One Day I Will Write A Poem


One Day I Will Write A Poem

Before my memory fades
Like shadows on the outskirts
Dim, pale watermarks of life
Growing fainter by the day

Before my words are lost
Somewhere in the forest, thick and dark
Dispersed among the pines and moss
Seedlings of a scattered memory

Capturer of the runaways
Gatekeeper of a million puzzle pieces
That tell a story
That is me
That is me

Before they steal away
Escape into a murky sea
Lost among  forgotten things

Buried in the soil
Of remembering
Hidden from my poetry

Locked out
After every door is closed
And bolted shut

And there is no more
That mirrors the
Soul of me

Before that final day
Without a memory

I will write a poem, one day

Waiting On The Super Moon


Blue Moon HMM



Waiting On A Super Moon

She came at the dark like
A mad woman
Chasing it with a frenzied pent up
Mother bear
Mother hen
Don’t mess with me
Mad at the thief
Who steals the light

Righteous indignation

Weary from her spinning round
She stopped to catch her breath
And caught a glimpse of
In the end

It was there
She rested in the Truth

In reminders
Of Creation’s dazzling
Super Moons and super Hope
And raging alone in darkness
Would be
No more

The brightest Light could douse the flames
Lapping at her feet
Would drown the darkness
And the thief

The dark could never win
And she could finally sleep

Until the next time
She would come at the dark
Like a mad woman
Chasing it with a frenzied pent up …

By the Light of the Moon



The Piano


The Piano

If white is joy and unbridled grace
Laid out in broken pieces

Waiting to be played

Ivories laying in a long reflective  line
Where I see my own dim
And shadowed
A sea of
Cracked and smoothly worn
Puzzle pieces
Waiting to be played
Mixed and written into
A harmonious melody
Of amazing grace

And black is pain
And cruelty

Life holds a concert
Every day
There on the stage

As I choose
Where to send my fingers
Up and down
These slippery keys
Laced with a mix of
Boldness and timidity

I muse
And whisper to myself
Self, What part I am to play?

Learning still
How to make it
Sounds from those who
Bang out  cruelty
Notes mixed with dissonance
And pain
Choosing to wreck havoc, injure
Again, again
And still again
Repetition of an unwanted verse
I hear her weary, worn out
Wracked by years of
Fill in your blanks
With her, a sister
It is amplified
Years of it
Grant this one peace
How could she possibly bear it
Any more
He beats her with his words

I sit rigid on the backless bench
Consider how to
Write a song
Blending it, her sadness into beauty
Sounds of rich tones, flat and sharp
With chorus heavy on redemption
In each refrain

Take the cries of despair and pain
And news of cruelty
Coming through
The telephone
Loud and clear
A sister beat down by
Blends into the second verse
Sounds of disappointment from  one
Who hoped with childlike
For joy to  come merrily
She’d roll along

Every single note
Woven into redemption’s song

We wait
Sitting upright
Straight and tall
Fingers curved, rounded
From waiting longer, just a little longer
Come thou font of every blessing
Will come
And wipe the tear
But until then we need the song
Of hope
To wipe the tears

Play the keys of faith
Loud for thee and me

The notes are faint but grow louder every day
There is a hallelujah chorus
Arriving on the wind

We write a ballad
Paired  with another saint
To pen a lovely
Hope-filled song, a duet

White is joy and unbridled grace
Compose your song of waiting
And make it beautiful
Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
Make music from this
Broken heart of mine


photo credit: Wikimedia – Wikipedia -Creative Commons


Joining Laura

Poetic Revisions Of A Familiar Verse


Poetic Revisions Of A Familiar Verse

Forgive me
It is perfect as it is
But in this fallen, sinful world
And at the heart of this fallen, sinful girl
And at this broken, busted moment in a
Broken busted world
We cry out for a collective
And lament
While we suddenly identify more and more
With poor old Job
And snark was never my thing
Really but
Sometimes lamenting
Can take you down that path

There is a season for sadness
Weeping and wailing
Wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth

Burying one’s head in the sand
Has its season too

There is a season for turning from the news
It is all so terribly sad
And one for mowing through
Kleenex by the fistful
And burying one’s head in the pile of pillows
While hiding in four hundred thread count sheets
Poster child for First World Problems
At first glance

Oh but and and and however there is also
A time for new birth and  hope
A time for hummingbirds to dance
And songbirds to sing 
And old gardeners to get out
And scratch in the dirt
Lingering in the sunshine while there is still
A sun to shine

There is a time to sit and breathe and count
The mushrooms sprouting wildly on the hill

A time to notice dark green moss
Reaching out to hold your hand
Their tiny fingers seem to reach and wave
And call you to slow down

There is a time to hold on to what is past
And a time for sweet release 
In love
To let it go, loosely

There is a time to say Im sorry and a time
To say
I meant to say
I am really really sorry
Forgive me for my pride

There is a time to say you silly goose
A time to laugh and play
To sit with piles of children’s book
With a child  at heart
Two women who have long turned grey
Slowly savoring each page

There is a time to scatter grace and a time
To count your gifts

There is a time to grieve and say
Life seems so very fragile
Especially today
Oh most especially today

There is a time to call a friend
And talk for hours upon hours on end

To bite your tongue, to hold that thought
To let it go, to take a bite of every piece of
Spirit fruit, especially long-suffering

There is a time to read old words
Savor them once again
To pull out pictures of the family
And tell the old familiar stories
Re-visit your childhood, yet again

To trust and hope, to extend grace
That’s been said before
A time to dance and to rejoice
To whirl and twirl, make sure your music’s
Turned up very very loud

There is always time for poetry
For poets to play with words
To make up random lines
And there’s always time for prose

There’s time for resignation and a time to
Begin anew
A time for patience and a time for even more patience
And a time for ….
Well you see where I am going with the patience thing
I’m preaching to myself
Not at you

There is a time for humor
For belly laughter and tears
To live as a child again
To look past life’s pain
And old worries, anxieties and fear

Rejoice with me in what is good and holy
Celebrate the beauty risen from the ash

And in the end
Settle in each season
Not wishing it to pass.



Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee


Joining Laura for Playdates