Poetry

Poetry

Autumn Home

by

Old faded tires lean against
railroad tie posts, dried gold and brown wisps of grasses
softening the black, sunken rounding edges.
Our garden tiller stands
motionless, framed by crisp blue sky, in the shade of a
yellow turning poplar;
It’s teeth stopped but still biting the light brown earth.
Clothes on the line dance slightly
to the waltz of bees humming around emptied
honey frames; every drop left to
their winter store.
Olive green tomato vines, now
barren, cling to golden, dry paper
corn stalks; nearby, the solid pile
of dense, sweet smelling pine logs
stands ready to burn bright and hot in the coming months.
A large blue tractor scratching
the sleepy, dry ground squeals with
each rotation of it’s wheels like fifty cranes
squawking as the dust takes flight.
Time for rest.
Time for quiet.
Time for snow.

Reality

by

When I sense grounding hope swelling, rising,

 

flowing into spirit-quenching, soul-feeding, compelling,

propelling motion; and

When I am still and know, my

plans are human, but His, vast and grand as

star strewn heavens, are those

I will follow.

When I cast off pain and claim wholeness;

When I am present to hear

innocence beautifully singing- now small,

soon grown.

When heaven’s whispers light on my heart,

and instantly, without pause, are welcomed in.

When the sky reaches down and

lays its colors over me;

When wind brushes

magnetic fingers thru my flying hair,

collecting stiffness, leaving calm.

My mind, in silent praise, sings out,

Glory to God in the highest!

And on earth, and in me,

peace.

 

 

 

 

“Toby” 2005-2017

by

Toby pulled me away from a sink of

dishes with his chocolate face

turned up beside me, his chocolate

eyes asking me to

follow.  He led me to the front door and

I let him out; but that was only

half of his request.

He wanted to walk and see the

world down the dirt road and, his

eyes said, not alone.  So I

followed him in the heat of the day

hot wind blowing my hair

sideways.  It took a block or two

to blow the thoughts of dishes needing to be washed

and bread rising and a boy

needing encouragement.

It was the wind getting hotter

and the newly cut grain

dusty, yellow and bailed,

to turn my mind to outside;

the sky, the honeysuckle growing

wild on the barbed wire and

cedar post fence.  Two cars

passed slowly because Toby

didn’t seem to be paying

attention- the dust blew

over the white cabs and I

shielded my face.

Toby reached the corner

where the dried yellow ended

and looked back and seemed to

plead- let’s keep on!

Alright, to the black cows a block

or so more, then we’ll turn

back- but once beyond that

intersection the dust and heat

immediately turned to cool

green lavender alfalfa

blossoms; water, cool, wind,

sweetness, lifting my hair

cooling my mind and

watering my soul.

My heaven smells like that

I thought.

With every deep drinking

breath, a memory of my

childhood home; now of

my favorite lake; now

eyes closed the absolute

luxury wrapped around

and soothingly passes me

more whole and healed than

in the ten minutes past.

I didn’t know standing

at the sink that I needed

this- that this heavenly

moment was waiting

But God did and Toby

listened and took me in his

silence, away- for my good and

blessing.

Nana

by

There’s a tiny heart

beating

within the

womb

of the woman who used to be

a child, even

an infant, with a tiny

heart

beating

within me.

I am

without words…the

sun is shining from

my eyes.

Objectivity

by

Why is it that sometimes

I just want to close the pages of my own story for

Awhile

and step

in

to

the pages of

someone else’s?

Their stories; all the Jane’s, Scout’s and Jem’s, Meg’s, Tom’s, Mr. Blakesley’s or Darcey’s

aren’t better or worse than mine.

I guess it’s just that when I’m

reading theirs, I’m

observing mine.

And I need that

distance to improve my

objectivity.