Whispy clouds linger in
the vertical mountain valleys–
sooty streaks of smoke
left by dragons
ascending into the
somber sky-dome
and disappearing
with the mountaintops.
Category: Poetry
Shining Eyes
At the back of the church
a woman rocks a smiling disabled boy.
Her delight in him–not even her own child–is obvious.
“Look at your smile,” she coos,
wiping his face with a soft rag
in a gesture that is more a caress
than anything else.
All this is not distraction
but divine work.
As the choir sings of the incarnation
and the boy’s eyes shine,
the woman knows she is touching
a piece of Heaven.
Homer at dawn
Every morning “dawn with her rosy fingers”
tickles the snow covered mountaintop
and, softening her cold shoulder,
she begins to blush.
Whisper
There’s a whisper of sadness in the crisp November air;
solemn raindrops adorn the bare tree branches
like bejewelled tears.
The sun peaks out and smiles wanly
at the confused pink flowers
which have emerged so late in the day…
How soon will the cold kill them,
turning their girlish blush into brown rot?
Memories creep closer like Christmas.
Loss hangs at the back of my throat—
waiting to pounce!
The Unseen Guest
How easy it is
to live on the busy surface of things
mind scattered and forgetful
of the heart’s guest
glowing within
Let me be silent enough
to hear the comforting crackles
of the inner fire
Open my eyes to see
Your light flooding out
from my soul
as from a lantern
in a dark forest
You are with me
in each step
each movement infused with You
each work I do in harmony with You
a work of God
walking with me
lighting my path
I carry my heart up to You
as I carry the laundry up the stairs
bearing this mortal weight
on its journey to Heaven
How humble You are, Lord
choosing to dwell among us
filling our souls with Your fire
never leaving us alone
if only we can remember
to silently seek You and discover anew
that we are ever encompassed by Your love
Little Jo Travels the World
It is with gratitude and bittersweet joy that I can tell you my new poetry book, written in the year after I lost my daughter Josephine in labour, is now available for purchase online at blurb.ca.
unexpected blossoming: a journey of grief and hope
After a year of writing, and a year of creating the book, my friend Rachel (who really made this project happen) and I, after some excellent final editing by my husband James, ordered several boxes of my poetry book. It shipped within three days, on the feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. There couldn’t have been a more poignant day for me, as I’ve drawn such consolation and hope from her in this journey. I really wanted the book to arrive on time for Josephine’s second birthday, on September 30th, and it came in good time only a week after ordering it. I am so impressed with the self-publishing company Blurb! Emotionally, I needed her birthday gift on time and they delivered.
To celebrate little Jo’s special day, we had an open house book launch, and filled our home with people from 1-5:30 pm. It meant a lot to be surrounded by loving friends and family. My mother and sister-in-law even took the ferry to be here. My amazing friend and midwife Terry-Lyn also came, with a tiny pot of white flowers. This made my day. The hands which held my baby, when so few others have, will always be sacred to me. I know she holds my Jo in her heart as well.
That day we ate goodies and shared stories and sold books. In the few weeks since receiving my boxes of books, 200 have sold or been donated. I had the honour of reading one of my poems at an event for bereaved families on October 14, the evening before international babyloss day. My books were available for any grieving families, counselors, funeral directors or other care workers who were there to take with them.
In a strange twist of fate, it turned out that one of the counselors there, Sarah, is close to a good friend of mine, Katie. She had driven her to my house the day before Josephine’s funeral to deliver the soft white blanket she is wrapped in. Funny how life works.
I am grateful that my little Jo is able to be so active in this world from Heaven. That her special mission to reach out and comfort other moms through my writing is being carried out. That she will be known and remembered. One of the sweetest comments about my book came from a Korean friend in broken English, after having read it, “I didn’t understand all words, but I think your baby very happy. She sees her mama loves her very much.” What more can I ask?
Today I mailed 20 more books, so my little girl is, in her own special way, seeing the world, as her book travels to Calgary, Tofino, Nelson, Saskatoon, Toronto, Rome, Hawaii, and the Philippines. My little shooting star…may she bring sweetness and hope to every heart she shines on.
PS If you know a bereaved mom or family member who may appreciate a book, please let me know in the comments below, or order one from the link above.
The night before
Tonight
is the night before I lost you, dearest,
two years ago
when you burst from my womb
and were launched straight into Heaven.
Two years ago tonight,
it was Michealmas
and perhaps your passing the next day
was accompanied by him–
this warrior angel
this strong protector—
to carry you on high
in arms safe and loving as your daddy’s.
Great angel,
protect my spirit now
and give me the courage to face the night,
knowing what tomorrow brings.
Help me be brave enough
to feel the pain of loss
yet again,
ever still,
but also to live with the simplicity of my children
who know how to rejoice in each moment
and sing Christmas carols with gusto
no matter what the season.
Sufficient for the day
is the joy thereof.
How blogging helps prevent soul clutter…and house clutter, too!
Half a year ago, as I was busy sorting through my boxes and packing up my house for our move, I found all sorts of precious old papers–boxes of dusty journals that hadn’t seen the light of day for years.
For you see, before I had my blog, writing was a covert operation. Almost nobody was allowed to see my poems. My scribbles were hidden away, safe from scrutiny, safe from the ‘horrific danger’ of being disliked or dismissed. I’ve grown a little since then, and realized that unshared art is like a silent opera…tons of emotion just burning to be released, but kept in a bottle. It’s worth it to risk people laughing at you, to make it possible for them to cry with you, hope with you, and rejoice with you.
So in honour of the publication of my first book of poetry, I’ve decided to release some of my earlier writings from their solitary confinement and share them with you. Perhaps some sappy love poems from my early days dating my husband, impassioned prayers from my time of conversion to my faith, or other melodramatic outpourings…So if every now and then something appears from “Anna’s archives,” I hope you’ll welcome it kindly and pat it on the head, even if it is a little bit puppy love…
And once I let it live in Crazy Land, I can recycle the original! So it’s all part of my mission to delcutter my house, and by sharing these pieces of me with you, also delcutter my soul. Where is your soul clutter? Is there something inside waiting to be shared? Set it free!
Embracing the Waves
I feel like a ship on waving waters
tossed about and slightly seasick,
but all is not chaos
and I won’t be lost
if I keep firmly anchored in You, Lord,
my bedrock.
I can toss and tumble,
but I won’t drift off course
so here in the jumble of waves
I’ll be happy.
The dry land with its steady stillness
is not for me now.
Perhaps when I retire,
I’ll dock at a nice sunny spot
near the shore.
But for now
the waves and sea storms for me—
the ups and downs,
the splashing crashing waves.
I’m surrounded by little rowboats and seagulls
but anchored in hope Lord,
because I’m anchored in Your love.
Rain Murmurs Gently
Rain falls on the gazebo roof
and murmurs gently
in the surrounding forest
I sit here with the stone lion
who gazes with undivided attention
into the nearby woods
as if expecting Aslan
I admire his silence
and try to cultivate interior quiet
attuning my ears to the soft sounds
of bird calls and frog chatter
sounds of my youth
unchanged and immortal
The baby sleeps warmly on my chest
snuggled beneath the nursing cover
I sigh and he echoes me
heart to heart
imitating me even in his sleep
A tiny spider throws his rope onto my iPad
and hangs out with me while I write
Today even a spider
is delightful
Just East Of Crazy Land 