How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs. ~ Mary Oliver, Mysteries, Yes!

Poetry, You’re the Balm

When we speak of a balm, of comfort, of nourishment. poetry comes to mind. The mystery of how words put in a certain order, a certain lyrical cadence create a sheltering place in my soul.

A place of recognition of my scars that need healing and soothing. A place where I nod in recognition and think, you too?

The wonder at the mysterious scheme of things that creates millions of ways for each of us to be nourished whether we are lambs or the human variety of beings.

Poetry defies gravity. It lifts us up when we need it the most.


How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising. ~ Mary Oliver, Mysteries, Yes


Defying Gravity

How rivers and stones are forever. They change, but we never live long enough to see the big changes. I carry rocks with me wherever I go. I collect rocks from where I travel. They are the solid footing I never had as a child who grew up on the shifting quicksand that was my mother’s world.

I have a dark gray rock with white veins that I found in a creek bed in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado almost fifty years ago. When I hold it and rub its smooth surface a peace comes over me. It speaks to me with words like abide, patience, and witness. I hold it to my heart and I smile as I dream of rising.

Rebekah Spivey

For The Poplar Grove Muse