Category Archives: Poetry

To the Tune of ‘Lilies’, a Poem

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gardenia NOLA

There is a song in petals,

the rainsound of notes on thirsty

earth feeding spring’s new flowers.

There is a melody in the making

of a garden where silent, shriveled

seeds wait to burst, pushing

through wet soil with their magic

strength inside.

There is a harmony in the golden

leafwhisper and silent shout

of green dusting the tips of

dogwood and rose, tulip, lilac, moss.

The symphony grows as God

bouquets the Earth with color

and we hear that far off tune,

the resounding music that calls

us beyond this heaven to our home.

~*~*~*

I was reading Psalm 45 this morning; the Scripture that God spoke to me years ago when I began writing, “my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” I noticed the text said it was written to the “tune of ‘Lilies'”, perhaps a song…and I wondered, what do lilies sound like? 

Spring’s Verb Says

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photo by Karen Boudreaux, NOLA, used by permission
Fireworks have nothing on me,
no man-made show can match
this explosive display.
Shocking green here,
shouting magenta there,
showy white front and center.

No gunpowder could blow
breezes like this 
to bristle trees,
to “whoosh” the wind
across the skies,
no factory fierce enough
to produce this bright beauty.

Spring’s verb says 
the growing will never stop,
but will flow from a fire 
deep in the dark,
earth-wise,
shoved to the surface,
erupting when you’re not looking.

Spring’s verb comes from nowhere
but Godwhere.

Spring’s verb says ‘get ready.’
~~~~~~~~~~
This poem was prompted by the first line in a poetry book, ‘Mischief Cafe’, 
and the sound of this Easter song in my head.
previously published on my blog Three Way Light

Writer’s Break {a #poem}

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I’ve been awash in words

of late, missing out on the

wind waving through steel

branches, blue and white

sky. Eyes too crowded to

take note of the weather

which goes on without me,

whether I watch it or not.

A glance through the dining

room glass speaks loudly

in all caps.

I am listening.

“There is no earth-changing

work worth writing that

can compare to the lines written

in the night sky on an early

March evening.”

Memory safely deposited for

another day, I bank on the Holy

Spirit’s call to tug at my downward

eyes next time I am consumed

with my own importance.

I will myself to remember–look up.

~:~:~:~:~

I’ve been soaking myself in poet/writer/editor John D. Blase’s poems in “The Jubilee”, a collection recently released for his 50th ‘jubilee’ birthday. Each piece packs a wallop in the words; if you enjoy poetry, may I suggest you run, click or drive to get yourself a copy? 

When Your Workout Includes Wait Training

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P1200354I want to fly these dumbbells

up, down, up, down

quick! The momentum of each

lift rising at my side pushing past

perhaps what’s safe or wise

in the name of what? Speed

or yes, the checklist-exercise-

done! When I slow instead,

face the window and raise

these weighted arms slow,

slow, slow-up; slow, slow, slow-

down-the strain increases but the

work muscle-wise is longer lasting.

I feel the wait and wonder if speed

is highly overrated. Aware of the

answer, I rest into the process

lifting again, lowering at my leisure.

Repeat.Relax.Rest.Return.

And find a lesson in these weights,

an exercise written over taut skin,

reaching to my soul.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I’m heading to the Cascade Mountains of Washington for a weeklong writing project (first draft of my little book!). I covet your prayers for this process–I’d like to speed it up, but God keeps reminding me He’s with me while I wait on Him for the words.

What Really Matters {it’s not the envelope}

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The snow comes, unexpected like

grace after a fall (yours, mine,

ours) a quiet wool covering missteps,

mistakes, messes.

This white-soft gift leaves an expanse

of peace, pulling my eyes away from the

ground, these humble, human feet,

to the misty, gray horizon.

Heart now centered, sheltered, still

while Creation whispers my thanks.

****

I don’t know about you, but this Monday morning leaves me feeling a little undone. Did you watch the Oscars? Did you see the mess-up at the end, the snafu that has never happened before with the envelope announcing Best Picture being the wrong one? How would you like to be the person that did that? 

I’ve other things on my mind–a convalescing husband who’s post-surgery demands are taxing my self-centered flesh, a messy kitchen, incomplete projects, inside & out.

I’m in the middle of living through being disoriented. The root of the word ‘orient’ is from the Latin-‘oriens’, meaning rising sun. Well, of course. When I turn my heart and mind and self towards the East, towards the rising sun–Jesus–I can see things in the right perspective. I feel oriented again.

I don’t like to live with being disoriented, but that’s where I am right now. I’m grateful for God’s word and presence that keeps me looking up in the right direction, shining light on what really matters.

Where are you today? Feeling oriented, disoriented or are you in the middle of reorienting?

Leave your thoughts in the Comments.

Holy Landing

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“Samara,” she said and the words
took flight in my hearing,
invisible windborne flora
soaring across my thoughts.
She spoke of wings, a divine
creation spinning towards
earth to plant itself like a
stubborn weed-fierce and stuck.
Imagination took root,
sending me flying home
towards Webster’s–
‘some-are-uh’ – and there
a black and white drawing of
a seed with wings
“an indehiscent, usually 
one-seeded fruit, of the ash 
or maple.”

Like that spinning tree-gift
may I fly holy words,
carrying the seed of my
Saviour to land, stuck
and stubborn, finally
splitting into silent roots
then skyward, bearing
fruit with wings.
~~~~~~~
sometimes a poem inspires a poem.
Thank you, Laurie Klein