Source of pleasure
Source of pain
Winner’s triumph
Loser’s bane
Full of visions
No one sees
Except the one who has the key
Can you guess it? I’d love to hear! Might be trickier than the last two… 😉
Category: Poetry
Riddle 2
Starts as a small spark
in dark waters–
surrounded by silence
save for the constant beating of a drum,
which it echos–
two as close as one.
Can you guess it? Let me know! 🙂 It was such fun getting your responses to yesterday’s riddle!
Riddle
Soft as a lamb but you can’t touch it,
has no eyes but it can weep,
owned by no man
ever moving
over mountains high
and valleys deep.
The kids and I have been enjoying reading The Hobbit aloud. We just did the chapter where Bilbo and Gollum have a riddle guessing contest, and had a ball doing spooky voices for Gollum…till the kids got so creeped out I had to change his part to a cowboy voice to make them laugh! Poor Gollum will never be the same…
I was inspired to write a riddle. Can you guess it? Let me know in the comments! 🙂
Compassion
Let it go, little mamma.
You have deeply entered their pain,
lived it with them,
prayed and suffered.
Their burden is not yours.
You can love
but you cannot hold the whole world
in your heart.
Don’t try to steal God’s job.
Only He, the eternal one,
can bear all the world’s suffering
without breaking to pieces…
Your call now,
is to go dig in your garden
and plant flowers of hope
in the simple brown earth.
Your call is to smile again
and find joy in the little gifts of each day.
Tears have washed you clean.
Now, little mama,
let it go,
trust more,
be silly and laugh again.
Bodies of Water
The trees are so stable,
their moods have such endurance.
They hold on for months
to the bare bitterness of winter,
the silence,
the absence of even a rustling leaf.
Then the trees embrace the sweet joyfulness of spring
in a long coquettish smile,
a blossom-blush lasting months.
Afterwards, the trees sail into the smooth serenity of summer,
wearing their regal wreaths with proud satisfaction.
Even the flaming, flickering colours of fall flash across their faces for months,
the trees, with their moods more stable than mine,
for I am but a tiny body of water
wrapped in skin.
My thinly guarded surface subject to tremors of wind,
the harassment of a sudden hailstorm
or the steady pounding of rain.
I’ve been know to get icicles in my eyelashes
tears of pain frozen before fully released.
Some things are better to let go of quickly.
In all this variable moodiness,
this passionate intensity and depth of feeling,
I am not alone,
for are we not all but small bodies of water
(97% H2O)
wrapped in skin,
the tides in our hearts tugged about by not just the moon,
but by the moods of all the other bodies of water
bumping around us
in this space
that is earth.
Moments of Glory
So many times
life in a large family
is like swimming in the ocean
tossed about by salty waves,
trying to catch your breath between tantrums.
Then there are those moments of glory
when your kids are all getting along
and the baby is sleeping while your eldest girls
do a duet on their ukuleles.
That moment is one of perfect rest,
like you’ve climbed upon a wooden raft,
the waveworn wood smooth against your skin,
the sun’s warm weight on your back.
At that moment you question nothing.
Self-doubt sinks below the waves
and you float there
–happy–
trusting for that moment
that everything is grace.
Beautiful
Yesterday I stumbled across this poem I wrote some time ago for dear friends who had suffered yet another painful miscarriage. As a number of people in our church community have either recently lost young children, or are approaching anniversaries of loss, I decided to share it.
Beautiful the face of a mother,
who suffers and who loves,
endlessly giving her all,
her very self, day and night.
Beautiful the face of a father,
whose word of love has become flesh,
and brought him joy,
and the necessity to serve,
forgetting himself.
Beautiful the hearts of husband and wife,
who give up pieces of themselves,
and let them to walk around outside their bodies,
tugging on their heartstrings
until they break.
Beautiful the sorrow of those who trust in God,
while they ache inside and long for the gift
that was briefly theirs,
but has flown to Heaven.
Beautiful the “Amen’s” that cost us the most,
the letting go,
the giving up what we only loved,
but never owned.
Beautiful the hearts that don’t lose faith,
when all seems cold and incomprehensible.
Beautiful the love that is stronger than death,
that stretches into eternity,
and bursts into God’s light with joyous triumph
on that day of reunion
which is to come.
Mystery
Which mystery is greater?
That the eternal, ineffable God,
the uncreated source of all being,
created us and gave us the gift of life,
or that he chose to become small enough to fit
on a woman’s lap
in order to come share our life?
Oh, Woman, what a great mystery you are,
sharing in the work of God!
Spring
Spring is finally here.
The toddler and I are equally happy
digging in the garden
with dirt under our fingernails
and warm sunshine in our hair.
Out in the garden,
I can almost forget my messy house
–rooms cluttered with kids’ clothes and toys–
out here where dirt means not disorder,
but openness to growth
and getting messy is a necessary step
on the path to beauty.
Haiku 18
“Always” and “never”–
are there any other words
which cause so much pain?
Just East Of Crazy Land 