Marty's Poetry Archive
Poems  2001

My poem, "The Gift", expresses my Baha'i love for a dear friend
who fled Iran under religious persecution and now resides in the United States, where she may practice the Baha'i Faith freely and without fear.
Many Baha'is in Iran routinely experience the destruction of their homes and lives . Their bank accounts are seized, education and fundamental human rights are denied and many are tortured and put to death.
My friend is an artist and writer whose subject matter often relates to these grave and urgent issues. Over a summer period I was privileged to assist this gentle, loving soul in the translation of her exquisite & heart rending poems into English. During this period I became increasingly aware that one may experience The Divine Poet through the eyes and heart of another.
In essence, see the face of The Beloved , hear His poetry and
perceive His fragrance.

                            The Gift

Unspoken words swell
at the rim of my cup . . .
anticipating the sacred moment
when finally, the contents overflow
and praise flows forth.
The Witness within me is speechless,
yet cries out with inaudible, tearful joy!
O Manna! O Living Breath! O Sacred River!
O Bottomless, infinite Soul, How I love Thee.
O Eyes of Spirit! Thou art my True Sister.
You come as a Gift
Sent upon prayer.
A Seeker of Souls, You are
the Keeper of Hearts . . .
and when Thou awardest me
with Thy presence,
I hear Thy exquisite poetry
as a Rose
Attar upon Attar.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
A Golden Future

These dark days will pass
one into another
and flow away
down eternity's
infinite river.
There will come a day when
in our innocence and light,
we will not remember
how it was.
And we will look to history
to enlighten and share a
probable cause.
We will recite mythological tales
from long lost books
on ancient, apocalyptic wars
and of destructions'
mysterious, golden paved road
to the Universal Peace.
Yes, let these dark days pass
one into another.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright 2001

This Forest

We walk in this forest together,
eyes lowered and searching.
Ears tuned to every note...listening.
Our nostrils inhale life around us
and our hands reach out to touch.
Our bodies merge in unison
until our souls cry out
with love.

In day and night, black and white,
hot and cold, young and old,
breathing out and breathing in
where life begins and duality ends...
where all things
we walk
in this forest

Martha Meshberg
Copyright 2001

The Unfaultering Wine

I would choose to be kind,
forever embedded
in my heart and mind.
Then why, when I've made
the noble choice
do I falter on a whim?
Do I only stretch my sandy tongue
toward a mirage ?
I am waiting to be freed
from choice. I seek The Oasis.
Does this bliss truly exist?
Could virtue be so ingrained in spirit
that a mortal could drink "choice"
as an unfaultering wine?
If mere thoughts may concieve the depth of such,
then by a fathomless depth of love and longing
the ocean of our souls will surely be touched.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright 2001
.The Great Mirror

This mere human heart, this feeble mind
alone and conscious in the microcosm of self
faintly discriminates and comprehends " being"
among it's own arteries and pathways
of human essence.
The body of man may be likened to
the macrocosm of the universe.
Our cells forever flowing and interconnecting,
orbiting among the planets and the stars.
We, a galaxy of spinning atoms and breath,
flowing and expanding,
contracting and imploding in death-
sucking all, like antimatter
into the black hole of inevitable opposites
explode once again
into great and heavy pregnancy.
Being reborn in a "Big Bang"
of new, ever expanding universes
and galaxy's of life,
our very beings
reflecting as an image
in the great mirror of God's creation.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

The White Native

I was that familiar stranger
you sought to never know
at the Pow Wow's of long ago.

You thought I was not of you.
My eyes were blue.
My hair, golden and flaxen,
did not compare
to your braided and raven black.
My skin fair and pale
not Native Indian

You thought my dance
strange and unaligned,
somehow not so Tribal, nor refined.
Your beaded Moccasins
did not fit into my shoes.
Though I danced,
you swore
I wore no feather...

From a lost tribe in time I came
to alight upon my ancient claim,
to chant Shamanic words
of the Dane's Nordic spell,
and to hum Gaelic tunes-
Irish Stepping as well.
To pitch my tent near a meadow and forest
and count my family as ONE and ALL of us,
to gather Grandmother's rich medicine and lore
from the ancient ones at the Great Spirit's door.

I call like a bird to you,
beaded and feathered ones...
Oh, hear me,
beautiful red, raven haired brothers...

I am Your Long Lost White Sister!

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
On Back Biting

an unkind word
and it radiates
in an ever-widening ripple
across the water
of many souls
creating hurt
not for one,
but for all.
Do not
make me privy
to the darkness
of cruel intention
for I will
cover my ears
from this
and evil
I will not
making you privy
to my sinister
but I will
my darkened nature
not wanting
to spread
this evil
Drop not
an unkind word
and compassion
will radiate
in an ever-widening ripple
across the water
of many souls
creating love
not for one
but for all.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Inborn Spirit

We question our better judgment
when we find ourselves floating distantly
from the reality of the earth
into mystic retreats of longing-
to be there - rather than here,
grounded and rooted,
standing like trees
solidly planted on the earth.

We may believe
the earthly soil intended for our growth
must weather every draught and flood,
must undergo every seasonal change
prior to passing with readiness, into
the beyond of other promised worlds.
Still, having stretched our branches
seemingly over eons of time
toward the beckoning light
can we be blamed for our yearning?

It is the inborn spirit of continual growth
that prompts our aspiring thirst!
Where we given a choice,
we would not go later-

we would go first!

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
On Consultation

We suppose being blatantly honest
poses too great a risk.
We fear honesty will brutalize
and level us to a sniveling degree
in which our personal perspectives
may perish in the mirror of our own folly.

How do we offer ourselves
to each other
in full sacrifice to trust?
Will we have to admit
that we are wrong?
Can we survive that-
with dignity?

We humans are filled with the fear
that our ego's will rebelliously explode
into uncontrollable anger, fighting
against reason and submission
until the last rationalizing breath.

We are filled with the idea
that our beliefs and personal experiences are sacred.
So, we hang on,
promoting our views boldly
or try discretely to "save the world"
with our words
in between the lines.

But, there is a saving Principle
with which I have become familiar.
It is called  "Consultation".
It requires that all available opinions
be quietly heard
and held as equally valid.
No person may make condemning judgements or statements
upon anothers thought.
All are required to listen respectfully
and to contemplate
"the clashing of opinions"  until, through this process, a truth or answer
makes itself obviously known to all.
(or the majority)

Generally, this trains the mind
to leave it's ego behind
for the greater good, creating
unity and harmony
rather than disharmony,
argument and debate.

Consultation, when used
in personal relationships,
carries the same benefit.

So, how may we offer ourselves
to each other in full sacrifice to trust?
How do we avoid our fear
of being wrong?
How do we maintain ourselves
in dignity?

Through the Principle of Consultation, for

"Through the clashing of opinions,
  the truth will arise"

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Inner Quest

Further from the stars
than ever,
I  redesign my plan...

I shall capture
it's secret within
the nine points
of the star blanket quilt...
and paint  with colored sand
a healing medicine
from my own hand.

At night ,
I shall howl
with the wolves
into the dark
and wait for the
answer to echo
and fill my heart.

All  shall be
as self-evident
as flowing water and wind
exposing encrypted layers
of redrock meaning
from the canyon
at the Great Spirit Wall.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

These Hands

These hands tell my story of being.
They are the keys to what lies
within my heart.
These hands make music
that all might hear life's blessesd song.
These hands paint
both strife and care from the garden
of God's limitless love.
These hands pen perfected words
to weave tapestries of meaning
for open and searching hearts.
And these hands collect and gather
every  living thing
with utmost conscious care
to proclaim Love and
Universal Peace
among the highest
forms of art.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
A Truth

Slicing open the apple,
all is exposed
before my eyes.
For I perceive
beginning and end
in naked truth.
From the central core
the seeds of life lie nestled
within the moist sweet meat
of ripened fruit.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001


DNA...the poetry of all life.
God's art-forms,
like mirrored visions through time,
rise from the very Heart of Love.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001


Continually holding back urgent knowledge
as a great secret untold- fearful of failing
by offering overmuch, I try to be subtle!

Having found the Most Holy Nectar,
its fragrance wafts mysteriously among
the thirsting honey bees.

A knowledge so bright that it compels me to overflow
with the absolute sweetness of the flower of my soul.

Tasting of my nectar, many cringe in disbelief
swearing this saccharine sweetness could not be
genuine honey.

This offering is for the searching, for those
who have left the ancestral hive
thirsting  for a new golden elixir
that will continue and sustain all life.

For those who would drink, I offer
the open, eternal flame
of my full and glowing heart.

For those who shrink,
I offer a silent, healing prayer
and in peace, I  depart.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001


God bless the prayers
of the peoples of the world.
Chanted from the hearts
of true believers.
God speed Melodies of the Kingdom
uniting the cares of all religions.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
Having Observed Them on Their Deathbeds

It was only the Age that betrayed their
simple and transparent self indulgence.
Did they really believe that the vastness of life
held nothing for them?

Self involvement blinded them to their own folly.
Innocent fools that they were-
(Though their purity may have been questionable).

Yes, We heard them bleating and groaning
in fevered and depressing tones, coloring
the already darkened world with yet,
darker shades of despair.
Finding in that, an over-intellectualized macabre
to righteously share with the competing mobs
of those whom they identified as
among their own.

Wallowing in hell for the sake of it
never offered them a wholesome truth.
Only that which captured the imagination,
molding their simple, weak, and impetuous minds
into believing that Hades was all there was.

They stuck needles into their arms -to kill the pain
(they forgot about doing anything real
what would have been the use?)
They emptied Vodka bottles and had more sex
to fix
what couldn't be fixed,
Then, blamed it on Jesus, selling their souls as
a kind of "right of passage" and were very sure
to be cynically vocal about it.

Judgement? They dared not speak of it.
In self imprisoned wisdom,
they mocked at fate, saying:

"Let time be the great discoverer of all lies
Exposing who and who is not
an insult to humanity".

We ask:

Did they lie in the green pastures
or chose their own deathbeds?

Being inexperienced, they knew nothing
but of their body's ceaseless demands.
Craving made it real, made them feel
the torture and undeserving horror of it.

The Planet looked forward to a time
when questioning and honest minds
would turn their backs on their own abuse, and
recognize that society was indeed a mess.
That solitary and selfish complaining would cease,
that emotional suicide would only add
to the very thing
which they so boisterously decried.

Verily, having wanted
to do something
about the rottenness of the world,
They got up off the couch of inner conflict, then


Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Spirit of Ignorance

Who is afraid of the Specter
that comes from the dark night
of the soul?

What veil obscures the vision
of the ones who look upon evil
with  blinded eyes?

What spirit possesses minds
and drowns tender hearts?
What wicked entity is it
that tears this world apart?

Every man fears his own
reckoning, his darkest reflection
staring back at him
from the mirror of his soul...

veiled blind

by those material conquests
for power and gold  which hold hostage
as pawns
our poor and unfortunate brothers
to the spirit of greed
and power hungry nations.

It is the Spirit of Ignorance
which animates and gives life
to the wickedness of prejudice
and all hostilities steming from
race, class, religion and gender.

Is it no wonder

that we find fear
in our own faces?
That we are challenged each day
by what is held deep and hidden within-


the eyes and soul who we are?
That we are indeed the

individually responsible guardians

for the outcome of the world?

Searching my heart
at the end of each day,
I call myself
strictly and consciously

to account.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

My thirst leads me
to the Fountain
flowing with the Water
of the radiant Friend-

Faces beaming with light,
warm, sparkling eyes
beholding me,
knowing me,
bathing me,
in unconditional acceptance
and exquisite love.

It is not the venue
nor structure of the program
or the arrangement of chairs
or the long sequence
of messages, devotions and prayers
that finds me continually returning there....

It is He Whom
I meet and greet-

in every loving embrace and gesture,
in all of these sensitive and deep
regarding eyes,
in the spiritual rapture of devotional sighs,
in the sweetmeat of simple, joyous, and
contagious laughter,
in the sacred, encouraging,
inebriating wine of life giving words.

It is He
that personally fills
this chalice
to overflowing
from a Fountain
of love and peace-

that I may drink
the Wine of Bounty
freely flowing
at every spiritual "Feast".

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

The Coming

The icy cold
crisp and lonely
like a breath
of impending death

raising goose flesh...

Stark, stagnant words,
like fall leaves, floated


then sank, merging heavily
below a slushy surface

as an arrested wind
into sheets of transparent glass
covering and trapping

the water

in a frozen winter
of anticipation...

You spoke:


and the half buried
and hibernating

burst forth

into the surging ice flows
of regeneration,  the

Divine Springtime

of new life.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

For C.

My sweet, dear one
be not dismayed...

These human thoughts
are a shared quest,
in the hopes of solving
the greatest puzzle.

We, being of similar minds,
meet and touch
in our longing
"to know"
of a universe filled
with so many answers
that we are blinded by
the multitude of choices...

like so many stars
whirling within galaxies
of space.

Still, we find flowing there
a common thread and single point.
The undying law,
not multiplied...but wholly One
among the All.

There must be no point
of contention here,
having grasped
the eternal certitude!

What lies within the searching,
grateful, and soulful heart
reflects the orb
of the self-same
Sentient Sun.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

The Great Offering

Love offers itself
in purity
and without guile.
In perfect honesty
risks the sacrifice
of mind
and lays bare
the soul,
prostrates humbly
before that which
holds  power
to condemn, reject and destroy.
All this
love does
for  a taste
of bliss,
for love itself,

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

The Turning Point   (Sept.11, 2001)

Innocent white doves
ensnared by the talons
of the birds of prey
become the instrument of
calamity and tragedy,
circling the skies
with helpless cries.

The piercing eyes of evil
the lambs of slaughter
and topple
towers of devastation,
anguish and bereavement
into the consciousness
of the global mind.

WE are left here
in stark loneliness
cast into the abyss
of outraged grief,
meeting evil face to face
in his depravity and vile wretchedness,
bleeding, wounded, and numbed
with despair-

all by the abominable perversion
and abased miscarriage
of a Prophets words.

What an acrid infamy!
In the name of God Almighty,
this was done! In the name of
fundamental fanaticism and hatred,
the whole world
shall be branded
and tried by this satanic fire!

Yet, our spirits, as a sacrament,
shall not yield
to these wicked ones
nor shall our bodies succumb
to holocaust
without notice or care.

A prism of light shall shine
with resplendence
from the hearts and actions of All
who have suffered, at the hands
of those incarnations of evil.

A holy wine shall flow
from those who have been martyred,
who have offered their lifeblood
both bravely and innocently-
in a quest for global peace
and Divine Justice .

From these crimson stained ashes,
the Divine Phoenix shall rise-
resurrecting the soul
of our melancholy world
with new life.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

The Gates of Hell

The gates of hell
stand open and gaping
in the dropped jaw
of shock
and agonizing anger....

Fire blazes high
singe-ing human hearts,
wafting acrid smoke
into vengeful, screaming lungs,
devouring the
splintered dried wood
of lost spirits
as tinder
for the fire of
"America's New War".

Raging and red necked
we feel our lowered horns
sharpen as daggers...

Will we witness
our own tongues flicker
in prejudicial hypocrisy
as we brandish
a "righteous" cross...
spilling more innocent blood
for the sake
of our hatred and vindication?

Will we stop short
in time
to recognize
our Brothers and Sisters
who have committed

no crime?

Will we try, convict and annihilate
a whole culture
rather than the
guilty few?

God save us
from ourselves
such gates of hell
opening and gaping wide.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Get a Grip

I want to quell
this nauseating fear,
to somehow face
the trivial stack
of dirty dishes looming
and piling high
in my kitchen sink,

To turn off
the flowing tears of music
capturing and holding me hostage
to a world of grief...

To remove the absolutely rude
and blaring TV
recounting the surreal varieties
of our "western mentality".

To erase the catch phrased,
mind numbing and
over-produced broadcasts
of "America's New War"
from my vocabulary.

I long to bury my head in the sand,

to plug my ears and cover my eyes,
to go to bed, pulling the blankets
over my head...
to not dwell endlessly
on the innocent, martyred
dead....or to reckon
on those
whose precious lives and futures
may end
in the bloody battles
of the morrow.

Yet, we are all hostages here,
trying to get a personal grip,
to steer our fragile and damaged ships-

tossing helplessly
in violent, turbulent seas,
treading water and floundering,
in these nameless
and countless expressions
of human anger
and inconsolable grief...

reluctantly awaiting

from the hidden quarters and
fathomless depths beneath,

those shredding teeth of
bloodthirsty, hungry sharks
circling  silently and stealthily ...

targeting  the soft belly
of all mankind.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Dearest Mother

She is now ill...
weakened and wearied
by the replayed sorrows
of time
which have led her
down a re-paved road
of wars
nearly forgotten.

Her deeply sorrowful eyes
gaze moistly and fearfully
into mine- knowingly,
framed by her beautiful
silver-white hair
of history
and calamitous times.

As I grasp
delicate and aging hands,
her helpless tears brim
and seep into
my bleeding heart.

Mother, my dearest Mother-
These "Rumors of Wars"
shall never tear our grateful,
luminous and loving
Baha'i spirits apart.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

"Grains of Sand"

Continually eluding,
love teases
us into thinking
it may be confined
and defined
by craving and desire
always seeming
never quite
within our reach.

we may witness it,
once grasped,
slipping through
our hands
like so many grains
of hot desert sand

Trickling slowly
to depletion
within our allotted hourglass
of given time.

As the last grains sift
narrowly through the graceful
curves of glass,
love remains captured,
ever- present
and matured
in it's measured amount
in the opposite end

of a cycle of time.

Have hope,
all ye broken hearted-
for the hourglass is made

for turning over!

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
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Mister Spider

Not so rock solid
in my gut-level control
over instinctual
and basic fears,
or so "enlightened"
in my purported love
for creatures great and small,
I was totally "creeped out"
by a little spider
who crawled blackly
across my hand
from within the interior of my keyboard
as I typed away
in innocent and unprepared


Flicking the poor little guy
to the floor, I made a hasty advance
to squish the miserable little intruder
into nothingness, noticing
as I was about to put my heavy foot down,
the absolute bravery
and courage he displayed
as he reared up
on his hairy little legs
in a readied and defensive stance,
staring me completely down!

Seeing him there, all up front
in his right
to eight-legged Being
completely changed my heart,
so for now,
we're never really very far apart-
He's just another part of my computer...

Awww, poor little guy,

I just couldn't do it!

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

My Admonishment

You speak
oh so graciously
of "not having seen" me
so  often,
that it seems to me
you judge me as
from my spiritual post...
as not
living up to your
defintion of duty and
community obligation
or social expectations.

I hear your mime
loud and clear:
an invisible pointing finger
of stern admonishment
coming my way
with a rude and unthinking

Won't you take the time and care
to see and understand
the real ME... please?

I am not  a clone
prone to polite, crossed legged decorun
or  "genuflecting sanctimonium".

I am a Baha'i,
like you,  devoted
and steadfastly married
to the Light of God's Word....
to treat me as anything than other
is completely absurd!

I am a solitary artist
(unlike you),
devoted and steadfastly married
to manifesting a prisimed share
of God's Diversified Light-
I am a creative custodian
responsible  to the blessing of
His designated gifts
through my all- consuming work...

to treat me as anything than other
is ignorantly absurd!

We are where God has best placed us...
wouldn't you agree?

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Precious Love

Is hatred
so deep a pain
that it will never
know love again?

Where are
the bright innocent,
loving and trusting eyes,
of the dear nappy headed child
I once knew?

How you push me
scornfully and remotely

what can I ever say or do
that you will not receive
as just another form
of targeted bigotry?

So disgusting
am I
to your cynical
outraged and angry eyes.

I am helplessly at a loss.

There is nothing I can do...
to satisfy the rage
within you, save
allowing you
to pull the wings
off this broken hearted fly, then
squish me and my
"patronizing love"
into nothing but a moist spot
on the pavement...

Save, laying down my life
in nothingness before you...
..which would be in your view,
much "to easy".

All I know is that
we once loved each other,

here, in our colorless hearts.

Here, where once
mutual tears blended
in a compassionate and human,
life-giving, surging sea...

Is it so wrong of me
to continue longing
for your precious
lost love

and racial unity?

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001


I try rolling over-
sinking deeper
into the sand.

Lying helplessly
on my flabby side,
I allow the salt sea
to wash over me,
feeling it seep

beneath my motionless body-

receding and pulling away
a few measly
grains of sand

from a mountain of foundation.

So lazy that I can't speak,
I draw figures
and signs in the sand:

"looks like

               I'll be beached here

                                   for most of the week".

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Beyond These Cloudbanks

I am waiting to float away
on the ethereal journey
beyond these cloudbanks
of earthly fear
into the realms
of prisimed light
where victorious souls
freely gather and swirl.

I am longing to chant
my heart felt praise
in warm melodious tones-
joining my soul
to the deepened glow
of majestic Aurora Lights,

To raise my voice among the
Maids of Heaven
and Angels glorious songs
to herald God's mystic
and healing notes

upon a New

     and awakened world .

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Available as E-Greeting

Beauteous One

I am with you
and my gaze is locked at once
in mysterious surrender.
Your eyes hold mine
in an engulfing flow of love
nearly too exquisite to endure.
For what is written in the heart
may be known
only between mystic lovers.
Living ink flows
from one to the other
in a silent wind
in which the attar of contentment
and certitude mingle unhindered.
Who is this One
but my true self
that perceives the All of it?
Who regards the Wounded Sorrow of it,
the Longing Deseert of it?
The overwhelming Joy,
Wisdom and Justice of it?
It is I, Eye to Eye.
Mother to Mother,
Daughter to Daughter.
Soul to Soul,
Spirit to Spirit.
A Rose to a Rose.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Here Lies a Danger

From deep inside,
I rebel
against all-knowing,
endless interpretations
of paradise.
Correcting if's, and's, and but's
become the main occupation
of those competing
in self motivated
spiritual arena's.
They hear not
and drivel on
in over-intellectualized babble
so deep, mysterious, & lofty
that mere ants (such as myself)
move far
from the stomping feet of giants.
I unsubscribe from this place
of shadows
and factional forms.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Love Poem (for E.)

My cherished one,
Seek beneath the lines on my face,
and you shall perceive
my translucent and  glowing heart.
There, within my breast
lives my fragrant reality
and secret warmth.
The deepest knowing radiates
from within this  hallowed,
enlightened place,
permeating  my every
outward act with grace.
No word or song can fill love's
sacred silence nor fill an empty sea.
Naught but Light could compare
to the love I share with  thee.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Dear Girl

Don't you understand
that YOU are
angry with me?
I am waiting for you
to share with me truthfully.
Must I be made responsible
for dragging it out of you?
I am not your enemy,
but the mirror by which
you may discern and free yourself.
I would be happy to reflect upon and
wipe away your misgivings
if you'd give me a fair chance.
Instead, you cirlce around me
like a sniffing, moody dog...
Only hinting at your mistrust...growling
in between the lines inaudibly.
I'm waiting for you to take responsibility
for your pain
and your anger.
When I reach out to you
it's through bars
in which you are imprisoned.
I want to free you
from your self imposed cell,
but you must first


Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001

Awake and Striving

Oh God! Forgive Me.
I remember each mistrusting face,
each synical gesture,
Every unkind word
and misguided judgement.
And I try not
to "take it personally."

Deep wounds refuse to relinquish me
and I remain enslaved
to powerful scripts from the past.
Slowly dying here, I grope
for ownership of a new and reborn
empowerment not dependant upon
others' reward or rebuff.

Oh Lord,
Let me not judge those who judge me.
Nor let me be blinded by my own refusal
to take in the manifest lights and attributes
in front of my face!

We are all so small
in our self orientated worlds.
In this I am surely not alone.
For this, I might take it upon myself
to bestow mercy
where none may be returned.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001


I live within two realms
like an amphibian
who balances life
between water and air.
I am a captive
of earth
while my spirit resides
in the World of Light.
Unlike the frog,
I have no lillypad to support me
as I hang in space clinging
to the threads
of Divine Word.
Within these limits
I am bound and expected
to survive;
to shed a glipse of God's
universal light
unto the dark sepulcher
of a dying world.

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
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