The Calling

The calling of the healing song,
The sonnet sings in silence strong,
Awakening the inner eye,
Drawing poems from earth and sky;
Walking mystic, details becoming
Alchemistic, metaphor drumming;
Pen and ink illuminations,
Yin and yang collaborations;
Empty space, the soul receives
Godly grace; the poet weaves
Luminous lifesong from the Source;
Make a covenant, stay the course;
Remember seeds of light are falling;
Surrender to the Spirit calling.

The Holes in the Universe

The universe has tiny blackened holes,
Left behind by those who used free will
To puncture something good and make it ill.
When we are born our bodies cloak our souls,
And with our lives the will to choose is given.
And each of us decides: will we repair
Those holes or add our own and further tear
The fabric of the universe we live in?
As I grow older, everyday I ask:
What have I done to leave the fabric stronger
When this cloak of mine is here no longer?
And do I know my most essential task?
          Or could my mission simply be to mend
          One hole, and then another, till the end.


It’s not so much what I will give
But what I will give up
That will determine how I live,
How I fill up my cup.
I must let go, must not believe
In need. Become the hollow
Vessel ready to receive
Spirit. Calling. Listen. Follow.
            Empty vessel, God comes in.
            In stillness, light. Let work begin.


Seagulls in precise formation.
The shape: a children’s kite.
Above the waves a constellation
Of gulls in graceful flight.
Then one falls out, goes off alone.
The others circle round,
Escort him back, reclaim their own.
The raucous cries resound!
             Does he feel joyful, this included,
             Or weep at freedom just eluded?

Sitting With Sadness

We sat on the swing together, Sadness and I.
I had tried so hard not to share my swing with her,
Afraid that Happiness would pass me by.
But no one gave me a choice and here we were,
The swing all tilted beneath her crushing weight.
It was darkest night when Happiness came along.
I couldn’t make room; how cruel the hand of Fate!
But I sidled over though I thought it wrong,
And Happiness squeezed in despite my tears
And balanced out the swing! So on her shoulder
I laid my head. We gently swung. My fears
Were slipping away, and daybreak found me bolder—
         With eyes wide open now I face this thing
         Called Life, a perfectly balanced, peaceful swing.

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Email: xianna@xiannamichaels.com