I Need More Time On The Wheel

not for the jewels
that shine above us,

but, for gifts, unseen

given from the hands
that join heaven and earth;

the potter
who lifted us from the miry clay
and molded us
into polished vessels

that can only attempt
to mirror his reflection.

I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 13.


Love Letter #51: Solace

When morning makes light
of transgressions,
tulips bow and bend
at the mention of his name,
I find solace in feelings;
a whisper of sacrifice
stretched across wood;
remembrance of a love
that crosses boundaries-
tenderly lifts burdens
into heart-shaped wings
of atonement.



Morning Glory

Let Saturday spill through my window;
silhouette of daffodils reflecting yellow
through the shutters as I turn over
and his hand is missing from mine,

but the scent on his pillow remains,
leaving me inhaling the presence
of love and last night’s conversation.

We hesitate to let morning come,
but, oh, how the sun lends light to life;
the red glimmer from a cardinal
taps a love song upon the stained glass;
butterflies chasing daisies, swaying
even in the absence of an august breeze.

At six o’clock A.M., silence hums
and a far away melody strums
to my heart, soft, like his blessings;
like the words we whisper
when no one else is listening.




I used to wait for rain
stand, palms up, pleading
for earth to fall away

so I could bloom;

sat under that weeping willow
many a Sunday, sleeping
under the swish of limbs,
tremble of railroads
echoing at my back-
ears attuned
only to cardinal’s song
to fade the noise
of Monday coming,

It took years of suffering
to open my wings,
to close the umbrella
to feel the son;

to feel the sun.



Dismantled Dreams



We are all victims
    of our surroundings,
  such pleasured beings,

breathing discontent,
buried in circumstance,
                       we climb

   just to rise above the sorrow,
       imagined fear, doubt
           and all these unloving things

            that weigh us down.

        Upon the hour,

    hands oscillate to numbers
 that mean nothing in the end;
 this shadowed fragment of time
           ~ swaying past ~

like overgrown branches
with nowhere else to go
                                but up.



Like the Wind

I choose to embrace the sanctity
of shooting stars, the unspoken
communication with unseen
blessings. Sway and hum , sway
and hum breathing in silence,
exhaling peace. He sighs like the
wind, shakes us like trees, blows
life into every flowering petal.


~~(I am penning a poem a day  from November 24th through December 25th, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day #26)


Sonnets Stitched in Blue  


When whites are gray

and petals wither 

like whispers, unheard,

rivers spill secrets in torrents;

every drop, a hymn

echoed through misty mountains

upon deaf ears.


Can fireflies save the night

when stars refuse to shine?


We can see the sun

through an abstract lens,

paint a pretty picture 

before all the green is gone

and find synonyms for beauty 

stitched in sonnets to leave behind

before senses are too dull to imagine.