before autumn is done

paint crimson on the pallid rose

and gold upon the faded crest

blue deep within the well of crows

where passions tears have come to rest

flutters outspread caged within

an intermittent beating wing

ever longing to begin again

timeless songs in silence sing

chiding heaven for the wait

as treading hills of mud and stone

wisdomdom the pearly gate

Peace be still 

before autumn is done

face to Face

I look up toward heaven

between silver clouds

to the great purple mountains

 they darkly enshroud

I cry with hands reaching

up to the sky

my ears filled with preaching

this heart longs to fly

I boast of my love and

my longing to see

the one whose broad hand

that's been covering me

I walk with a gait

like one who's been saved

knowing my fate

no longer enslaved

a smile and a nod

are my salt and my light

sprinkling my God

through day and by night

my future is bright

my plans to do good

my garden, my home

my children, my food

then in the enth of a second

i tumble and fall

timelines had beckoned

now learn to crawl

crawl to your future

crawl to your bed

crawl to your Savior

before you are dead

you thought you were holy

you thought you were kind 

you misguided putz

were you losing your mind?

ive been running the race

a win by default

till i came face to face

when it all came to a halt

on the ground in the dirt

yes, where i belong

i saw my dear savior

all eternity long

In an instant i knew Him

in pain i reviled

my pride turned to ashes

my goodness defiled

bloodied and twisted

broken and bruised

His grace i resisted

I lay self accused

that moment of tears

and gnashing of teeth

 imbued all my fears

in life's final seethe 

where is your heart

where is your home

who is your heart

from whom do you roam

be ready my child

my old little girl

youth has beguiled

a way of the world

Love with great joy! 

with hope, like spring dew,

But watchness employ!

there's a time planned for you

'for you know not the day or hour in which i come' 

matt.25:13

yesterday, today and forever

It's cozy here in the morning room.

The sky is heavily laden with rows of dark sodden clouds 

lumbering across the vista between windows of blue sky.

A rainbow streams valiantly upon the distant hills 

and the last golden frocks of cottonwood line the draw 
down below the barn. 

Squirrels fly across the grass like superheros,  gathering walnuts, 

planting them in garden beds to pull out next spring. 

Finch, wren, titmouse and chickadee flit and balance on the dead bones of 

zinnias, cosmos and marigolds, singing in sweet harmony. 

I sat down in my rocker to write about
 what you had done for me so many years ago. 

But as i watched the day by the window sliced open, 
freshly rained November air whispered cool upon my cheek 
and i thought, ...there you are again.

You never cease to do for me, bless me, give to me, wait for me, woo me...

while i never cease to walk away, turn away, take you for granted or
 seek other's approval.

And at the end of it all when i breathe my last breath, 
you will welcome me in

because of your grace and mercy which you have lavished upon me 
all of my days, 

washing away- even blinding yourself from my depravity, 
by the very light of your own LOVE.

black and blue

A new day

how can i express the joy in my heart
and the gratitude of my soul
for the energy and clarity
that comes after the storm
and how could you know this
without the raging darkness
thundering through your bones
relentless in its purpose
cleansing and purifying;
the love of chastisement
shining light on bitter truth
He took me there i know He did
to remind me of His love
an old woman's tears of her youth's sorrows
turn to tears of joy for bright tomorrows

home

home is where the heart is

when time flies like a bananna and  he's become an old fart

in sickness and in health till death do us part

home is where the heart is

come hell or high water and pie in the sky

when hell freezes over when pigs can fly

home is where the heart is

when the glass is half empty the glass is half full

when push comes to shove and you push on the  pull

home is where the heart is

when grass is greener on the other side

 when life is a bitch and then you die

when dreams come true and your head's in the sand

when apples and oranges are a bird in the hand

home is where the heart is

ive never seen anything truer than true than a sky that is clearer and bluer than blue

and beyond that true blue there's a truer true blue

and a pink and an orange and a redness of hue

with gold streets and rubies and agates and pearls

and brighter than sunshine, pure light that unfurls

the banners of joy within us each one

as we see Him in glory our Father's own son

home is where the heart is

sew

sow

sow prayers of kindness while you're sowing your corn

sew stitches of blindness to weather all scorn

sow tares of truth into hate and deceit 

sow joy and good courage in fields of defeat

sow with your hands and your feet and your tongue

sow passion and strength and desire when you're young

sow many         sow few 

sew tired           sow you

sow when you're old and forever

grow new

tiddly winks

there's tiddly winks
under my sink

a correspondence of beans

a banality of dry white beans
sit quietly in a dusty jar.

an onion arguing with extinction
airs it's affliction in the bin.

a wodge of summer tomatoes solid in the freeze is neighbor to 

a chronicle of ham, still fastened 

to it's homeliness 

of bone.

my pot heats as i pour 

the correspondence of beans, 

ham bone, onion and tomatoes into it's gape.

with a bang of the lid

i walk away.

6 hrs. pass as the interplay between these 

four attitudes 

mix and mingle into one autonomous 

soup.

in the meantime i have sifted and stirred and paddled and beat

an episode of flours, egg, milk and honey

into an inclination of 

cornbread.

spooning the lusty gruel into my bowl

my senses receive a donation of joy and

a larceny of languor that gives my tummy

narrative.

what was old is new!

what was dead is stew!

long live bean soup!

we sing and toot and toot and sing

long live bean soup! 

it's a midwest thing.

last night (mootz called)

we met when we were 14
or was it 15?
was it at a birthday party
or had i run away from home
again.
we both smoked cigarettes.
we walked out of the light
into the night
talking nonstop.
we sat on a curb under a tree
smoking.
she told me her story
i told her mine.
we cried.
we were misfits.
our childhoods were over
but we were still children.
we faced the pain of dealing with
the mistakes our parents had made,
the crimes they committed and
the devastation of being victims.
we didn't know then
how long and arduous the journey would be
but for the Grace of God.

she called last night and said my name, then said hers.
i gasped.
we talked for an hour interrupting each other
with too many questions and so much to say.
her voice and laugh were the same as i had remembered
and i missed her like i missed running in the night.
i missed her like rhine wine and steppenwolf.
i missed her like walking down the railroad tracks
forever.
45 years slipped away, disappeared, invisible to the eye
but the depths and breadth of the love in my heart for her
were tangible.
it was a night to remember.

today

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.

brrrrrr.

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!

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,

family,

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.

 

meanwhile,

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.

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.

lullaby

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

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

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

this has been quite a year

new diet
new hair
new body
new teeth
new clothes
new shoes
new glasses
new daughter in law

a daughter in law.

a wedding.


i'm so happy
but i know
i'll cry



so dance me to the moon
& the stars will be my tears
     dance me back again
        to wish them golden years

life boat

on my journey
I jumped ship,
the world cruise.

now it's just the sky

and sea
and fish
and me

floating on faith
that I didn't make

following a shining star
of mercy

bow set toward
 an endless horizon
of hope.

thy will.
be done.