Category Archives: Poetry

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

13116373_10209759691572375_5586503638952303480_o

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

 

Morning Flight

12377759_1066068666777065_7722208584041100224_o

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

Tommy Stone Photo

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

12079939_1040191726031426_1134758356266595388_o

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

12039167_1036665589717373_7808024175280069977_o

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

11713896_987418364642096_630935534027176668_o

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

11713905_987121181338481_7414348399471687473_o

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

Photographer Tommy Stone

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.

It’s My Birthday and I’ll Write if I Want To…

10700371_827479807302620_3001609897536524487_o

Beautiful photo by Tommy Stone

sandwiched in between all the black
you know the clouds that move in unexpectedly and stay longer than you wish
no invitation, just plop down at your door with suitcase overflowing
taking over the guest room and hogging the remote
eating up the last piece of cake and tracking all over your clean bright floors

but I digress, sandwiched in-between, that’s where I was…
there is this light that dances just on the edge of your vision
creeps in with a little finesse unlike that pesky black shadow that
just wants to take over
it lingers as long as it can
hanging on by fingertips and branch endings, tossing a little pastel silk
over all that dark velvet
reminding you that darkness like uninvited company
does not stay forever
even as it sinks to the ground the last veil drifts by
pats your cheek and tucks you in
making shadow puppets on your heart
soft as a mother’s sigh

Gold Before Dusk

even sky holds on to light
climax of the final act
crescendo golden notes to play
sing the evening welcome home
gilding leaf and branch and pond
softened green and cooling air
sigh as though to say
remember this when darkness falls
a memory of day