Showing posts from December, 2017

Those Who Shape (a poem)

Those who shape give time, attention, dedication, devotion, patience, and a willingness to follow the contours of that which is and is in process of becoming. Those who shape are unknown artists of eternal renown; their presence forever evidenced in the becoming that never ends. Those shaped through the loving faithfulness of those who shape live their gratitude in becoming those who shape. -- bshivers Offered in thanksgiving to those who have shaped my life. There are too many to list.  Thank you for being.

And Then (a poem for Christmas Day)

And then, it happened . . . the unimaginable the in-breaking, the delivery, the disruption, the coming together, the nascency. There was labor. There was pressure. There was pain. There was tearing. There was agony. There was ecstasy. There was power. There was birth. The poor sing songs of deliverance. The oppressed cry out in relief. The prisoners dance liberation. The outcast celebrate inclusion. The sightless see visions. The lame leap for joy. The mighty are brought low. The systems of power and privilege cast down. And the world      may never be the same. The world      should never be the same. Our world      must never be the same. We      cannot be the same.

Advent - Join the Rebellion

Fear is mass produced in the sweatshops of lies and the factories of half truths. It is perpetuated by the narrative of scarcity and is hocked under the guise of "safety", "needs", and "wants". Faith is the ultimate act of rebellion against fear's tyrannical reign. It dwells in the hearts of all flesh and bone who risk resistance. It is incarnate in the joy, peace, hope, and love that mark the lives of those who dare to believe a different story. Advent is what we call the re bellion. Let us rebel together.  # jointherebellion

Advent - Love Is (a poem)

Love is. Love is decisive. Love is relentless. Love is stubborn. Love is  no matter what; no matter when; no matter the cost. Love is "yes, and". Love is "with". Love is “for” first. Love is reckless and illogical. Love stands when it more convenient to sit. Love stays when it is easier to leave. Love is silent when all you want to do is speak. Love speaks even when fear tries to steal your voice. Love moves forward  toward one another  when doubt, uncertainty, discomfort would remain isolated. Love sees people as human not as  agendas, problems, pawns, projects, other. Love is that thing, that mysterious, indescribable thing, which holds us together when all else seems to be crumbling apart. Love is beyond us, yet dwells within us. Love makes no sense; yet love is the only thing that makes sense  out of this everyday nonsense. Love is not for the faint of heart. Love cannot be found...  because  Love is. — bshive

Theotokos (a poem)

To know  the things you undoubtedly know . . .  To have  the courage that you possess . . .  To persist  in the face of the patriarchy . . .  To sing  a song of deliverance from the depths of oppression . . .  To speak  against the systems of injustice for all of the marginalized . . .  To nourish  the entirety of creation within your womb . . .  To magnify  the one who shares your blood as the promise for all . . .  To voice  truth to the divine presence suspended in your amniotic fluid . . .  To see  beyond the uncertainty of this moment into the certainty of a promised tomorrow living as if it is today . . .  To expect  the unexpected hope, peace, joy, and love . . .    — bshivers 

Subjects and Objects (a poem)

We fail one another  through our  insidious penchant,  ravenous appetite  to objectify others       who are subjects;      agents and artists;      authors and creators            of their own story  treating them  as if they are       nothing, nothing more  than things  to be       used,       abused,       misused,       manipulated  at our own discretion,  for our own pleasure,  for our own advancement,  for our own benefit  in the only story  we have convinced ourselves matters,       our own story.  This selfish,   this self centered,     this egoic  behavior      fed by       our anxieties,      our insecurities,      our fears destroys all life.   — bshivers 

Joy - Present All the Same (a poem)

Care  must be taken Or joy       will be robbed      of transforming power. Joy is more  than a      transitory,      momentary,      circumstantial,      egoic,      fleeting, feeling      of happiness,      of contentment. Joy       lasts in spite of circumstance;      dwells beyond individualistic self-centered feelings;      cannot be possessed.  Joy is born       with a vision of abundance            where once  there was only fear of scarcity;       where more than enough bursts forth            where once there was only lack;                in waters breaking forth in the wilderness;                in streams found in the desert. Joy calls us       toward difficult things.   Joy asks us       to see the world differently;       to live in our world differently. Joy speaks out       against not enough,      against never will be, through action.  Joy is tied to       justice,       healing,       mercy,      inclusion,      equi

Peace of Advent - As If for the Very First Time (a poem)

Peace is      more than a comforting platitude. Peace is      more than a careless valediction at the close of correspondence. Peace is      more than a holiday card covered in glitter. Peace is      more than twinkling lights of red and green. Peace is      more than a well worn symbol on a threadbare tie-dyed t-shirt. Peace is      more than two fingers lifted skyward. Peace is      more than something that should be given a chance. Peace changes      everything. Peace turns      all we once thought we knew so well downside up. Peace shatters      silence brokered by the intimidating agents of violence. Peace awakens      visions of what might be in the minds of young women and young men. Peace mends      fiercely divided lives and fractured existence. Peace proclaims      hope of a different way than the status quo. Peace births      wholeness, shalom where once there was only splintered pieces. Peace is      the avenue where steadfast love and faithfu

advent people (a poem)

do not be mistaken. this waiting is not inaction; this anticipation is not wishful thinking. they are present tense living in a world preoccupied with the way it was,   the not yet, the used to be,   the maybe never. they are persistent prophetic resistance found in the song of a young mother; in the coo of a newborn babe; in the living of advent people.   -- bshivers

Hope of Advent (a poem)

Hope is a strange thing. Hope in the face      of uncertainty,      of discord,      of disease,      of brokenness,      of adversity,      of wickedness,      of bad news seems irresponsible and naive. But . . . Hope sees a way      where the path appears blocked. Hope beckons us      when all else seems lost. Hope is       that which pulls us      toward possibility. Hope is foolishness      in the eyes of a pessimistic world. Hope is  the audacious persistence  of a young expectant  mother  who sings songs of deliverance in the shadow  of       occupation           and       patriarchy because of the promise held  in her womb.   O, the voice of hope It will not      waver in the presence of fear. It will not      yield under the strain of adversity. It will not      fail in the grip of oppression. Courage, Faith, Love, Resistance, Change,      are impossible without it. In this season of Advent, In this season of waiting, In th