This life
Was not all I had hoped,
Not, if you will,
All I had bargained for.
And that is, of course,
The point.
That Which Is
Bids us sweetly to return
“Come home, sweet darling
Wake and return.
We have such fun
All waiting
Your arrival.”
So why tarry
In the valet parking
For hell?
(c) Sare Liz Anuszkiewicz
Everything
seems to be
bounded
quite precisely.
Skin
is our sense organ,
and it keeps
our insides in
and outsides out.
But the moment
that you
and I meet
eyes,
I know
that we are all
really the Beloved.
(c) 2017 Michael Anuszkiewicz
I see you there
Standing on the
Wrong Side of the veil
Hesitating
Distracted
By the ten thousand things
Whose deeper purpose
Is only to distract
You
For one more moment
And then one more
Until the cows come home
And trample you
Dead.
Don’t blame the cows.
Don’t blame the distractors.
Do you not see
Blame is one of
The original ten thousand?
The only thing to do, then,
The only act that will allow you
The courage
And fearlessness
Necessary
To brave the gentle veil
That seems iron clad
But in truth evaporates
At a touch,
Is to, finally, see
See through
All
These
Lies.
(c) Sare Liz Anuszkiewicz, 2017
The ocean and the sky
are forever separated
by that imaginary line
we call the horizon.
There are some who say
this was Divinely Ordained.
But last night
when I was dancing,
I overheard a beautiful
secret.
It was in the alehouse,
and from the Beloved’s
lips.
The truth is,
Dear Friends,
He had nothing to do
with that
Separation.
(c) 2017 Michael Anuszkiewicz
What will you do
When the Friend comes knocking
This time?
Barricade the doors
Shutter the window
Pretend no one lives
In the quiet dark within?
But aren’t you tired
Of playing that old game?
Will you nod and smile,
The fixed rictus grin
Of the confused
And intimidated?
You have more options
Than just these two.
Sink back into the knowing
That you have been
Utterly translucent
All this time.
Your actions,
My darling one,
Were quite predictable
From a certain point of view.
Don’t fret.
The Friend knew it would come to this.
Long has She waited
For this Beautiful Moment
When your longing for Love
Outweighs your fear.
This time when He knocks
Breathe deeply
Smile
Your Salvation is at hand.
Breathe deeply
Smile
Know that the time of pain
Is over
Love is knocking
Sweetly singing a serenade
To your soul
Which you imagine
Is shriveled and charred
After so long in hell.
Au contraire, ma cherie!
Your soul is as
Fresh
And Beautiful
As the day it fell asleep
In God’s Arms
And accidentally
Dreamed a nightmare
Forgetting that the doorway home
Was inside the Heart
All along.
(c) Sare Liz Anuszkiewicz, 2017
Sooner
Or
L a t e r . . .
Each soul
Decides
ENOUGH
With this pussyfooting around
In this line dance
Where I’m taking all the kicks.
Enough!
With this numb-skulled
Daze
I’ve backed myself into.
I want peace.
I want joy.
I
WANT
GOD
(c) 2017 Michael Anuszkiewicz
The Sweetness of Life
Is calling to you
Calling you to
Abandon
These notions of pain
These ways and means
You use to torture yourself
And others.
Did you not know
What you do to yourself
You do to others
You do to God?
The Friend is calling to you
To abandon the pain
You cling to so closely.
It is the only way to make room
For Him.
(c) Sare Liz Anuszkiewicz
A wisp of grass
is growing
from a hole
in a concrete block.
The waves beat themselves
silly
against the seawall
which never moves.
When an insect
is crawling on my arm,
I gently blow it off
into the hurricane breeze.
In a world like this,
Dear Heart,
Do you really think you have
any understanding
or control?
(c) Michael Anuszkiewicz 2017
The child frets
Tossing and turning
Moaning and thrashing
Caught up in the nightmare
Yet the Mother smiles.
Continuing her cooed litany
“You are safe, little one
You are safe, my darling,
You can wake up now,
Sweetheart, you can wake up.”
The Mother smiles because she knows
The end is closer than the start
The nightmare is nearly finished.
Earlier, when he
Suffered in silence
Dying a thousand painful times
Killing a thousand others
In a torturous drama
In which he played
All the roles at once,
That was worse, perhaps.
Now, even though
He cries out
Because of the sweet agony
Of hearing the Mother”s Voice,
But not always,
Of feeling the Fathers Hand,
But not reliably,
It is an agony, but
More unbearable
Than dreaming of murder
And revenge
When you are so close
To waking
Back
Up.
(c) Sare Liz Anuszkiewicz, 2017
Most of the stories
we tell ourselves
and others
Really just boil down
to DRAMA drama
AAAAANGST
Or
Fear shame anxiety
Hatred
Or, of course,
the ever popular
Revenge.
God
is a Divine
Artist.
I’m sure
If you asked,
He could help you
with something new.
(c) Michael Anuszkiewicz 2017
Qwertyuiopolis 