Purple Poetry Path
Volume 8
Listening amidst the roar of the ordinary to the sound of His voice
Where the events, encounters and experiences of everyday
Harmoniously come together as a melody of contentment.
Gaining strength and serenity from the unexpected joys and sorrows
The mysteries that unfold with each brilliant blue morning glory
Greeting each new day, turning its face towards the warm, beckoning sun.
Reaching out to all those trapped by the darkness of fear and sin
Feeding all those hungry for the healing of God's Word
Helping lost sheep to find their way back to the shepherd.
Sharing the meaningfulness of meditation, retreat and recollection
Without which life withers and dies in its ceaseless transplantation
Being scattered about by every commercial trade wind that blows through.
Courageously obedient to the total openness that spiritual freedom brings
Consecrating to a reorientation of motivations, thoughts, and expectations
Letting go of the need to control both internal and external life decisions.
Understanding the depth of my own uniqueness and special gifts
Walking in the hallowed footsteps of Mother Mary Fitzbach Roy
Obedient to the voice that calls to those searching to make a difference.
No longer traveling alone, but becoming part of a glorious new group
Following the charism of the Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary
Pledging to share God's Love and Goodness with all those we meet.
January 11, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The God who
created the sea and sky, also
created the horizon, a special place far from the
chaos of the world, where the young
can hear His voice.
Where the sea touches the sky
and is changed into baptismal water,
graces are granted
promises are made
where the
sea, supported with His love
starts its long journey.
Progress is slow
Wobbly steps at first
Then as the waves grow stronger
Steps turn into strides.
Approaching adolescence, the
sea begins to ignore His voice,
wandering about,
constantly changing its course, and
while His voice gently
whispers
directions that are blatantly
disregarded, arrows flash
they whisper thunder.
The sea is
envious that for some the journey
seems glassy calm, while it constantly encounters
severe storms, and as it gets tossed about, its
selfish focus on others, blinds it from
seeing the invisible hand
sheltering it from harm.
The sea in its
slothfulness, tires of its redundant tides
wanting to be something spectacular,
wishing it could become a tsunami.
Over time, many different rivers and streams
careen carelessly into the sea,
causing the sea to
course towards an
overpowering ocean, impetuous and
awestruck, the sea rushes
headlong into the ocean.
As the ocean
pulls and pushes, the sea
without a name or identity,
suddenly the ocean spits out the sea
leaving it deserted
on an empty beach, in front of a grand villa.
Drawn to the house
skimming soundlessly over the shimmering sand
candles lights flicker a warm hello
dispelling the
shadows and
sending sparkles into the sea.
Next morning, women in
curious habits, with a
cheerful purpose, go about their
chores, the sea over hears them
conversing about a
compassionate and
generous Mother Foundress, the sea strains to catch a
glimpse of Marie Fitzbach Roy.
The sound of her name unlocks a sea
chest of memories, a voice from the past that
summons sunken images that
crash over
sandbags of sadness.
Delighted to hang out on
the beach, no longer
tired of its redundant tides, its dancing waves matching the
rhythm of the chairs
rocking on the porch
time slowly drifts along.
Observation his career
people of all shapes and sizes
heads down, stumble into the building
blanketed with heavy black
coats and hats, oblivious to the storm
clouds overhead.
Each morning, they emerge from
the building, their heads
a little higher, their clothes
a little brighter, their steps
a little lighter, as they
stroll up and down the beach.
Curious about the
transformations, it
tries to touch the people
but they run away whenever
the sea gets too close.
Longing for something to
fill a void, the sea hears
music without instruments
floating from the porch, the
silent sea struggles to simulate the sounds.
A sweetly singing sea, unaware that its
tides are changing, with each incoming
time, more new water pushes
the sea, further and further out into
the unknown.
The sea, aware that
stagnation is not its nature, it
still longs for the
perseverance the little puddles in the sand
seem to have, with a
smile it remembers
the voice from long ago
the graces granted
the promises made.
The pain in its heart is
lifted, the loneliness is
replaced with an excitement for its
new adventure.
Preparing for its imminent departure
stirred with the
strength of all the rivers and
streams it has known
blended with the painful lessons the
ocean left behind, it
generates a gigantic, scorching
geyser, spectacular in the cold Atlantic water.
Waving its white-capped farewell, the
searching sea, finally finds its purpose
mirrored in the eyes of the Sisters
are the eyes of Marie Fitzbach Roy.
Guided by the
voice from its past, embracing the
vision of Marie Fitzbach Roy, it
takes one last loving glance, at
the villa on the beach,
turns toward its new destiny, with a confident
stride, the love of God
steadfast in its heart, it
flows forward.
October 15, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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That invisible force that guides us
Whispering its glassy secrets as it floats
Ever so silently and smoothly
Under the surface of our consciousness.
It appears as a soft pastel velvet ribbon
Or a strong, vibrant band of steel
Supporting our world weary limbs
Exhausted from our constant running.
It's the small flickering candle light
Sitting in the window of our hearts
Or it's the screeching, bright, bold beacon
Beaming light into the deep, black hole.
It's the music that drifts into our memory
When we sit and watch a fiery sunset
Or the silly little tune we vaguely remember
Somewhere in the cobwebs of our childhood.
It's the dog eared book we pull off the shelf
When the weather turns cold and stormy
It's the friend who always seem to call us
When the storm clouds bring their darkness.
It's the Fatherly voice that speaks to us
When we sit quietly in meditation and prayer
The one that makes our heart skip a beat
When we feel Him come sit next to us.
It's the thing that we miss the most
When we have fallen or lost our way
The bird that has flown from the cage
Because we forgot to close the door.
The good news is that it's never far away
It's always within our reach, just a whisper away
The smallest little prayer brings it back to us
Eager to help, glad to be back in our hearts.
October 7, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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My beloved had a vineyard on a beautiful, fertile hill
He spaded and cleared it of stones and debris
Put a fence around it and built a watchtower
Then he went away on a long journey.
The tenants planted it with prayers and petitions
Germinated it with the seeds of peace and serenity
Fed it with an abundance of truth, honor and purity
Hoping for a harvest of graciousness and excellence.
However, laziness and wanton ways crept in
Encouraged by selfish and greedy tenants
With no respect for the sanctity of life
The vineyard produced a crop of wild grapes.
The inhabitants of the surrounding villages
Came and pronounced judgment on the vineyard
Storming the walls, trying to trample the vines
They deemed the grapes unworthy.
Both old and new were struck down
Ripped from the vines that nourished them
Presumed a mistake by those in command of the rules
Giving them justification for slaughtering the defenseless.
Completely taking over, they ignored the landowner's request
They sent away or killed all his servants and emissaries
Overtaken by their laziness and greediness, they took control
Defiant and confident, they knew what was best for the vineyard.
And when the landowner sent his only son
They fabricated horrible lies against him
And as their greed grew into a towering tree
They plotted and schemed and together they killed him.
So the vineyard became overgrown with brambles and thorns
Forgotten and looked upon with disdain by the villagers
The vineyard waited patiently for its beloved
Praying he would not abandon her.
Remembering His words, Let your requests be known to me
As she prayed these words rained gently down from sunny skies
The stone that the builders rejected, has become the cornerstone
This was the Lord's doing, and it is amazing in our eyes.
-- Matthew 21:42
October 6, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Leaving the distractions of the world
We come to our room, clothes with our insecurities
To sit in our soft, reclining chair of worries and anxieties
The sound of our whiny, little voice pollutes the air.
Ranting to God about the injustices in our life
Reading Him our long list of demands
Indignant that He has not granted them
For living what we consider a Christian life.
Instead, we should praise God unceasingly
For all the wonderful blessings He bestows on us
And then like Jacob, we need to be reminded
Surely the Lord is in this place and I knew it not.
And when we leave our special room.
We need to remember to take Him with us
As we greet our neighbors near and far
We need to open our eyes and see the Lord.
Open our ears to the silent screams of the working poor
Quit changing the channel to avoid the starving children
Cease complaining about the neighbor's rusty old car
Stop having to buy more clothes for an overstuffed walk-in closet.
We need to construct an special room within our seeking hearts
A formidable fortress that will shut out our insistent cell phones
Only allowing God's voice to float softly through the walls
Creating a holy solitude that will wrap us with His loving embrace.
A place where we can go anytime we want to hear His voice
Or feel His breathe warming our cold, shattered hearts
A retreat we can run to where we can just be children
Looking into the eyes of a kind and loving Father.
1Genesis 28:16
October 6, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Before we are born, God chooses our cross
Although most of us don't even realize it
And many of us don't pick it up right away
We wait until we stumble over it in the dark.
Forged from strong metals
Molded with many tears
Shaped by our sorrows
Hardened by our pain.
Combined with polished wood
Reflections of our raptures
Carved from our laughter
Weathered from our wellness.
God created the perfect cross for us
A place to ease our heavy burdens
Sturdy enough to hold us up
When life's struggles get us down.
Some days we envy other crosses
They seem so easy to carry
Shining and dazzling, they reflect the sun
Weightless, they seem to float effortlessly.
While ours are heavy and dull
Troublesome and worrisome
Always getting in our way
Tireless burdens dragging us down.
Blind to the truth standing in front of us
The weight and appearance of our cross
Is determined by our own inner perspective
Do we love our cross or resent its presence
Accepting God's will is the key
It polishes and lightens our cross
Making us thankful for our sorrows
Helping us to appreciate our blessings.
Praying for God's grace and strength
Remembering that Jesus died for our sins
We carry our cross with ease
Held up in the veneration of His love.
September 14, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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God gently guides our spiritual growth
As we travel our personal maze of choices
Filled with numerous trials and temptations
Some stroll confidently, other stumble and stagger.
Some are directed by kind and compassionate parents
Others are disabled from birth, deprived of instruction
Lost in a maze created by a fearful father and selfish mother
Left to be raised by a self-absorbed paternal grandmother.
Bumping into obstacles avoided by all her peers
Who left her behind to wander the maze by herself
Taking with them all directional signs and illuminations
Blind and alone, she wanders aimlessly along the paths.
Frustrated and forlorn, she tries to follow others
Lacking their talents she is unable to keep up,
Envious, she watches as they glide effortless
Making all the best decisions, they advance easily.
Bound by a cloud of darkness and unexplained sorrow
Broken up by little glimmers of light that raise up her soul
Moments of sunshine that reveal the way out of the maze
But are quickly distinguished and nightfall returns.
Surrounded by scraps of old friendships and failed relationships
Abandoned by everyone, she curls up in a small corner of the maze
Weak from years of fruitless wandering, she has lost all hope
Wrapping herself in her tears, she accepts her life of loneliness.
Hearing her tears inundate the ground, He comes to her
Waiting for her to cease looking to others for assistance
Needing her to surrender herself to His unconditionally love
He cradles her in his loving arms and the maze disappeared.
September 14, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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As children we are unaware
Of the great plans God has for us
Having tea with our imaginary friends
Climbing trees and playing pirate.
We being our academic adventure
Leaving or imaginary friends behind
Embarking on a career of learning
We begin to see a new world.
As we complete each academic grade level
With its language and calculation assignments
Filling our minds with facts and figures
We find our play time slowly evaporating.
When our busy life overwhelms us
HE sends us gentle reminders to pray
A dream about the importance of helping others
Advertisements asking for help for the poor.
Ignoring these messages brings down the shade
The start of the darkness taking over the soul
Refusing to acknowledge the plight of the poor
Begins the long trip down the staircase of depression.
Walking down the path of education
Whether in school or through life experience
Gives us a totally new perspective
A chance to change our lives for the better.
Through the types of classes we choose to attend
We outgrow old restricting thoughts
Expanding our mind through learning
We gain a knowledge of true freedom.
This new found freedom in thinking
Gives us the strength to scale the wall
To see things previously hidden
To hear the cries of those who are hungry.
As the new academic year approaches
We have a choice to make
The path we decide to travel
Will determine our destiny.
We can follow in the footsteps of Jesus
Allowing love and truth to guide us
Or we can believe the lives of the false gods
And follow the path of greed and power.
Whatever the path we choose to take
HE will always be there for us
Bringing forgiveness for all our sins
Or infinite joy for praising His name.
August 31, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Patterns of individual history
Sorrows and joys cut into shapes
A complex puzzle with many pieces.
Double-sided, colorless choices
One side light, the other dark
Each piece waiting for its time.
Over the years our puzzle shrinks and grows
When teachers and friends leave us
Replacement pieces appear on the table.
Some know from early childhood
The entire scene from their box cover
Feeling whole, the pieces fall together.
Others struggle with every single piece
Overwhelmed by the myriad of options
Lacking confidence, frozen in fear and panic.
Others tire of waiting for God's plan to be revealed
Forcing their personal pieces together
Even using pieces from someone else's puzzle.
Frustration and anxiety sets in
Lost and unable to find their way
Long forgotten values are the key.
Faith, that He will never abandon us
Hope, that someday God's will becomes ours
Charity, the glue that bonds us all together.
The clue to solving the puzzle
Is as simple as saying a prayer
Discerning and listening to His answer.
Our puzzle will become complete
When all the holes are filled in
And we turn to see His face.
August 30, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Sparrows, finches, and chickadees
All flying a single V formation
Following a bright, yellow wild canary.
Discerning and meditating
How to hear God's voice
How to know it's His message.
Everyone feels the beauty of flower differently
Some through the sweet fragrance or vibrant colors
Others through the delicate petals.
Morning prayer, rosary circle, evening mass
Those who walk with confidence
Help those who stumble in the dark.
As the summer comes to a close
Tearful good-byes wash over the pews
Memories of past retreats rewind and play.
With winter comes hibernation
But hope brings the promise
That summer will come again.
August 30, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When Jesus calls to us, do we
Walk towards him without hesitation
Or observe, from the comfort of our couch
Waiting for others to take that first step.
Watching as black skyscraper waves
Swirl the sinister seas around the church
Tumultuous tsunamis terrorizing teachers
And hurricane gales carrying vicious whispers.
Lacking Peter's impulsive nature
We cower in our crisis of faith
Hiding from the one who can save us
Convinced we will all be drowned.
Contrasting convictions wash into the boat
Oblivious, with our blue tooth technology
Constantly implanted in our ears
We are deaf to the cries of the church.
Amazed at Peter's astonishing actions
We watch as he steps out onto the waves
And starts walking toward Jesus
His faith holding him up.
Then the realization of what he is doing
Penetrates Peter's fisherman's experiences
As his brain takes over, his faith falls away
And he sinks into the deep, black depths.
Struggling, the church tries to swim in the darkness
Rampant with incessant rumors from refractory reporters
Sympathetic to our shortcomings, Jesus holds out His hand
Ready to rescue all those who call out His name.
Taking our hands, Jesus draws us into the boat
Where we rest and receive the courage and grace
To turn and step back out into the waves
Holding out our hands to our neighbors in need.
August 16, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The small, red mound of potter's clay was excited
He decided that he was going to become a waterfall
He was not going to be turned into some silly, useless vase
He was going to travel over rocks and see the world.
Hiding his disabilities, he was going to prove he was normal
Determined to leave behind his solid symmetry
He was going to transform himself into liquid form
So leaving behind his family and friends, he set off.
Without legs, walking was difficult
So he rolled down into the valleys
And dragged himself up the hills
Determined to find the perfect place.
He had to keep moving as the sun was hot
Some days he felt as if he would be baked alive
The fires fried his ruby, red shell
Making it very difficult for him to move.
He cried out, "Lord, please help me,"
"I attend daily mass, I pray every day"
"I don't know what you want me to do,"
"Please show me your love for me today."
But all he heard was agonizing silence
So he decided he was going to stop trying
"I'm just going to sit here until you hear me,"
And with his lower lip quivering, he sat down.
"What are you doing here all dusty and dirty?"
Said the potter, as he stumbled over him in the doorway
And as the potter picked him up and took him back inside
He felt relieved that he had been found.
The potter cleaned him up and he was back with his friends
Still not ready to be molded into a vase, he jumped down
Heading for the door determined to make it this time
He started off in a different direction.
But again the sun came out and baked him hard
And again he was returned to the shelf
"What is wrong with me,"
"Why can't I be like everyone else," he wailed.
Then one day the potter came and picked him off the shelf
There was a feeling of excitement in the air
Something was different, but he was not sure what
He just knew this was no ordinary day.
Dizzy with anticipation, the wheel spun
Around and around he flew, the potters hands deftly molding
And as he looked at his reflection in the mirror
His form was something he had never seen before
Removed from the mold, he went into the fire
Screaming with pain as the fire crackled all around him
He cried out, "What is happening to me?"
And he heard the words, "Just be patient."
Removed from the kiln, he sat for awhile
Cooling in the soft zephyr winds
He tried to see himself, but could not
"Where am I going," he wondered.
Covered with a light coat of glaze
Then, back in the fire he went
This time, however, it was hotter than before
And he wondered if he would survive.
But out he came, all sound and shiny
Then boxed up, he was taken away
Inside his box, he thought about his dream
Oddly he felt somehow content.
Waking up one morning, he realized the box was gone
He was surrounded by all kinds of people
Who were owing and awing at something
What it was he could not see.
Then he felt it, it was cool and refreshing
As it fell over his shoulders and down to his toes
And then again, it repeated the cycle
And he heard in the background, a small hum.
Looking around, he was shocked.
Over his shoulders it was water that flowed
And under his toes was a small motor
That brought the water back up again.
He looked up and cried to God, his creator
"Thank you Lord, for my dream has come true."
He was not the water he has so desperately wanted to be
However, with the potter's help, he had indeed become a waterfall.
July 31, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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What do you see when you look in the mirror
The nose the world tells you is too big for your face
Or the unique nose lovingly carved by your creator
Are we the ones who walk blindly past the beggar
Or those with the vision to see the scars and pain
Hidden inside the many layers of brick and mortar
What do you hear as you go out into the world
The complaints and criticisms of co-workers
Or the morning dove singing in thanksgiving
Are we the ones deaf to the cries and shrieks
Of the children cowering from thoughtless words
Hurled from the mouths of those they love
Or are we the people whose hearing is so acute
We are able to hear the wishes of the little children
As they laugh and run through the tall swaying grass
What do you feel as you sip your morning coffee
The warmth of a compassionate sun on your face
Or a stress that chills you to down to your bones
Do we feel the softness of a silk dress or Armani shirt
Or the velvety feel of a kind word said to a stranger
The satiny touch of feeding those who are hungry
What do you smell as you walk down the street
The rank and odoriferous garbage trucks
Or the small flowers pushing through the cement
Can we smell those caught up by the whirlwinds of depression
The perfume of uplifting words spoken by loved ones
Filling the sails of our souls with the trade winds of discernment
What is the attitude that follows you through life
The cynicism that the world is a giant cesspool
Or the faith that with God we can do anything
And when we fall flat on our faces from the hurdles of life
Do we ignore the voices that tell us to stay down
Overcome us with anger, do we kick the wooden saw horse
Or do we listen to the sympathetic words from those who love us
And laughing at our clumsiness, do we take the hand from above
Confident that God is the one guiding our steps
July 30, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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How do I love thee
Let me count the ways
When you are angry with me I send you happy little daisies
With the infectious giggles of children.
When you are sad,
I paint you a glorious sunset
Full of red and orange fragrant blossoms.
When you are lonely
I sit next to you and dry your tears
With white linen angel wings.
When you can not sleep
I hold you in my arms and sing
Pictures of peaceful, serene, mirrored lakes.
When the world pushes you down
I pick you up, dust you off
And kiss all your pains away.
When you are tired
I walk silently beside you
Carrying your books.
When you pray to me
Your soul soars and breaks open the clouds
Displaying the iridescent colors of love.
July 28, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Born to parents destined to divorce
Baby tears mixing with baptismal water
Giving us the strength to cry out
Here I am, Lord.
Moving invisibly from toddler to teenager
Standing with classmates at the front of the church
Confirming to all in a shaky, small voice
Here I am, Lord.
Unaware of His presence on our journey
Through all the pot holes and detours
Scowling at the sky and screaming out
Here I am, Lord.
Looking to others to help us
Following too many false idols
Standing amidst the debris, we shriek
Here I am, Lord.
Lost and alone in a world of pain
Seeking an answer to our prayers
Hearing a voice call to us, we respond
Here I am, Lord.
Turning to friends who see thru our shell
To the bruised and broken heart within
Leading the way, together we pray
Here I am, Lord.
Sorting through all the choices we've made
Freeing ourselves from the blinders of loneliness
Seeing the love that beckons to us, we reach out
Here I am, Lord.
July 14, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The values we learn from our parents over the years
Creates the guidance system we will utilize
For making choices once our ship has taken flight
Leaving the launch pad searching for other worlds.
Once we are in the air we determine how we chart our course
Whether we use the stars or the more prevalent GPS
Or the less popular internal guidance system
That was individually programmed by our creator.
Using a GPS system can create a career path
Focused only on monetary, materialist values
Instead of a career that does not label who we are, <
But emphasizes helping our neighbors in need.
We can have a career not weighed on a gold and silver scale
That excludes anyone not wearing Armani suits and Gucci shoes
But looks at the person by how they treat those around them
Giving everyone they meet the respect reserved for royalty.
Instead of giving their burdens to God, the Father
Whose yoke is easy and whose burdens are light
They prefer to fly solo with their materialistic anvils
Struggling with the weight of the world on their shoulders.
When we learn to see our true self from God's perspective
Our wondering ceases and our identity becomes clear
Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed by They name
Thy kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
July 6, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Timid creatures afraid of their own shadow,
Cringing in the darkness,
Terrified of coming out into the light.
Instead of walking with their heads held high,
They hold back, giving their spirit,
To the one sitting in the dark.
Who, afraid of the power of God's love,
Is stealthily shrouded in the shadows,
Whispering and gossiping about others.
Trying to frighten us into submission,
Discouraging the Israelites about the Promised Land,
Telling them they would be devoured like locusts.
The timorous think they are alone in their fears,
That no can understand their excruciating pain,
Allowing their human weakness to bind them.
Unaware that everyone is afraid of something,
That real courage comes from God's grace,
That His love for us conquers all fear.
His forgiveness gives us the strength,
To break free of the chains that bind us,
And it is our faith in God that clears a path for others.
In the midst of the fire of our fears,
With the flames of the Holy Spirit,
He quenches our frenzy with His love.
Calling out His name banishes all our demons,
Wrapped in His embrace our fears disappear,
We walk towards the future, our heads held high.
June 22, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Aiming for true devotion
We load our quivers
With many types of arrows.
Small mistakes at first
Squeezing the arrows too hard
Not letting go when we should.
Picking only the strong ones
Ignoring sorrow and distress
Pushing them into a dark corner.
Not listening to the elders
When they try to teach us
Thinking we know how to do it.
Bragging about our abilities
Talking about others behind their backs
Needing to show how good we are.
Practicing diligently and lovingly
On a target we believe is true
Unaware it is hidden from our view.
Sometimes the process seem grueling
Our muscles screaming out in pain
And we wonder if God is listening.
Archers who tire of their work
Seeking an easier path to travel
Look towards another profession.
Impatient with the process to proficiency
Like the dawn that banishes the darkness
We need to temper our skill with patience.
Painted by some as gloomy and melancholy
Those who only see the outer shell of dedication
Never experiencing the inner core of sweetness.
Saving some arrows as special
Hiding them from Jesus
Wanting to keep them for ourselves.
Thinking we need more arrows
But not knowing where to get them
We buy them from the black market.
Although our new arrows look the same
Their feathers are fake and fall off
Causing our arrows to harm the innocent.
Not wanting to admit our failures
We turn and run from Jesus
Embarrassed at our lack of faith.
But His love for us is strong
He searches until He finds us
Gently guiding us from our darkness.
Ready to battle against discouragement
Willing to die in mortal combat
We look to the Lord for the strength to fight.
Pointing us toward experienced guides
Faithful friends who give us advice
Guarding us against evil snares.
Cold and hungry He feeds us
Wrapping our shivering bodies with His love
He give us wine to quench our thirst.
Looking into his smiling face
Remembering His pain on the cross
We bow and beg His forgiveness.
We hear His voice gently encouraging us
Our hearts leap for joy
We gleefully set out on our journey.
Handing Him our quiver
The cheap arrows dissolve
The remaining ones multiply into many.
Giving us back our quiver
Filled with arrows of fire
Fanned by our love into spiritual flames.
Refreshed and renewed
The real target in our sights
Our arrows fly straight and true.
June 5, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Reckless redwoods who want to run around
To sway gently in the wind
Rather than become regal redwoods
Protectors of the faith.
Merry magnolias, flirtatious and flighty
Ignoring their calling of becoming
Loving, maternal magnolias
Who fill the pews with their fragrance.
Pouty, obstreperous pines
Dreaming of flying like birds
Instead of simple, pious pines
Silent and prayerful.
Bashful, benevolent birches
Wanting to stand out in purple and red
Ignoring the beauty and value
Of their interlocking jackets of pale bark.
Seedlings of all shapes and sizes
Living life with no expectations
Full of energy and God's promises
Of bountiful potential and unconditional love.
Each of us is given our own unique gifts
Bestowed on us by our heavenly creator
When ignored make us look silly
Trying to become something we are not.
June 1, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Suffering, like an insistent salesman, visits us all
It wears many different masks, some subtle, some obvious
It comes and goes quickly, or it lingers
With its unwelcome cast of villains.
Like Job, pushing his rock up the hill
We wonder why God has abandoned us
Wrapped with a black cloak of whining and despair
We can not see that God is helping us push the rock.
If roses had no thorns, <
We would never know our blood is red
And by sharing our blood with others
We give life to those who need it.
Without suffering our days would be endless
Filled with the false gods of addictions
However, the cold, darkness of death
Reminds us to give thanks for the sun.
Helping our neighbors and allowing them to help us
Accepting that God's grace gives us the courage
To smile in hideous face of suffering
We pick up our cross and carry it to Golgotha.
June 1, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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In a crowded room
We stand alone
Surrounded by our distracting thoughts.
Memories of ancient history
Reliving embarrassing moments
Wishing to change the ending.
Straining the hear His message
In the clamor of voices
All assailing to get our attention.
You are no good.
Shut up and listen to me.
You will never amount to nothing.
Through all the garbage
Comes a crystal, clear voice
Whispering our name.
You are beautiful.
You are wonderful.
I love you.
May 26, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Planting the seeds of spirituality
we shout for joy as we sing our hymns of praise
feeling transformed, we plot our future.
As the days go by, we wait for the seeds to germinate
days turns into weeks
weeks into months.
Slowly our patience wanes
boredom slithers into our hearts
other amusements begin attracting our attention.
Leaving the garden
we forget the seeds
But God does not.
In our absence he nourishes them with His son
watering them with His tears
sheltering them with His love.
Waiting patiently for the day we open our eyes
to see the tiny seedlings bursting through the hard dry shell
of our materialist worldliness.
Pushing the blinders from our eyes
dropping to our knees we touch the tiny plants
to feel their tender shoots and soft leaves.
Sorry for our lack of faith
we cry out for forgiveness
praying for His grace to help us.
The gardener takes our outstretched hands
bestowing His forgiveness
He leads us back on the path to Him.
May 18, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Enduring the agonizing pain
emotional for some, physical for others
we carry our cross through the long dark winter.
Being led by intuitive blind eyes, following
lost in the rhythmical click, as it taps <
out its own mesmerizing melody.
Just as the cyclist pedals slowly up the long, steep hill
praying for relief from the pain
hopeful that God is listening.
Then one morning, the spring sun shines
we find ourselves coasting, to the bridge balanced<
on the edge of our hopes and dreams.
We watch the water wash our worries away
listening to them crashing together
erupting into little white rockets
that shoot straight up to God.
Observing the bridge tremble, as a bus<
filled with joyful experctations, breezes briskly by
excited by the earthquake of emotions<
elicited by the passing bus, we feel a chill.
Relaxed as the bright warm sun, shines<
down upon those on the bridge
banishing the darkness of anxiety.
As we turn and walk towards our future
we know deep in our hearts
no matter what tomorrow brings
God will always be with us.
April 27, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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God brings together many different varieties
Subdued shades and vibrant hues
Fleshy textures and subtle scents
Adding just the right amount of background green.
Sun rains light on the translucent petals
Sky water tickles the toes of the stems
Tall, towering types oversee the tiny sprouts
As old friends whither and fade, new ones take their place.
As the seasons come and go, the color palette changes
Young, pale, pastels flout their adolescent heads
Hectic yellows and reds supervise their many seedlings
Older, more mature warm colors seek the cooler shade.
Each day is a new adventure
In the morning just before the sun
Stretches his long, golden arms
In that silent moment between light and dark.
There rages a fierce battle
Each side has its army of allurements
And in that tiny sliver of time
They clash for control.
In the wings, the spiritual gardener waits
Watching his angels flying over his flock of flowers
Raining encouragement and unconditional love
He patiently waits for them to turn to Him.
As each petal unwraps from its cloak of sleep
Unaware of the struggles suffering in the silence
Surrounded with the grace of strength and support
They reach up for the parental love of the sun.
Confident and secure, they follow the path of the sun
With roots planted deep in the soil of spirituality
Whatever kind of weather may come
The love of the sun will always shine on His garden.
April 20, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Surrender usually come only
After all other avenues have been explored
After all our plans have been executed
And the battle has been lost.
As young children with no defenses
Surrender to their parents
Burning their fingers on the hot stove
They learn to listen to parental guidance.
With maturity comes difficult decisions
Balancing the many lessons taught by those who love us
With new alluring experiences of a society focused
On the importance of following their own free will.
Body piercings and tattoos, that in the end, all blur together
Follow the same mob methodology
That ignited the crowd to all scream
Crucify Him.
If we only would take the time to listen
Our hearts contain the answers we seek
Breaking away from the crowds
We sit in solitude and reverie.
Lowering our phasers and dropping our shields
A new plan emerges from the quiet sky
We begin to hear the voice
Calling from our hearts.
The voice of healing that patiently waits
Nestled within the walls of our heart
A compassionate voice that reveals
His enduring love for us.
Confident we know what is best for us
However, unable to think outside the box
We stare at the seamless cloak
Our view blocked by the wood of the cross.
As we look intently upon the cross
Our blindness is gone
We surrender to Him
We see the love He has for us.
April 20, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When things do not go our way
We wrap our cherished possessions
In a cherry red bandanna tied onto a stick
Heading down the dusty streets
Away from Jerusalem, we run.
Our King is dead!<
Forgotten are all the healings and miracles
Clouded within our memory is His promise
That He will be risen on the third day.
When we think our prayers are not being heard
Our faith is shattered by the stones of despair
We lose hope and turn our backs on those who love us
We run from things we do not understand.
Penetrating our broken hearts, He walks with us
Blinded by grief, we can not see him
Our hearts hear His words and know the truth
But our minds conceal the reality from us.
He sits at the table and breaks the bread
We watch in awe as the mystery unfolds
He blesses the bread and our hearts know Him
Our eyes are opened and we see Him.
Leaving behind our fears, we return home
The stick with the cherry red bandanna left behind
Joyful in the knowledge that He walks beside us
In the mystery of the breaking of the bread.
April 20, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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"Give us water to drink"1
The Israelites lost their faith
at Massah and Meribah, the dry desert winds had drowned
out His voice, forgotten was the Red Sea crossing, the
bitter water at Marah made sweet, the
bread He sent down from heaven.
We, too, quickly forget, as
we grumble and complain, driving
our fancy cars and living in
our comfortable homes, fussing because
our favorite parking spot at church
has been taken, feeling no remorse as
we spring out the door
before the choir finishes their last song.
"For you have had five husbands"2
Like the Samaritan woman, we are blind
to the bright sun that melts the icy ground, deaf
to the sweetly singing songbird serenading in the
stinging spring shower, not acknowledging
the swift answer to the prayer
for the healthy recovery of the sickly child.
"Everyone who drinks the water I give will never thirst"3
When we can look with non-judgmental eyes
at those struggling with addictions, reach out
to touch those with AIDS, volunteer with a smile
to feed the homeless, look with love at the child
who just broke our favorite treasure, then
we drink the living water that Jesus offers.
"Come and see"4 said the Samaritan woman
As we work toward Evangeilization
and share our living water with others
we help to quench the thirst of those searching
for something that five husbands can not give, and
we bring the peace and love of God to everything that
we do.
1Exodus 17:2
2John 4:18
3John 4:13
4John 4:29
Feburary 17, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Pioneers of the Holy Spirit
breaking new ground with
axes of love, with
the courage of their convictions.
Saintly women with
everyday worries
common women with
uncommon faith
faith to climb mountains
in the winter of the soul
confident that at the top
they will find the spring
of the Holy Spirit.
Women burdened with
sadness and grief
sometimes pushed to their knees, but instead of
giving in, they
give their burdens to God.
Strong women, who push through the
crowds of curious on-lookers, knowing that
HE has the power to heal, reaching up
to touch the tassel of
HIS cloak, we feel the power, as the white
host touches our outstretched tongue.
As Jesus turns and inquires
"Who touched me?" we feel the power of
His healing love, as
His body softly brushes our yearning lips.
Coming towards Jesus, the woman falls at
His feet, confessing her sins and
begging forgiveness, and as we return to our pews
we kneel in thanksgiving.
Hearing His words, "Daughter, it is your
faith that has healed you,"
we rise and praise God, strong in our
faith, we go in peace
to love and serve our God.
February 16, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The little voice that creeps into our head
Whenever we are weak and vulnerable
With whispers that drip with deceit
Dangling power and prestige before us.
Eating fruit from the tree of wisdom
Encouraging those who stoned Stephen
Challenging Jesus to change stones into bread
Chasing material wealth and power.
We, who were fashioned from clay
By the one who blew life into us
Who formed us in His image
Are filled us with His love.
We have a loving father, who freely forgives
The many transgressions we commit
He does this because He loves us
With a depth we cannot fathom.
Living in a world filled with infinite temptations
Blasting from a multitude of media sources
Bombarded on a 24-7 basis
Blaring with subliminal message.
However hidden beneath all the clamor
Lies a small, simple little key
Molded from just one ingredient
The forgiveness of our sins.
This key is given freely
To anyone who seeks it
The only stipulation attached
Is to share His love with others.
Februry 3, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Abandoned. Yet again
holding tightly to memories
packed in a black trash bag
in her hand, an interoffice envelope
which the wind whips from her hand.
She follows it down the steep hill
carrying her bag of woes, watching
as the envelope flies into a nearby stream.
Giving up, she sits down
and cries, tears of grief
for lost loves, shattered dreams
floating gently downstream.
With a big sigh, she gets up
leaving the bag behind
she climbs down the rocks
to the stream below.
Just as she gets there, the
envelope starts to sink
dreading the cold water
she lunges and grabs
the envelope.
Looking up, the rocks have transformed
into a giant smooth wall
she can not go back
she has to find another way.
Hearing a noise, she looks up
and sees a boy driving a go-cart
from out of nowhere appears
a way out
she steps towards her new adventure.
May 26, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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With a bucket full of worms
The young boy ran to the river
Eager to try out his new pole.
Vision blurred by the layers of mist
Settling lightly on his shoulders
He cast his line out into the unknown.
Each trip to the river was a new adventure
Some days the glassy water was mesmerizing
Other times it was violent and disturbing.
Experience taught the young fisherman
About the white water that following the rain
The thick brown water where the fish hid.
As he sat on the cold riverbank
The dew drops sparkled like Christmas lights
Decorating the forest for the holiday.
Although the river was filled with many fish
The fishing was not always easy
Each fish required a special lure.
Carrying a tackle box filled with various lures
And a strong guidance from within
Developed a faith that helped him with each fish.
Over the years his fishing techniques improved
Then came the time when he needed to move on
To try his luck at another river.
Packing up his tackle box and pole
With a spiritual confidence and a strong faith
He traveled to his next assignment.
January 11, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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People walking around like trees
Rigid and uncompromising
With cold, wooden hearts
Unable to love one another.
Blind to the goodness in everyone
Incapable of admiting love in their hearts
Seeing only the knots in the grain
Ignoring the experience in their rings.
Earnestly searching for something more
Dragging their shallow, materialistic roots
Longing for enduring, spiritual soil
That will encourage branches to bear great fruit.
To cure the blindness of indifference
Jesus carried His tree of life
Through streets filled with the unloved
Our brothers and sisters who need our help.
A grove of believers just outside the village
Sharing their blessings and gifts with everyone
Their sight is both clear and sharp
As they joyfully follow the will of God.
November 16, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Flung around on the playground
Words that slice through our flesh
Pupils scarred by repressed tears.
Smiling and swallowing the hate
Arteries struggling to cool the lava
Running from the shadows that stalk us.
Needing to stop the flood of feelings
Gushing through the Swiss cheese bandages
Wrapped around a weeping heart.
Kids pretending to be street savvy
Apathetic to the pain they are inflicting
A protective shield from their inner wars.
Screaming mime stuck in a circle
A merry-go-round of bright red faces
Lost in a carnival of inescapable terror.
Alone and afraid we turn to our Father
His outstretched arms are waiting
To hold us close and dry our tears.
He tickles us with angel wings
Laughing, we forget about the pain
We feel safe with Him by our side.
He walks with us to the playground
Protecting us from the verbal bullets
The arsenal of words fly harmlessly past us.
The army surrenders, laying down their weapons
He uses the discarded sticks to build a swing
The piles of stones melt into a bond of peace.
Gathering together in the safety of His love
Holding hands and singing a joyful song
They praise the Father and glorify His name.
November 23, 2008
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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