The house on the side of the hill

When I grow up, I'll live in a stone house on the side of a hill, with a green door and untameable rose bushes. The path that sweeps by at the bottom of my steps will lead East to the mountains and West to the sea. Many times will my feet tread that path, off and away to new adventures and back home again.

I'll live in that house with a man who is both merry and courageous, infectious laughter and fierce in battle. He will be unafraid to live life fully and love completely. Together, we will face sorrow and loss, joy and redemption.

I will bake bread, grow tomatoes and raise my curly haired children in the sunshine.

My home will be one of peace, and my life a story of amazing grace. 

he is with me (Psalms 139)

i sit, amidst jungle blooms
i stand, on the cold pacific sand
i make my bed on the ocean floor
                         and still you are with me

you have looked me in the eyes
engulfing me

hand on my shoulder-
pavement under my feet

there is no place:
the brilliance of heaven
the expanses of earth
the deserts of hell
where i can depart from your presence

you knew me before i knew myself
you knew
that i love watercolors
gray sweaters
purple eyeliner
new pens

when the darkness is 
drownaroundsurround  
like a weighted blanket
even the blindness of nighttime will be 
as bright as day to me

for you are a light
at all times
all-encompassing
ever-renewing

your thoughts of me
are like drops of molten gold
precious- like raindrops
i catch them in my mouth

lead me down the forest trail
into the heart of the Garden

© Jim McCausland

 

poet.

three years later, I saw you again.
poet.
you were a javelin, fully flying
all at once and all alive.

I would love to love you.
in the Autumn, with your scarves
in the Winter, in your arms
Springtime, sing-time, your guitar
in the Summer, lovely summer
Ocean ~ River ~ Sky

I'll wear my sparrow earrings
you'll wear suspenders

and we'll have no money
but I think it would be fun

hit the Road

hit the road, Jack

and don't look back.

The ocean calls me

i can't resist it's insist 

pull (like the tides)

hold (on my land-locked spine)

i'll pack my socks 

in a rubbermaid bin

tie my bike on my too-small car

arcade fire on my -crackling- stereo

meander down the dawn highway

peanut butter on pita bread

(over) brewed coffee and some olives

i swear i'll find the Mountains

again

come with me.

we can squeeze into an apartment,

downtown- by the river

bake our own bread

never sleep in beds

come with me.

we'll never grow up

Capetown Dreams

Sometimes, I wish I lived by the ocean in a village. I would weave nets like my father taught me, and trade them for wheat, to grind and bake heavy, warm loaves. Flex my tired fingers, sore back, keep my eyes open. The tide would come and go, the seasons come and go: rain, storm, clear skies, gull cries. I wouldn't worry much, just when the men were out in their boats and a storm wrinkled on the horizon's forehead.

Live and breath and word hard. Walk with the black-haired fisherman boy along the coast and talk about building a house atop those foggy cliffs.

I would birth my children in saltwater and raise them in the sand. My life would pass in a shower of beautiful shades and colors, overlapping, rising and falling, until my soul went back to the deep press ocean where it began.

Sometimes I wish for a simple life.

Picture by my cousin, Jamey Pyles https://www.facebook.com/jameypylesphotography