Becky Jane Dunham

Becky is a lifelong student of Mother Earth and is now learning how to grow with words.

For you.
An invitation to morning mist

The Mist off the lake holds magic
As it rises glistening, still dreaming
The New Sun shining through it
Dancing colors across the waters.
There is Hope in the Dew
(It deposits )on soft grass ,hard stone alike.
In the sounds of a newly waking day.
That first conscious Breath,
The first conscious Thought,
Awareness becomes Action
And Action becomes in the Light.
The World settles into routine
That is comfort in it’s purpose.
Purpose finds the Mundane
In all the daily activities of sustaining Life.
Purpose is God (,or Higher Power)
God Given, God Driven, Devine.
Purpose is Grace.
Like Morning Mist on the Lake.

Digging Deep

I am an archeologist of sorts
A scavenger of thoughts
Excavating nouns, adjectives and verbs
So I can be an architect of words
Allowing phrases to come forth
To build a story strong from source
This place where I belong
And can perhaps construct a song
That comes from soul and heart
Where the world and I are both part
Of the chapters and the verses that I start
Where we share the melodies
Of experiences and memories
…….

To be continued…..

Life Lines

My life, my journey written in wrinkles all around my eyes and corners of my mouth. They march across my forehead and mark all down my cheeks: when I smile some are rather deep. When I squint and when I pout then they really seem to shout and tell the stories of how they each came about. Some come from tears and yes from frowning. A few from smiling while out on the towning . Others are from sun and tanning; back then we didn’t know how very damaging and damning. Each one I own,I’ve earned and yes I’m rather proud of. These lines of life written in wrinkles that now define my face.

-

My memories are a graveyard I visit.
Where I place flowers, Rather than plant them (anymore).
I leave stones, rather than remove them,( piled{sp} up).
It is not a place of spoken words; Rather it’s of gentle thoughts.
Where things are seen behind the eyes(I’s).
Whether they are opened; even when they are closed (and shut).
An homage and yet and still; (still)…a quiet meditation.
A humming in and of the Heart. A vibration.
A familiar and now distant world; I see and smell.
I hear and touch. I will feel them alive.
More fairy tale now than real.
The only things that are mine truly; and truly mine alone.

Heart song A Mothers love

It was in my heart
You took me
A passage and a rite
I made a vow
And kept it
In giving you your life.
Because I was
Just an empty vessel
Where you became
A new light
I hear this music
Deep within me
In the quiet
In the dark
There are no
Instruments before me
I sing acapella
From my heart.
EACH BEAT
EACH NOTE
EACH BREATH
In your becoming…
Than I put you to my breast.
I know you
Don’t remember…
But I’ve (I’d) given you my best.

Becky is a lifelong student of Mother Earth and is now learning how to grow with words.