itself,
We see the eternal of blessings in God's love.
He does not always heal the sickness,
That rains onto our parade,
Instead He show us the rainbow,
That could never have been made,
Without the cold sleet and the rain,
That washes the blindness from our eyes.
September 15, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Humming hymns from the heart, huffing
and puffing up hills of mustard
seeds and sequoias, shifting
through mountains of memories.
Hazy, hot, summer days, bright and cheerful,
cool, rainy, spring days, patiently awaiting
colorful floral appearances,
cold, winter days, sun, glistening off
crystal blankets of white
crisp fall days, with glorious brilliant backgrounds.
Praising God with song,
pedaling over the pebbly pavement
with patient and perseverance,
wheels spinning with a constant cruising cadence,
trying to stay in the slip stream of those
who have gone before us.
Dizzy with the delight of no worries,
no incessant ringing or singly technology to mar the silence,
just the hum of tires on an open road.
Smoothly slicing though the wall of wind,
feeling the fluttering of feathers as the breeze brushes by,
smiling and the winds strong hands push us up the hill
and as its gentle hands wipe the sweat from our brow.
Waving welcome to the winged creatures that willow and thrill
perched in their lush leafy rocker recliners,
watching the world flies by.
Cycling as the mind travels through a Europe of emotions,
tears of joy and smiles of sadness
alone on the open road
with solitude
and a multitude of angles
who give us unceasing strength
and provides us with a spiritual compass
to stop the traffic circle of bad choices
guiding us in the right direction of our discernment.
September 5, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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To protect us from the daily distractions,
That overrun our minds on a daily basis,
Our hearts and souls need constant care.
Through the strength of our self denial,
We shovel out the weeds of despair,
The temptations, toils and tribulations.
In order to nurture the tender seeds,
Lovingly planted by soft angel wings,
We need to be forever vigilant and awake.
From a loving sun and the gentle forgiving rain,
Come the sprouts of faith, hope and charity,
Leafy green wishes and dreams riding on a cloud.
Daily nourishment of His body and blood,
Along with nutrients of obedience and humility,
Produces an abundance of patience and perseverance.
Constant cultivation keeps the thorns and weeds,
That wait in the waste lands of our willfulness
Where selfishness and greed live in opulence.
Creating a garden of consecration in our hearts,
Carefully tilling the rich, warm, soil of our souls,
Our love for the Lord blooms bright and fragrant.
July 22, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The Pharisees walked ahead of the crowd,
Stiff and straight, these keepers of the rituals,
Strutting with pride, their heads held high.
The Publicans followed quietly behind,
Rounded shoulders, these taxers of the people,
Eyes downcast, their hands together in prayer.
Through the busy streets they went,
Fiery, hot sun beating down upon them,
As they made their way to the temple.
In a small house that sat on a quiet street,
The two women were expecting a visitor,
Together they anxiously awaited his arrival.
When he came through the door and sat down,
Martha fussed and fretted over preparations,
While Mary did nothing but sit at his feet.
Jesus came to teach his children many things,
How the times of the past and the old rules,
Needed to make way, for the birth of new ways.
How strictly following the rules of religion,
Without showing our love for our neighbors,
Can bring on the sins of false pride and vanity.
Martha was following the only discipline she knew,
With her hair wrapped up, an apron over her dress,
She stirred the stew and kneaded and baked the bread.
Mary was searching for a different direction of faith,
Her hair flowing down her back, she sat at His feet,
Absorbing into her heart the words that He spoke.
He came to us to preach His Word in parables,
So that the letter of the law would not be lost and,
The truth and light of love would show through.
July 22, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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