Inner Peace by Joshua Fraser

The wind whistles past my ears.
Closing my eyes, I lose all my fears.
The waves crash into the rocks.
Out here there is no time on my clock.

The serenity I feel here just soothes my mind.
A peaceful day so hard to find.
The breeze just calms my soul.
Helps me think about what is my life’s goal.

I then look out over the ocean,
And it feels like my life has lost its commotion.
The sun sets down over the clouds.
But the orange glow around makes me proud.

As the night draws near.
I feel like where I need to be is here.
The soothing nature this afternoon brings
Just feels like such a beautiful thing.

I sit and wonder where life will go,
But right now all I want is for time to slow.
To enjoy this moment and feel free,
To clear my mind and find some glee.

It’s days like these I truly treasure.
Amazing nights and beautiful weather.
It may not seem like much.
But it’s moments like these I want to clutch.

For once I feel like life is bliss.
So many hard days in which my happiness was missed.
I could get lost listening to the waves.
Listening to the birds and watching how the clouds behave.

I could close my eyes and fade into the night.
The tranquility I feel helps me win the fight.
As the waves keep crashing into the rocks,
I feel the happiness in my heart become unlocked.

The day is drawing to a close.
The peacefulness I feel right now I’ll only know.
Right now my mind is finally clear.
It’s time to go as the night draws near.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/inner-peace-3

House of Light by Mary Oliver

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled
to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing
that the light is everything that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and falling. And I do.

The old threads are unraveling by Julia Myers

Get your needles ready. 
We are stitching a new quilt 
of humanity.
Bring your old t-shirts,
worn out jeans, scarves, 
antique gowns, aprons, 
old pockets of plenty
who have held Earth’s treasures, 
stones, feathers, leaves,
love notes on paper.
Each stitch 
A mindful meditation. 
Each piece of material 
A story.
The more color the better, 
so call in the tribes. 
Threads of browns, whites,
reds, oranges
Women from all nations
start stitching.
Let’s recycle the hate, the abuse, 
the fear, the judgment. 
Turn it over, wash it clean, 
ring it out to dry. 
It’s a revolution
of recycled wears.
Threads of greens, blues, purples
Colorful threads
of peace, kindness, 
respect, compassion
are being stitched
from one continent to the next 
over forests, oceans, mountains.
The work is hard
Your fingers may bleed. 
But each cloth stitched together 
Brings together a community. 
A world, our future world
Under one colorful quilt. 
The new quilt of humanity

Edge of Wonder -The Wildness of Being

We arrive into
this world as
energy, same as
stars, wildlife,
wind and ocean.
Messy, raw, and
continuously
perfect in our
chaos.  Release the
need to control,
and instead
surrender to your
own natural
rhythm, as
expansive,
accepting and open
to new
circumstances and 
situations as air
itself.  That is how
you’ll thrive.

— Victoria Erickson 

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Who is This? : poem by Rabindranath Tagore

I came out alone on my way to my tryst.
But who is this that follows me in the silent dark?
I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.
He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger;
he adds his loud voice to every word I utter.
He is my own small self, my lord, he knows no shame:
but I am ashamed to come to your door in his presence.