Anna Waits {a #poem}

Light is coming
she’d heard and read,
and widowed, she had
nothing calling her name
but His across the years
like an echo from The Garden
so long ago.
She’d been seeking
(was He hiding?),
steadfastly determined,
for what else was her life
but this–an always looking
in the temple courts,
trusting the doorway would
be darkened some day
when Light came into the room.

(sharing from the Archives)

Contemplate {a #poem}

I’ve no chisel but this pen
chipping at paper like stone,
carving words, not to build but bend
graphite like steel, curve the bones

(Dear God, not break) but lay in place and then
form a space to hold a new edifice,
sculpt and rest and tap some more
while You hand me bricks to begin, restore.
***
The word contemplate is from the Latin, and literally means to carve out a temple, from the two parts-‘com’ and ‘templum,’ i.e. an “intensive space.”

Words are swirling everywhere lately and the voices are l o u d. Seems no matter where I turn there is something to fear whether it’s danger, discord or disease. I feel helpless and wonder if my words will matter, whether what I have to say makes a difference when people are actually dying. 

Then I pick up my pen to pour my heart out on the page. God’s quiet whispers remind me to use what’s in my hand. So I “chisel” away the best I can, carving out time and space to hear Him in His temple, this world right where He is.

Five Haikus for Spring

Blue Door

Sapphire welcome says hello
at the start of day
I walk and wonder.

Wisteria

Dropping amethyst

Translucent emerald trailing

Reflected treasures

Haiku for Spring

Drops of see through gems

moisture gift drips slowly down

Silvered honesty.

Accompaniment

Devoted songbirds

Daily raise their melody

No maestro but Spring.

Aerial

Hummingbird sips blooms

From windows I spy each zoom

Birds in lilacs appear

I’ve been writing poems throughout this season of #lifeinthetimeofcorona and very grateful for the sure thing provided by Spring, which listens to its own Maestro, Creator God. Regardless of ‘lockdown’ everywhere else, His presence is not isolated inside.

The familiar form of haikus–3 lines with syllable counts of 5, 7 and 5–is a way to distill all the noise when I’m drowning in words. I tend to ramble; writing without borders allows for that. When you have to be succinct and word choice is intentional it seems to strip things down to what’s really important.

*****

If you’d like to read more of my poetry, you can click HERE. And if you’d like to receive my bi-monthly-ish newsletter, Random Acts of Writing, you can sign up HERE.

Accompaniment {a #poem}

pexels-photo-414181
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Birds, their tones both winged and bright
Harmonize from branches out of sight
Know their parts, score memorized
Flash and zoom before my eyes.

Soprano, alto, second, bass
Throaty praises from branchy place
Echo, float, reverberate
A pause, then celebrate

Mornings’ rise first slow and quiet
Against dull backdrops now a riot
Their songs a span of treble and bass
Background my day, this hallowed space.

*****

The daybreak song of birds seems brighter and more clear than ever before. Have you noticed? I tried to to capture their music ((impossible)) by playing around with meter and rhyme. I hope the joy comes through the verses.

{{Also? I’m working on my second book, a self-published volume of poetry. Working title: “Hearts on Pilgrimage~a Poetry Collection.” Stay tuned & in the meantime, you can click HERE to read more of my poems.}}

Celestial Bodies {a #poem}

My weary eyes need reminders to
view the galaxies aright. Focused on
the sliver of moon, they forget an
entire orb hides in the dark.
I gaze at dull concrete, traipse
around the observatory, past
an entrance where God stands in the
doorway beckoning me to peer,
Galileo-like, past roofs, across
trees, into velvet sky.

As feet pause on sure ground,
a whisper beckons to dream
above, beyond to distant beauty.
Consider the immeasurable
heavens inside, reckon my
need as I’m handed a telescope.

Brightened eyes rest and remember.


This poem was written as part of Poems for Ephesians, an online project of D.S. Martin at McMasters Divinity College. I was particularly taken by Eugene Peterson’s rendering of these verses in Chapter 1: 17) “I ask the God our master, Jesus Christ, the God of glory – to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing him personally, 18 your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is he is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life he has for Christians, 19 oh, the utter extravagance of his work in us who trust him – endless energy, boundless strength! 20 All this energy issues from Christ: God raised him from death and set him on a throne in deep heaven, 21 in charge of running the universe, everything from galaxies to governments,” 

How appropriate this passage is for these times, #lifeinthetimeofthecorona, where we cling to the truth that God is “in charge of running the universe, everything from galaxies to governments.” And, that as believers in Jesus, we would be urged to “grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life.”

I want to reckon my need as I’m handed a telescope, to rest and remember the power of Jesus in me and on display in the world, from the particular to farflung planets. He is over it all.

Advent-Waiting {a #poem}

shadows smudge on the wall
beside me, gray on red
as I look up, pensive,
pen in hand to write.
how to right this over indulgence,
too full of my own
bloated worry?
I’ve buried my prayers, fed one
saturated heart with cares
not meant to be carried.
fasting from the thoughts that also
fill my brain seems a lifeline
in this season where we’re
drowning in too much.
I shut the door, shutter the blinds
and feast on silence, making
space in my waiting for the
gift to arrive, though it tarry.
it occurs to me, that like
the Christ child’s birth,
answers may look far
different than I expect.
so I make room in the welcome
dark, waiting for the light,
which will surely dawn.