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Minneapolis, MN 55407
P.O. Box 7588
Phone: (612) 722-6612

office@walkerchurch.org
Walter Lockhart, Pastor
Our Mission: To Nurture Spirituality, Build Caring Community,and Work Courageously for Peace with Justice and Mercy
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  The following poems by James Livingston were read by him as a special performance on Sunday, February 27. These poems are used here with the permission of the author who retains all rights. "AM Dreaming" has been previously published by RED OWL. These poems will remain on the Walker web site through MArch. You may contact James via e-mail.

Frontenac

 Strong arms
of an unknown
faded orange
butterfly or moth
in Saw and Crab Grass
high on Frontenac
I muse upon
undiscovered worlds to come
in yet their larval stage
virtual realities
spoken of in harsh undertones
of whistling wistful longing.

I look upon Lake Pepin
bending round the bluffs
its peninsulas and bays
the Mississippi flowing on
through twists and turns
into its once and future gulf.

I feel as the Mighty One
when looking back
yet when looking forward
I see the Ocean One
As my cocoon or chrysalis
From which my future self
evaporates
struggles
against the shores
migrating across the lands
until the future’s ours

In a dancing outpouring
of choreographic rain
the aire is filled with beauty
as freedom now will reign



 AM Dreaming
 
Urges for utter satisfaction
Desires for perfection
Bird Songs on Saturday morning
Call up visions
 Of haunting humors
Rooted in ancient understandings
 Of types
 Of psyches:
 
Lilies, lithesome and wild
Cowslip, persistent and stable
Lady slippers, gorgeous beyond touch
Orchids, elegant and fine,
 
I lie with you
 In green pastures
You restore my soul.
 
I am satisfied.
I am satiated.



Madeline Island
     
Blonde, free running
  wearing red and blue
Is   my child,
 my female self
  in the pasture
 of Cowslip
 of Black-eyed Susans
  warming our feet
 in fresh hot dung
youholding
 my hand
Deanna
I will not go unless you hold
 onto me
I will not visit the child stealing monsters
who'll put a black disk
 around
 my self setting me
 up as an enfant terrible.
They'll make me feel both special and
 Undeserving.
Let's go back to the meadow
Deanna
There's no one here
 no child
 no monsters.
Let's runin the field.
I'm free
you're blind and it's risky
yet they're cleared out when you're here
 up
 from the beach
 across
 from the meadow we climb
 in a sand and Saw Grass rut
I'm pulling you
 up
 with me
 holding
 onto the left handed rope
‘til we reach the topof the dune.
 
The prophet gives an inner tube
to replace our ring of separation.
 
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