The flower is wise.
She is neither insecure nor proud,
because she knows that she is loved
not because she is lovely,
but because she was created by Love.
Her loveliness stems
from the love of her Creator
whom she glorifies
simply by being herself.
Category: Poetry
Haiku 12
Of course it would be
the day cleaners came and mopped
that pickle juice spilled
That’s life, Mom!
Haiku 11
Dry corn stalks stick up–
the skeleton of summer
revealing past warmth.
Some long days…
Some long days the baby cries
and the toddler screams
and the 5 year old seems to have
ants in his pants
and a megaphone around his neck.
Some long days
the toddler won’t nap
and the phone rings five times
during the quiet-time movie
and it seems nothing can wait
for you to just chill out and relax
for just an hour…even half an hour!
Some long days
the boys fill your kettle with pencil crayons
and draw on the bathroom door
and the baby wakes up
as soon as you begin the math lesson
and everyone moans and groans
and forgets how to round to the nearest ten.
Some long days you hit dinner time
with a sense of desperation…
“How long till bed?!”
and sing along to “The Muppets” soundtrack
in an attempt to feel that you’ve got
“Everything that I need, right in front of me.”
Some long days
the smartest thing you do
is have a glass of wine with dinner
and veto everything but laughter
as you listen to stories from the Vinyl Cafe
with the kids
who delight in the one
when Dave gets trapped in a sewer
after dropping down his keys
and gets mistaken for a monster by a little boy.
Some long days
the greatest relief is the feeling of your toddler
drooling on your shoulder
as you rock him to sleep early, to prevent any more fits.
Success! The little beast is quiet…
and you can actually read the others
“The Never-Ending Story” about Atreyu and Bastian,
the luck dragon Falcor and the childlike Empress,
until their eyes close and their breath gets deep and even.
Despite all the chaos,
all they’ll probably remember about today is
listening to stories with you
and falling asleep on the warmth of your lap.
Some long days
when the hours drag on,
remember you’re not alone
and try to end them with a smile…
Just keep picturing diving into bed
and sinking into the sweet relief of sleep!
Some long days, mamas,
you gotta keep your eye on the prize!
Prairie Walk
When I’m back home I’ll think of you
walking under the immense dome of the sky
which curves around like giant arms
until it touches the distant edges of the prairie.
You awed by the paradox
of God’s ever-watchful otherliness
and the incarnational intimacy of the earth
supporting your feet–
you tiny amidst the soaring and the solid,
utterly surrounded by God.
Prairie Fire Under Snows
There is a flame the cold can’t quench
and so we joy-filled fill
this giant wooden teepee with song
We reach for the hand of one
whose wounded one reaches for ours
Sheltered in this house of God
by a cone of boards bound with nails
like a teepee sewn together
—holes through pierced skin—
protecting us from the winter storms
Like the people of Jerusalem we process with palms
but instead of hot sand the snow swirls around us
a soft spring snow
full of hope of future harvest
as the fire-golden wheat fields lie hidden
under the cold kiss of a blanket of snow
the way you lie hidden
the fire of your divinity
submerged in the wheat coloured wafer
we receive
We remember
We hope
We live in the shelter of his love
the humble king of glory
Twinkle
Wherein lies the greatness of man?
Is it in his capacity to make bombs?
To build rockets and race cars?
To speed through life and destroy?
Or is it rather in his ability
Despite these other abilities
To stop
Slow down
And give meaning to the smallest gesture
To caress the silken cheek of a flower
And see reflected in it
The face of his beloved
And the twinkling of God’s eyes?
Solitary Snowdrop
There are certain things in spring
that make my heart sing
and certain things
that tear at strings
like a silver birch
or a solitary snowdrop
and the memories they bring
Deep Canyon
Have you ever pondered
that the heart carved out
by torrents of sorrow
can also run deeper
with springs of joy?
Sweet Relief
Darling, I’d like to write you beautiful poems
after your long awaited arrival
and the desperate relief of the moment
you came slipping out like a selkie
from the waters inside
and beached yourself on my belly….
But right now I’m in such a happy bubble
that all I can think of is silly mama speak
you little pink piglet sweetie pie flower bud
baby blossom wonderful one
You are warm
You are safe
You are here
You are here
You are here
Just East Of Crazy Land 