Sky View

a poem inspired by God’s artistry

WOW, What A View

Of God’s splendid hue

OH, How Amazing

Heavenly artistry blazing

Lord, you make me want to write

A love song that fills the night

You make me dream beyond trees

Into the universe I cannot see

Kansas City Skies

The covering of your majestic shield

Free my emotions to wholly yield

Multiple grays in this cloudy sky

Begs the questions of the ultimate why

My Lord, how do you love so deep

From Mt. Zion’s hills that roll so steep

When I brought nothing valuable to wear

You gave everything divine covering to bear

Oh, what beautiful backdrops you give

Inviting your children to joyfully live

My, what majestic work you do

My dear God, I love your sky view

America’s African Rainbow

it’s been over 30 years…

There is a saying that goes, “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” I don’t know who penned it, but I’ve had over 50 years to recognize its truth. Even scripture speaks of the repetitiveness of the issues of life:

Ecclesiastes 1:9

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.

Is it possible that man is doomed to look at history and make changes that never create real change? I think it’s a good question for those interested in giving it more than a cursory thought.

I wrote the below poem in my 20’s and published it in my book of poetry, Emotionally Charged: A Poetic Journey in the Issues of Life (Amazon, 2016). I think it’s worthy of sharing in our current climate. Enjoy.

America’s African Rainbow

I am a member of America’s African Rainbow

Let our history be a reminder for all to understand and know . . .

Don’t tell me to go back to Africa, a place I’ve never been.

For, I was stolen long ago from the womb of my ancestral kin.

Don’t treat me like an unwanted visitor; America is also my home.

Content in my promise land, the choice to leave was not my own.

For years you’ve given me many hurtful & derogatory names.

Why?  When by default, your shoulders carry these shames.

I am an American African Rainbow; by your hand I’ve become.

Welcome my presence; help undo the wrongs that were done.

I’m a rainbow – intricately woven, polished – varieties of ebony.

Indeed, all must diligently labor to bring about true harmony.

The Issue (Food for Thought): Where color is an issue for some in this world, it has never been an issue with God for he created the colors of the rainbow.

*Use of this poem is prohibited without the express authorization of the author. All Rights Reserved. Printed in the U.S.A. First Edition: November 29, 2016. ISBN: 1530581583 – © 2020 Wanda J. Murry

Daughters and $ense – T.Gilbert

Mr. Gilbert is a Kansas City native

Let me begin

With this Daughter$ relationship

For one, there$ no type of passion to begin with

Not that it matters, but truly at time$

It doesn’t make sense

It’s only a make believe

Is what the experts will tell you

I’ve never had a daughter

But If I did

I would go out of my way

To be there when she swings off the tree

And from there

And perhaps she would start

Her very first sentence

I would be afraid to ask,

“How was your day?”

Knowing she’s been reading my mind

For almost the whole entire day

As she would never let go

Of the handlebars

As she’s watching me

As I’m building

This new looking fence

Next on my list

I’m start thinking about

Putting up drywall

But in the meantime

I’m making the most

With what I have

With Daughter and $ense!

Valentine’s Eyes

© Speak True Life, January 22, 2020. All rights reserved.

I dreamed of you in the twilight of sleep;

I heard you call my name.

I felt no anxiety or fear;

I knew you would find me in time.

Covered in experiential bruises healed by divine love,

I walked with assurance toward the sound of your heartbeat.

Excited by the knowledge of you seeking Him to guide me into your path,

I move in contented pace knowing we’ll meet

in the process of time under His beautiful light.

For now, we’ll keep our eyes focused

on the source of our eternity together.

But Your Heart

You are a wonder to watch day after day and night after night. How I long to hold you in my arms. You are so beautiful. You are so handsome. Your daily routine, impressive. Your goals are attainable. You demonstrate consistent willpower and keep your focus on the rainbows in your view. I marvel at your strength and tenacity in these times of ever-changing roles and lifestyles.

You are a feast for the eyes. You are always well-dressed. You model thrift store purchases as one endowed with riches. Your poise is full of humble confidence. Stylish by all standards. No one would deny you have earned it. Your climb up the corporate ladder is inspiring. Turning your business into a household name noteworthy. Every promotion deserved.

We find you remarkable. We know what you sacrifice to do what you do to give what you give. No one can attest to the time you obligate to others. Many miss how you extend your hand to serve others. Watching you willingly add to your already full plate exhausts me. You lend all of your talents to those around you. Your service in ministry is well-pleasing. You are faithful and so blessed.

I have spent lots of time and words expressing the debt of my love and appreciation for you. I know at the end of the day you returned my love the best way you knew how. It makes me love you even more. I know you have given me everything you feel you possess.

Everything … but your heart!

COMMUNITY

woman near window
Photo by Martin Péchy on Pexels.com

I have been in personal hiatus lately, meaning, I’ve spent lots of time alone. There are a few reasons for this need at this moment. Life has been a little topsy-turvy and cumbersome over the last few years. Trying to find my footing through events, circumstances, hills, and valleys requires personal reflection. I am grateful for the journey, and the lessons being learned. For times such as these, the growth and outcomes generated are profitable, leading to the place of much-needed serenity and peace.

Some people look at being alone as something taboo. For me, it’s one side of my personality I have to indulge in and balance. I’m an introvert who has learned to socialize like an extrovert in various settings. Being quite reticent, I spend time internalizing life (mine, others, the world we live in, etc., etc., etc.). Summoning memories of my youth confirm writing as a natural place to dispose of my uncomfortable thoughts. Writing has become my road to sanity; a place I can’t deny to extinguish the ugliness of negative emotions. I chose to empty my thoughts on paper rather than wreck my limited relationships through verbal carnage.

This weekend I learned something in my hiatus important to me as an individual. As much as I enjoy my alone time, I still need my community! I googled the word community for the relevant definition and found it – the condition of sharing or having certain attitudes and interests in common [1] Although I enjoy my periods of alone time, I don’t want to be alone all the time. Socializing provides laughter and deep conversations about God, family, and all things life-related. In those times, I feel a part of something intensely gratifying. My heart warmly enthralled with God in knowing I am alone only when I choose to be.

grayscale photography of people worshiping
Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

Being a part of a community of like-minded people who care for you creates a sense of connection. A church community joins like-minded believers into a body that guides and cares for your salvation, spiritual growth, and servanthood. In a job community, some people help you develop skill sets for career elevation. The community of family fosters a place of unconditional love, encouragement, protection, and treasured examples of leadership.

This weekend I joined another community. An affinity of writers and would-be writers called to tell their stories. Memoirs, poetry, non-fiction, fiction, devotionals, bible studies, etc., an amazing expanse of creativity. I needed this community with whom I could share this part of my life. They host my passion to share and enthusiastically celebrate life on its terms. In this place, encouragement and support abound. Without hesitation, it is the solid ground upon which to plant my author’s feet as I grow into the writer I am destined to become.

At the end of the day, we all need COMMUNITY.

[1] https://www.lexico.com/en/definition/community; 2 [mass noun]

Dear Dad…

Life will end one day, so I just want to say…

Dear Dad,

I can’t help but love you because I am a part of you. Your DNA courses through my veins until my flesh returns to the dust. See, even though I never had your name, I had your blood. Yet, I hate that you chose to be absent from my life for so very long.

As a kid growing up, ease dropping on adult conversations, I couldn’t help but wonder who I looked like. I knew that my sister looked like her dad; that my cousins looked like their moms and dads; and, that I looked like you. Only problem was – I’d never seen you, let alone spoken to you. You were the unspoken half of me.

I don’t know if you ever realized how affected I was as a child, growing up unable to connect with the missing part of me. My identity was tied to you, and I was left feeling incomplete without you. You were the idol of my childhood dreams; a combination of nightmares and wonderful daydreams.

I guess the hardest part is that I just didn’t understand. How could I; I was just a child. But as I grew up, what separated us could never be reconciled in my heart as justified. See, AT&T was a norm when I was born; and the services only got better with time.

I wanted someone to blame, but they were non-existent. Mom didn’t bad mouth you to me; she just never talked about you to me. Then, when the silence was finally broken … I had already tossed you out into the sea of emotions and allowed you to drift outside my care. Maybe I was too good at hiding how much I cared or maybe, after 11 years, she didn’t know where/how to start that conversation. But to be fair, you could have started that conversation on your own.

Be honest with me? Did you ever think of me once the dye had been cast? I was the fruit of your loins, borne of your passion. Did I cease to be of interest so soon after the demise of what was? I was made to choose one parent when I would have chosen you both regardless of the relationship’s death. I had enough in me to love you both equally.

It’s too sad we wasted so much of the little time we were given. I can think of a thousand and one things I would have loved to have filed away in my memory chest. Unfortunately, I have to settle for the small parts I was given because they are priceless when compared to having nothing.

I could spend a lifetime crying over what could have been. Instead, I’ve chosen to cherish the minuscule discovery moments of the you I came to realize in me. Holding your hand, laughing at your jokes, looking into your beautiful brown eyes, relishing the memories of time spent in your presence. I can hear you now, whispering about things you thought I was too innocent to understand, wanting to protect my tender soul from the realities of your world.

There is no longer an identity hole in my life. It had long since been covered over by time. In the end, my prayers were answered. As I sat beside you, the knowledge of your final search for me was an overwhelmingly mix of both joy and sadness. I know you loved me the best way you knew how; the best way you could.

Now, like you, I am at peace with your absence. For my hope is fulfilled in believing we will share in eternity what we were never able to share here on earth … unity, as one, in Christ.

In the end, I still loved you, Chico…

Excerpt from “I Just Want to Say…” by Wanda Murry © July 24, 2019. All rights reserved.

 

Cry Not, My Sistah

Some wonder…

When does the bleeding stop?

When does the ache fade?

When does the memory disappear into oblivion?

I wish I had the answer, but I don’t. All I have is a heart that prays, and a pen that showers words upon pages … waxing poetic upon the mind … and Emotionally Charged:

 CRY NOT, MY SISTAH!

Cry not my Sistah, for you are not alone.

The hardships in this life were not made for you to own.

Cry not my Sistah, for I’ve seen your many tears.

I know your weeping in the night has been for many years.

Cry not my Sistah, for I know how hard you continually try.

Yet, no matter your will, some things still pass you by.

Cry not my Sistah, for your inner strength remains.

The broken dreams cannot deny what you have gained.

Cry not my Sistah, for I also hear your prayers.

How I wish to convince you that somebody out here cares.

Cry not my Sistah, for the burdens that weigh you down.

A beautiful smile is waiting, in time, to replace your frown.

Cry not my Sistah, for your best is never in vain.

Our God is a witness to the scars of your pain.

I tell you to cry not my Sistah, for it will be okay.

A time will come when all your misery will wash away.

The strength of your character will provide all you need.

Time will come be the rewarder for all your good deeds.

And all your troubles will vaporize into the distant past.

Just continue with faith in the Lord; remaining steadfast.

The JourneyWomen are expected to multi-task (family, work, & more). Though equipped helpers, remember, even God rested from his labors.

~page 16, from my book, “Emotionally Charged“~

 

Sisters, in those moments when you feel most unloved, alone, or afraid, encourage yourself with the words of this song by Switch, and KNOW that you are GOD’S:

SYMPHONY

Silly Women

Excerpt from “Silly Women, Foolish Men” © Speak True Life, Wanda J. Murry, May 8, 2019

Chapter 1

woman wearing skeleton costume

 

The problem most silly women face is that we are willing to be test-driven by men who, from the beginning, pitch the dream without ever following through on the promise to secure the total package.  ~ Wanda J. Murry ~

 

For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, (2 Timothy 3:6)

What does this woman look like today?

First, she’d be a slave in bondage to something or someone that uses her unashamedly and tosses her aside once she’s been used up and has nothing left to give. 

Secondly, she’s young, in mind, if not in age.  From a young age, she’s been tossed aside as unimportant and no one’s priority.  Not knowing her value and or pricelessness as a human being, she starts early seeking validation for her existence.

Boys, Gangs, Girls; Father-figures in sugar daddy garb; Drugs, Alcohol, Sex, Videos, Stealing; Booty shaking, Pole twirling, Exotic-Erotic dancing, Reckless grouping groping; Exposing the skin she’s in, begging for attention from within.

Somewhere in the maze of enticing entrapment’s she finds her niche.  She boasts in it, relishes the feeling of being seen, heard, discussed, wanted, noticed, talked about even when she realizes that everyone is taking, using, extracting, dismissing, pulling, yanking and wringing dry every measure of her being.

Thirdly, she’s not a hot mess; she’s just an emotional, spiritual mass of brokenness. She realizes too late that she’s dying, numbing, retreating and trying to find a hiding place in her mind for her soul. There’s no cover or bandage for the wounds inflicted by those with lying lips and heavy hands; they, too, are caught in a trap of self-denial.

How? How did I get here? Feeling trapped, ping-ponged into wanting to be free and afraid to leave. She seeks to find the lesser evil of the two but both leave her feeling alone, abused, scarred with residue that cannot be washed away or hidden. Trading one taskmaster of bondage for a multitude of others so intricately entwined, creating a spider web of strongholds.

brown and white bear plush toy

Her only solace is the fruit of her womb or a bitter retreat into solitude. Without the intervention of a godly sisterhood, and the love of godly survivors who overcame, the cycle repeats itself like a wound that never heals.

 

Excerpt from “Silly Women, Foolish Men” by Wanda Murry