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.



Peace, Be Still

The palms of your hands
cradle my face;
fingers finding the flow of tears;
the ache of disenchantment,
but you come; Jehovah Shalom

to quiet the noise in my head;
to calm the sea
by the tenderness of your grace;
the sky blue of your eyes.

I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 19


In His Presence

Dry your tears on the softness of his grace
and leave your worries at his feet.
Let the darkness of worldly things
remain outside these stain glass windows
and reside in the peace of his presence.

I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 18.


Love Letter #54: The Hem

I want to be in the midst
of your sweet presence,
scent of flowers lending grace
to the darkness;
your light
unmatched by constellations

as the breeze of you passes,
I desire
for just a brush of your hem
upon the readiness of my skin.



To the Brim

You tap into a secret place;
your liquid flowing inspiration
through my waking veins

onto a page
of alliterated tongue;
sway of syllables marching
to your quickened beat,

like rows of yellow daffodils
promenading to the sun.

I see you swirl,
coloring my cup
with comfort;
my pen, with new ink

filling me warm, with your muse

like a favorite blanket
in the middle of winter.


Love Letter #52: Turn the Page

As that door swung open
at 2:00 am,
(always my prophetic hour,)
I knew these bare feet
would find wildflowers;

fingers wrapped in the warmth
of his,
this heart –
skipping beats

within the sound of syllables

a collective sigh
of moon awaiting sun.

A first book is birthed in pain;
love spilled upon pages one
through forty-eight,
hidden in quivering pen
by the flicker of a candle,

but, turn the page,
and there is a light!;
a pirouette of words

a kaleidoscope;
a skyful of enamored stars
and the joyful prance of souls

joining the letters
of love’s sentence


Love Letter #49: Date Night

He was surprised
when I suggested we sit in the park

and just talk.
We could have had candles
and a vase full of roses,
napkins in our laps,
and the hum
of other conversations,

but I wanted him all to myself-

sun beginning to fade
with just the ripples in the pond,
scent of fresh cut grass
and the reflection of periwinkles
in his soft, brown eyes;

oh, that gaze he gives me
the one that makes me look away;
hold back the tears.

When I think of us
I think of daffodils;
a love so delicate, unfading
and gold as morning,
whispered new every awakening,
like dew upon petals;
like pages of poetry,

crisp, like the red of autumn.