In Your Little Room

With thoughts of grand gestures;
of making a difference in the universe,
it seems impossible that you,
someone who seems so small
in a massive, unmanageable world
could touch lives, bring change,

but, it’s the little things that matter,
the phone call, the text: “Are you okay?,”
the letter written from your heart
with ink collected for years, then bled
upon pages of love, of light, spilled,
delivered into praying hands.

.

Just Beyond Reach

Clouds, so close,
trembling;
unfulfilled dreams
waiting to burst

with just a touch
of faith.

.

You Say You’re Insignificant?

You’re a listener, a friendly face,
a shining light to lead the way.
You’re a nurturer, a confidant,
a soft smile on a cloudy day.

You’re tired, but persistent,
slow down, but never give up,
pour out blessings upon others;
a warm heart with an empty cup.

You’re the arms to hold them;
pick them up when they fall.
You’re a conqueror, a vessel
forever answering the call.

.

Someone needs to hear this today…

Mindful Musings

What shall they say when we go away;
that we laughed with a childlike innocence,
wept with those who weep
tarried beside the old sycamore tree
to carry a broken winged bird
safely to its nest?

Shall they speak of our infatuation with stars
and the way they dance in a lovers eyes;
shine upon the vastness of the earth
or the delicacy of a blooming calla lily
and that I loved how the scent of petals
remained upon my hands
after an afternoon in the garden?

Shall they smile at how we looked at books
of tourism in Italy, joked with bad accents
when cooking pasta on Sundays?

Shall they speak of how I blushed
each time he made eye contact,
breathed a sigh at the scent of his cologne
lingering on the pillow after his leaving
and how we held hands, always,
even as we slept…

.
Day 28 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month)

There is a River

There was a river and I filled it.
I filled it for all of us:
the ones who are haunted
from old words, cruel words, sweet words
and especially those words that wake us up
from a dead sleep, screaming to be heard.

I filled it for every color from every corner:
for those who cannot, will not, should not
and those who ran out of tears long ago,
for those who have too many reasons
or not enough time to sit down and cry.

I poured pitchers for her, for him, for us, them,
yes,them!;

those who created, then left us, turned their backs,
spat, laughed, sneered,

kicked us when we were down.

I didn’t wait for the rain
like seashells wait for tide, or flowers crave sun.
I just let them fall long and steady to seal our fate.

There is a river, and I filled it.

January Hope

A second chance
is a gift without ribbons,
the turn of a page;

a revival.

.

Day 25

I am writing a poem a day from November 26, 2020 through December 25, 2020 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is my 5th year of doing this series and I feel so blessed!❤️

A Pause

She waits patiently
( candle in the window)
for Summer
in the middle of April;
feels the breeze of swaying trees
grass greener,
but out of reach.

Birds of the air
renew hope.

As seasons run together,
she finds a new way
to measure love

from a distance

and listen to syllables
as they roll off the tongue;
find peace in a flower,
comfort in the pause.

.
Day 12 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month.)

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 🙂

Cleansed

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.

~

In Waiting…

 

      Just below the surface

                       hope is rising

          as dreams whirl

  into funnels, translucent-

   engaging as dove’s coo

in the early morning hours.   

      

                        Like lily pads,

                      in waiting for pink softness

                        upon weathered pages.

Take these heart strings

    like threads of harp,

       beckoning you

                             home.

 

~Day 1 of NaMoPo a poem a day for National Poetry Month!

In Silence

Silence renews the mind
and restores the spirit
creating room
for the most significant conversations
we could hope to have
with the most inspiring soul
we could ever hope to know.

Seek him.

 

 

 

~(I am penning a poem a day  from November 24th through December 25th, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day #16)

Enter In

Take me
to that secret place
where only those dear to your heart

may enter in;

where love and compassion
fill every vessel
and light,
oh light
leads us
through corridors
without parables;

Use me.

Use every drop of my inspiration,
every ounce of passion
to illuminate the walls
the world builds.

Open gates for me

with flowered gardens
of your love.

 

~

~(I am penning a poem a day from November 24th through December 25th, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day #15)