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Pounding the Keys

I left the door open;
standing at attention
for whatever it is
you would have me do.
Sleep called me
and I asked dreams
to dance me a revelation.
There it lay on the table;
a pen and a blank page
and shadowing in the corner,
that old Underwood typewriter
he gave away;
another piece of my heart
ripped out,
but you always patch me up,
and send me back out there
to step over the rubble
to sigh out a testimony;

Once a poet,
always a poet.

~
~I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day 28.

I fell behind due to illness and hospitalization but am determined to finish even if I am behind.

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After the Tears Run Out

I hear myself echo,
and dreams
seem to slip through my fingers
like sand did
when we were smiling.

Late, when I let my hair down;
when feelings fall,
lips form your name-
the only name
that touches me;
moves mountains,
sways treetops

with a sigh of wind.

I can’t take a step
without the calm of you;
the tenderness of your grace
upon limp shoulders
when my head falls
upon yours.

Sleep comes
after the tears run out
but morning
is like your smile;

warmth
through the length
of my tresses
assures my heart
that your love shines,
beams,
dresses my cheeks,
seeps into every crevice;

your love,

never fails.

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Creation

Just a sprinkle from your fingers
brings dreams to fruition;
sundays delicately flow
like newborn calla lilies
muting the sounds of earth;

thoughts softly spread love notes
across miles of soil, catching breeze,
blowing dandelion dust
over the face of the flowering
like the day you breathed us
into existance.

~
~I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day 26.

I fell behind due to illness and hospitalization but am determined to finish even if I am behind

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Love Letter #60: The Gift

I have watched your eyes
watch mine
look into the love that lies beneath-
the failures you don’t see,
the weakness only you
look deep enough to uncover.

You feel my tears
before they ever fall,
kiss every saddened place
that aches
for that place of healing.

It is easy to love
when life is roses
without thorns,
but in storms,
petals are scattered;
knees pierced from 3:00 am
seemingly unanswered prayers.

In the middle of ache,
look to your right,
to your left
and discover the gold;
the love that lies
within the gift
of loyalty.

~

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In the Pause of Winter

I.
As footsteps fade,
I am left with my thoughts,
and feelings fall like dreams do
when it rains blue.
In the silence, my lips seek solace
from words not uttered aloud,
but through breaths
from one breaking heart
to another.

II.
There is a comfort, unseen
within these walls; a warmth-
his arms around the length of me;
tresses curled and twisted
into infinite circles; a bond,
like the ring on my finger
in this cloud-soft existence;
love filling every empty space.

III.
Retracing steps is futile
to progression
weakening the desire to fly.
These wings are tattered,
beaten down, but this will
cannot be muted.
Like the cardinal who revisits
in the dead of winter,
I will resurface, shining
for when I am weak,
I am strong.

~

I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day 25.

I fell behind due to illness and hospitalization but am determined to finish even if I am behind

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Covenant

In the valley, it is quiet, barren.
All the birds you were feeding
upon the mountain no longer come
for crumbs. Sparseness separates
friend from foe, and when color drains
to the pale of dreamlessness,
shadows fill the empty corners
but, when the air clears,
you can hear the soft whisper
of faithfulness; the tender touch
of one who wants nothing
and in the darkness, you find comfort
in a tender place where only love remains

~

~~I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day 24.

I fell behind due to illness and hospitalization but am determined to finish even if I am behind 🙂

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Gilly Blossoms

There is a chill in the breeze
where her laughter was,
but, I see her bare feet
in wildflowers, dancing
without a care;
behind an easel;

feathered pen
in her willing fingers.

She hinted of you
in the midst of adjectives
picked up a petal or two
from blossoms
I left behind.

“In order to write,”
she scooted away
bouquets of daisies
and set up shop
at the corner table
surrounded by oceans

and the green
of afterlife.

~
“Gilly Blossoms” ….I am writing a poem a day from November 14th through December 25th to celebrate the birth of Jesus… This is day 23…