In His Image

Gold poured from his lips
and fell upon waiting ears.
Sun shone from his heart
reflecting an image of joy;
of pure, unadulterated love.
Follow me, he said, in tears,
let me lead you to the cross.

I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 8 ❤


The Cost

The flowers you planted
in the back yard, bloomed,

the willow ceased weeping.

I crave the beauty of your presence
in the two o’clock A.M. .silence

wind rushing through my hair;
the words you left,
honeysuckles to my ears.

Oh, let me read you!;
find the meekness
in the whole of your spirit,
the forgiveness
that remains, still,

between each thorn.



Today is a grain of sand
tossed by waves,
beaten, shaken down,
emulsified under the sun,

but, tomorrow is a flower,
planted by his hands,
nurtured, coddled,
kissed by the whisper
of promised wind.

Be that flower.


.I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 3


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.



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.


Eccentricities of Life Before Coffee

Lashes hesitantly fall open,
hips pivot feet to the floor;
shuffle, shuffle in pink slippers
making light of the day.

Outside these walls,
lingers hate, but, I turn,
blow it away, softly,
like daffodils
swaying good morning
to the sun

and when evening comes,
thoughts encircle me,
like stars;
keep me captive

until Spring comes calling.


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.