Gary Sackett

~ Expressing Gratitude and Love ~

Category: Spoken Word

Juggling Life

Balls juggling in the air
everyone carrying weight
too heavy to hold
so many — I try

So many different sizes
so many colors
so many thoughts
so many — I cry

Criss-cross patterns
left to right
right to left
up and — down

One drops and hit my toe
screaming profanities
rolling off — it disappears

I continue the act
wanting to get better
so I add — another

Bouncing around
click, clack, smash
another one flies
out the — window

No— No— No
I have to have that
running, tripping
scrambling out — the door

Comforts of home
so easy
Decisions and actions
commitments deplore
I think about, really I think
about taking — steps

So when I did
so hard, so scary
excitement and buzz
light and airy
that moment I — decided

Hurricanes, tornadoes
cyclones
winds to and from
all directions — synchrony

From cannon to golf
demolishing to tennis
bowling to marbles
blown away — change

Finally I realized
the heavy balls were feathers
juggling was now
wisps of air
the balls were — energy

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Grateful for Brett

I started this some days ago, not knowing that I would dedicate this to my brother who died today. Born with Cerebral Palsy, confined to a wheelchair, unable to speak. We were told he wouldn’t live past his early teens, he was 46.

I am grateful for—

waking up this morning
for every little, yet big thing around me
from…
carpet fibers to the moon
dog hair to the sun
pine needles to the fire
birds chirping at the rivers edge
pollen in the wind

the air into my lungs
and out
creating sounds, forming words
to communicate
not just with eyes
groans or tears

to laugh, giggle
smile
he did
does more now

the ability to move
my hands, my feet
to walk, to run
he is now

to feel pain
sometimes constant
free from it
now he is

an observer by birth
an observer in death
freedom was his mind
living slave to his body

retrospective
introspective
to really know
to understand
truly—
what I am
grateful for…
knowing you
for everything I touch and that touches me
thank you
Brett Alan Sackett

Going to Church

So I’m raised to believe one way
raised up southern baptist style
and still recovering, my pun
my heart tells me different
so I search
dogmas to left
dogmas to the right

to question, to ask
deep meanings
feelings, thoughts
to those in the hierarchy
getting pat answers
script and opinions
viewpoints scattered
in the wind
depending on—
their personal whims

depending on where you live
the first question chirped
“where do you worship?”
I answer with…
“do you want a noun or verb!”
If I say my house, my car
walking in the woods
why do you frown
show me disdain
do you ask me if I pray
meditate or go
to that special place
do you invite me to
go to church
within four walls
stained glass windows
and the such
ceremony, incantations
readings and song
do you ask if I watch the words
before—
they come off my tongue
do you ask me how I’m doing
truly listening to my answer

I let you speak
watching the words
tumble over your lips
are your eyes meeting mine
when you spout
rehearsed verbiage

do I feel you?
do I see you?

I will when…

your exuberance on your Sunday
moves you so
when I see it on Monday, Tuesday
on it goes
when you dance to hallelujah
moving to the beat
when your ghost that’s holy
dosen’t frighten you so

seeing is believing
so I’m told, as with
perception is reality
to others, good as gold

tenets, commandments
written all over the world
and yet we
rarely come together
from across the globe
blaming, shaming
kicking and screaming
crucifying a difference
on the same path we go
believing, faith
different than yours
hard or difficult
your soul knows

you want to follow
when you should lead
being a beacon
written so
conversations with God
wanting peace and love

your path is yours
walk proudly
examples to all
human doing to
human being
live your life

toils of humanity fade
when you turn inside
seeing the dancing children
hand in hand
colors and shapes
mean not

remembering who you are
admittance to the gates
free on earth
centered up
living your personal relationship
outside your walls

spiral

Bella Luna

A story within a story.

Listen and read the words and you may find yourself living this.

It’s your choice to live the final sentence.

Bella Luna.

Written and performed by my wife, Cathy Sackett. Bravo!

I Used To Kill

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I used to kill

with my eyes in a stare

with daggers to the heart

thoughts in my head

bullets through the body

arrows in flight

drinks in my hand

drugs in my mouth

I used to kill — used to —

Love gleams through my eyes

Love pierces my heart

Love a constant thought

Love instead of a gun

Love is pulled from my quiver

Love in the water I drink

Love in the food I eat

Love is the natural healer

I used to kill — used to

now I — LOVE

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