Friday, November 21, 2014


i have challenged myself to find the beauty in a day like today.

the hills are invisible, encased in a hoary batting,
nearer trees silhouetted in it's gloomy gauze.
branches blurred and skeletal, shiver in the icy rain.
muddy white snow lingers and pools,
flooding between rows.

the creek swells and surges in solitude;
no crane no owl no frog or thrush
to join it's monochromatic dirge.

but what if i were blind?

o how i'd long to see this day i hear and dread
and hide from.

inside by the fire, dog at my feet, lamps burning
cozy warm
i find gratitude for both the ins and outs of this,
 fine day.


Wednesday, May 21, 2014

top priority

the sky is blue and the sun is out
the garden is calling i see
but the dust and the dirt in the sunshine they flirt
with the obsessive compulsive in me
i take to the puter to ignore my clean suiters
and look at the art others paint
the longing within, much to my deep chagrin
is brought low by the duty i taint
with importance and need  can i ever be freed
from this bondage of vacuum and mop?
when will i write my own chore list at hand
with painting right there on the top!

Friday, March 7, 2014

in loving memory of a maple tree

(writing assignment-memories, tree, love)
 my aunt carol's laugh
was like a muted tenor saxophone,
low notes and high notes
 musically interwoven with
familiar nasal midwestern blares,
hers being the loudest as
the rest of the orchestra,
joined in.
cigarette between red lacquered fingers with glittery rings
and long dyed red hair, up in a dated do,
she'd sip her gin and tonic on ice
with clinks of relief,
as she muttered another one liner or a jab
at her grinning husband-
through a cloud of smoke-
and with another blare of her sax-
 the rest of the orchestra joined in.
stomping clapping and knee slapping
kept the beat and the roll of her wit and ire.
us kids hiding in corners,
silently mimicking,
silently joining,
silently recording,
this harvest gold and avocado green scene of life
dreaming of the day we,
would play our own compositions.
the maple trees stood standing in the cool clean air outside,
along the sidewalk,
ever so slowly pushing up the slabs of ground granite
just for me to roller skate up and over.
skate key on a string round my neck,
cool and steel in my mouth,
the orchestra played on in the hot smoky house
as I now sat on the front steps
tightening the skates upon my red ball jets.
I loved the sound of the steel wheels on the concrete,
drowning out the muffled blares from within.
I knew every crack and ant hill and root and marble pot
along that shady sidewalk
as I coasted back and forth on my forever block.
I thought aunt carol would be forever.
I thought the maple trees would be forever.
I thought the sidewalk would be forever.
but they're all gone now
only existing fondly in these memories of love.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

being 5:45

Like a lot of us, I'm heading toward the '6:00' mark
and wondering how long
into the night I will exist
here on this old world.

Having the benefit of living this long
and facing this hour of my life,
I've been compelled to raise
many self-examining questions.
The most important one being;
'Is my lamp lit and do I have enough oil
to get through the night,
while I wait for the groom to arrive?'

I've had an anxiety in my stomach for a few weeks now,
as I turn back the pages of this little book of mine.
But here's the comfort.
I'm not the author, nor am I the finisher.
It is not my pen or my creation.

There are choices I've made in every chapter, that have brought me sorrow and pain,
but each one of those, because of the author's hand,
has brought me closer to Him,
and to the knowledge of my utter dependence upon His hand.

While some would say that we are the masters of our fate,
I would argue (and draw comfort from) the fact that
I believe
in a magnificent creator, with a plan from start to finish.
He uses our sin and weaknesses to enable us to see
how loving and merciful and holy He truly is.

When we try to be perfect on our own strength, we worship and depend upon our own image.

I am not capable to attain even my own standard, much less the standard which has been set
 before the beginning of time.

I am a sinner.
meaning, I can never attain the mark.
No matter what I do for others, or try to accomplish in my life, it always comes back to me.
My pride, my envy, my jealousies, my insecurities and fears.
BUT when I go to God and say
"I am unable", He replies immediately,
"I am able".

What love! What amazing love!
 and if we do anything without love, His love,
it is like clanging cymbals or sounding brass.
I am nothing.

His love is my life, my light, my strength, my righteousness.
Without it, I am nothing.
But in the beginning, even 'nothing' obeyed God and became something.

The day is winding down, but my hope is that my lamp will be ever filled with the oil of salvation,
His love.
Father in heaven, make it so.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014


o nighty night
my baby bright
may Jesus bless 
your dreams tonight
with His love that fills
the hills with gold
the sky with blue
and the snow with cold
that fills a song
with music sweet
and heaven with
His humble sheep
that fills the trees
with wind and bird
that  fills the heart
with His Holy Word
o nighty night
my baby bright
may Jesus bless
your dreams tonight

Thursday, February 6, 2014

to be

to be
a bird
at home
so high
in snow
to drift
on wing
to fly
and view
the world
so cold
gone white
to sing
in sway
with stars
a flight
the air
so still
yet full
of move
the bird
to be
must live
to love

Monday, January 13, 2014

l i s t e n

refrigerator whispers
as I draw tiny lines on smooth stones
rose thorns scratch at the window
chimes cry, bangling one against the other
wind lows through minute cracks in the pane
I turn off the light above me with a click
and hear the light bulb cool with high pitched chinks
finches converse outside at the feeder
and I swear I can hear the sun warm the grass on the hills