My work was selected for part of an exhibit and publication!
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Category Archives: The Pen
What Are We To Do
I was honored to present this at church. After torturing my husband with practicing all week I was able to do it without reading every word. The news has been so bad lately, it makes you question everything and this was my way of trying to figure things out.
What are we to do when evil
drops in and curls up on the sofa,
whispers to us from the tv,
tickles the back of the throat as we watch
another fatherless child weep?
Will we see Jesus as we stumble
along this dry and dusty road
filled with funerals and rage?
There is no room for both love and hate.
One will always push the other off the cliff
and in the falling we close our eyes
so heaven is no more in our sight.
How we see becomes what we do.
Did God know when he took clay and formed it
in His image
how we would refuse to see Him in each other?
We cannot fall so far
that grace cannot catch us by surprise
and place us back in green pastures.
Dissension can never yell so loud
that it drowns out the bird’s song.
God waits while we struggle,
ready to
give us back the gifts made for us,
give us back the work prepared for us,
give us back the part of us that is like Him.
So, while evil sits on the sofa
let us do what makes us who we should be.
Feed the hungry, heal the sick, console the bereft.
Let’s turn our backs on the thief of joy.
Sooth the tickle at the back of the throat
with living water.
Weep with the fatherless
and be Jesus on the dusty road
for those who need Him most.
There is no law against these things
and they will give us back so much more than they cost.
We will be salt.
We will be light.
We will see grace.
Sunset Symphony
the sun so loud it hurts my ears
and even as the night would cool
I feel the heat brush tree limbs bare
and paints a sky that once knew blue
but bids us peace with brighter hue
a fierce reminder daylight wins
and as a planet silent spins
the sunset chorus covers sins
dawn will come the dance begins
but just for now keep watch and see
a symphony of light for free
a letter to myself
I am so guilty
of overthinking, overclocking, over-reacting
to it all and now I am tired and wired and
seeing that all are not good and will not be okay
and as sad as it is I will not be rushed
or crushed or brushed under the rug
stepped on like a bug, I lugged this carcass
miles and while it may have been a need
once upon a heavy time I let it go and silently
clap
in time with the breeze that carries it and me
above the storm and change, my range a new norm
a piece of peace to call I own it now
just like that guilt, the silt left by the storm, the flood
the murky mud of letting loose the noose no longer
choking off the quiet till like dandelion ghost I float
and in the invisible become seen and heard
where it matters
Before The Storm
Photo Credit Deborah Scott Lightfoot
Thank you Deborah for inspiration.
rain skates across skidding clouds
smoking up the blue and
drowning us all in grey and sad
shrinking us into the landscape
even the trees drift into dark
while the buildings sink
their foundations into the earth
as everything waits
Once Upon a Time
the instructions were to begin with Once upon a time and then write a short practice piece.
Once upon a time a sad girl went for a walk. As she walked she began to hum and soon the humming turned to singing and her steps became a dance. She danced and danced and waved her arms in the air and soon her arms became wings. When she opened her throat to send out the notes she filled her lungs with air and her wings lifted her high above the swirling leaves and the wind carried her farther than her dreams. Her legs and feet began to draw up and shrink for they were no longer needed for the dance and the sun warmed her back as she floated between clouds and swirled and twirled like the leaves she had passed on her way to sky. Her words became sound that she left behind her as she soared higher and higher and farther still. As she swooped and dived and climbed again she turned her eyes to the earth she had once belonged to and she saw the green of the trees and the blue of the sea. She dove and saw her reflection on the water as she coasted just above the glittering surface and the ripples broke the image into millions of sparkling pieces. Her sadness had blown away on the breeze and she decided then and there that she was no longer earthbound. The girl who was not a girl turned back to the sky and joined the flock of others who no longer stumbled in the dirt. Sadness is small as stones on sand and she had risen above it.
Morning Flight
image credit Tommy Stone
with ebon wings and gentle brush
takes canvas cold and blue
a softer blend that builds and builds
till sun flings up a brighter hue
and when the color catches fire
suddenly the artist free
takes flight no more to tire
soars high above the trees
they say the wind upholds their wings
but I would say it’s light
to rise above a silent pond
and join the morning flight
Quiet Goodnight
Photo Credit Tommy Stone
hush now
don’t fear the dark
everything must sleep
every living thing
does the sky not tell you?
Do the shadows not close your eyes?
Let the sound of the water
sing a lullaby
let the soft breeze rock
your tired bones
all must nestle down and
curl around the earth
for warmth and peace
New Day
The morning smells like hope
is blowing in on fall winds
Sky sets fire to yesterday’s trouble
as trees raise a new day from the cold ashes.
Photo Credit: Tommy Stone
Dawn
morning waits
just beyond the treeline
and for a moment
night hangs on to the sky
by the tip of ragged branches
shivering in the early morning chill
stretching for the sun
even before it appears
how do they know?
the pond whispers
and they listen
Photo credit: Tommy Stone
Bon Voyage Friend
The Paris Poets Society met tonight to say farewell to a member who is moving away. She will be greatly missed. What could I give her but a poem. See you later Sharda.
We are the lucky ones
The gifted, slightly crazy ones
Who see the world in brighter hues
With hearts too big to make us choose
We make one singing moment freeze
Or gobble eternity if we please
Paint with sunlight, wind and moon
Voice a storm, pour out monsoon
Open heart, to throat, to pen
And give it to the world again
Young or old, joyful, shattered
sing or whisper, doesn’t matter
Use your words, we tell a child
But poets play with words and smile
We know a secret, so look around
We share our souls where poems abound
The View From Here
endless conversations with each other and with God
fall again and again on deaf ears, an effort odd
in that the talk is not the walk and hearts are never
in the mix we want to fix but no one touches ever
what we know, we KNOW is always at the center there’s a door
we knock and knock and kick the wood but cannot enter
like a monkey grasps his food and keeps his hand so stuck so frozen
what the hell, we have to let it go stop clinging to our right, our might
our rotten self and staunch the bleeding, no one’s leading
all just follow this way that way on the surface storm is coming
drums are drumming but the sound is drowned by weeping
creeping up knee deep in rage we leap, all so surprised to find
it’s US not THEM, WE have to be the father, mother, sister, brother
for each other, EACH is precious, EACH is special, ALL are crucial
to survival, every loss in death or life diminishes and finishes the coffin nails
we are a chain our dna, our history, a convoluted mystery
a constant pattern of election then rejection events conspire to reconnection
a spark divine, love for creation, yet birthing seeds of self-destruction
drugged by image constant movement busy busy blur the lines
build a hideout cave to crouch in, turn the lights out, shut the blinds
we like to say we’re different, kinder, better, smarter, kneeling at the perfect altar
never stopping to discern, we set ourselves as little gods, then falter
stumble on our souls refusing to acknowledge cost we’re lost and yet
the hope that lives in each potential when we see that you are me
and I am you all swimming in a great deep sea, starving though to love is free
to feed each other, hold a hand, the only way to reach the sand
the water rising, talk is cheap, deep and deeper, still we sleep
wake, arise, the need is great, stop bailing water, fix the boat
all together we sink or float.
Sky Dancing
the clouds are busy
dancing twirling
building castles
boiling, swirling
dressed in homespun
verse and chorus
every step, performance for us
waves of music
played by wind
partners changing
dip and spin
then joy poured out
tears wash the earth
wiped clean by sun
the sky gives birth
to clouds again
and more and more
while on the ground
we dream to soar
Photo Credit: Tommy Stone
Dusk
clouds may hide the sun
but cannot hide the light
through grey of dusk
a blush still peeks
soft as eyelash
on pink soft cheeks
silken brush till day is done
calls forth the stars to say goodnight
Photo Credit Tommy Stone
Detritus
erased emotions strewn about
like clothing on the bedroom floor
in the corner a pile of shout
a few fears hid behind the door
hope peeps out from under the bed
erased emotions strewn about
can they be poked back in her head
gathered in piles of stinking doubt
venomous words from an angry mouth
it will take a lot to clean this mess
erased emotions strewn about
tear stained carpet and wrinkled stress
gather it up and launder all
love and laughter to take stains out
fold it fresh the weekly call
erased emotions strewn about
more work on quaterns using lines from some older poems
Move Your Feet
more time moving, less time talking
prescription for what ails us all
when angered take yourself a walking
footsteps echo down a dark hall
throw the locked doors open wide
more time moving, less time talking
swing your arms, lengthen your stride
eyes wide open at beauty gawking
find the peace that has been lacking
heal the cuts and bruises over
more time moving, less time talking
breathe the air and smell the clover
world looks better a little blurred
if you find yourself disturbed
take some time, go nature stalking
more time moving, less time talking
working with Quaterns – four 8 syllable quatrains, Refrain is repeated as line 1 of stanza 1, line 2 of stanza 2, line 3 of stanza 3 and line 4 of stanza 4.
The Weight of Anger
the weight of anger
is immense
tense and tiresome
dragging the heart down to the
level of nothing good
no laughter, no singing
it steals your voice and takes
all your choices for itself
it changes all the colors like
some bad adjustment, all tinged with
mad, sad, hurt, can’t even separate the parts
the heart beats faster and I hear
that tone in my voice you know
the one that sounds like
a banshee, like fingernails
on chalkboards
like a lonely cat
back up, fur bristled
like thistles. prickle
changed no longer
who I am but taken
by the weight
of anger
Lessons From a Statue
Photo credit: Tommy Stone
wings raised in
perpetual readiness
shuttered lids
warmed by a winter sun
nestled in the green
there are lessons here
and prayers
be still
be prepared
stay warm
find a safe place
calm whispers
in a world of chaos
As always, thank you Tommy for inspiration.