Behold the primeval forest
enduring the tests of time
sheltered under towering oaks
Life survives.
Defended by vast armies
of raised palmetto swords
shielded by a green stockade
Life grows.
A confident lantana
performs a solo act
arrayed in pink and yellow
Life creates.
As if on cue, a butterfly
flutters across the scene
to sip the sweet fresh nectar
Life thrives.
Lacy ferns sing anthems
in time with steady rain
in praise of the lone lantana,
Life rejoices.
A picture of patience
two long-suffering friends
perched upon a pseudo-branch or might it be a stem?
A rash of brownish age spots
proliferate their skin
the green of youth has vanished with their next of kin.
What is to become of them?
What will be their fate?
Crown a bowl of cereal before they’re out-of-date?
They hope to draw the eye
of a casual passerby
if left to age another day they’ll be banana pie.
Is perfect peace found…
In a cloudless sky?
Or could it exist in a hurricane’s eye?
Can it be perceived in the dark of night?
Or better displayed by candlelight?
Is peace our reward, when all work is done?
A prize for the victor, when conflict is won?
A mother feels peace as her child drifts to sleep.
A sailor knows peace where the waters are deep.
The teacher can’t wait ’till the final bell rings.
The hiker knows peace when the morning birds sing.
The judge proclaims peace when the last word is said.
The waitress will say it’s when everyone’s fed.
The busy store clerk awaits Christmas Eve.
A harried host smiles after everyone leaves.
Perfect peace
Strivings cease
Kept by those
whose trust grows
in the Rock of Ages.
Poetry inspired by art.
Earth fused with fire
minerals blend
amethyst stained
atoms suspend
colorful glass
fruit of the flame
carved into pieces
placed in a frame
blended together
images rise
fruit of the harvest
feast for the eyes
light opalescent
dispels the night
spirit awakens
dullness takes flight.
* My featured image is part of the Louis Comfort Tiffany collection at the Morse Museum of Winter Park, Florida. The museum is hosting an open house Thanksgiving weekend with free admission. Click here to read more about the history of stained glass.
Dear readers, this week is a time to count our blessings instead of calories. Thank you for following my blog. Happy Thanksgiving!
When I bend low in autumn
to gather fallen leaves
Each one holds a memory
I’m longing to retrieve.
My childhood home before me,
the window up above,
where I beheld each season
the maple tree I loved.
Mother was a gardner
raising corn for harvest.
Father was a builder
with wood and brick an artist.
We children ruled a kingdom
in summer we would seek
to exercise our power
over crawdads in the creek.
The golden leaves speak clearly
of fireflies in jars.
Dreaming by the campfire
and watching shooting stars.
Then the leaves fall silent.
Their voices disappear
Now rise as word on paper
to speak in later years.
A poem about following God.
If I were a Hebrew
enslaved by Pharoah’s reign,
would I follow Moses
or labor just the same?
Oh, the great achievements,
our works of brick and stone,
traded for a lowly tent
in landscape so unknown.
Would I trade the coolness
of shade along the Nile,
for the sizzling desert
extending out for miles?
Would I question Moses
as I packed unleavened bread,
take along my animals
unless they could be fed?
Would I flee from Egypt
in the dark of night,
awaken all my children
before the morning light?
Would the signs and wonders,
the sacrificial lamb,
ease my hesitation
to trust the great I AM?
Have you ever felt like you were on a journey through new territory?
I imagine that’s the way the Hebrews felt when they decided to follow Moses out of Egypt. Passover marked their exodus from slavery.
But what if the Hebrews felt comfortable as slaves? After all the book of Exodus states that they lived in Egypt for 430 years. (Exodus 12:40) Slavery was familiar, freedom was not. What if God didn’t provide for them in the wilderness?
Following God usually leads us out of our comfort zones into new territory. I’m fascinated by the miraculous way God protected and provided for his people. He divided the water of the Red Sea so they could cross on dry ground and escape the Egyptians. He sent a cloud by day and fire by night to lead his people through the desert. He gave them manna and quail to eat. The wilderness tested their faith in God. Those who continued to trust and obey him were admitted to the promised land.
Are you afraid to follow God’s leading? Do you desire familiarity and comfort instead of the unknown? Following God is not always easy or popular. This week marks three special holidays, Passover, Good Friday, and Easter. I hope my poem inspires you to reflect upon your faith and relationship with God. Let go of the past and trust him to lead you out of doubt and fear. He will never leave you or forsake you. You may not witness miraculous signs and wonders, but you can know the peace of his presence.
My poem Signs and Wonders first appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Time of Singing.
To read another of my favorite poems click here The Secret of the Cereus.
Take a poetry break.
The rain continues its steady rhythm.
A musical pattern arranged by God.
Not concerned where or when it falls
Every drop completes its part
in a cycle of simple obedience
bringing life to earth.
My thoughts abound with little effort.
Where one thought ends another begins.
Like raindrops
descending to a final destination
Ultimately voiced in the garden of self-expression.
Bringing meaning to a blank page.
Friends,
The past month has been a whirlwind of activity for me, as I’ve involved myself in the promotion of my first book. Today I felt like taking time out and getting back to my roots. Returning to poetry helps me get in touch with the joy of creativity. It’s a wonderful feeling to just write.
I hope spring affords you the time to refresh your spirit.
Cobwebs brushed across my face
As I cracked the cellar door
Hiding somewhere in this place
My childhood past was stored.
There upon a table
Sat a white box brown with rust.
The letters on its label
Spelled my name beneath the dust.
This was the lunch box I loathed,
Ashamed to carry each day.
Its trim of flowers and bows,
Couldn’t hide what it conveyed.
I was a girl of humble means
Whose parents were simple and poor.
School-bought lunch, a luxury,
That I could never afford.
The box now empty, thermos gone
Scenes of my childhood arose
Mother rising before the dawn
To warm my soup on the stove.
I know my parents worked so hard
And gave all they could to me.
This homely box, I can’t discard
Stored deep like the memories.
Valentine’s Day usually brings with it sentiments about love. I decided to share “The Lunch Box” this week because it expresses my feelings about my parents, my past, and how something so ugly and despised, could change into something beautiful. I still have my Junior Miss lunch box from 1960. Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
I keep my old lunch box because it reminds me that no matter how ugly I might feel, I am loved by God and beautiful in his sight. By the way, God feels the same about you!
Happy Valentine’s Day! Do you keep any relics from your childhood? Leave a comment.
Barren boughs scrape against the cloudy sky.
Lonely limbs ache for summer days gone by.
Little birds peck the frozen field for grains.
Day after day the chilly air remains.
Tiny mice huddle in lifeless leaves below.
Sleeping lilies lay in beds concealed by snow.
Hungry deer strip the brittle bark from trees.
Kindly ants share their tunnels with queen bees.
Home provides a refuge from winter’s icy grip
Gathered ’round the table in sweet companionship.
In my process of evaluating the recent frigid temperatures I can only think of one good thing about winter. I like the feeling of coming in from the cold and warming up with hot tea or cocoa. My husband and I moved our family to Florida in 1989 to escape Ohio winters.
Everyone says a person’s blood thins after they live in Florida for a number of years. For us, fifty degree temperatures are practically unbearable. My northern friends shake their heads and remark, “you don’t remember what cold is.”
Do you like winter? Some people do. Leave a comment and let me know your views on the subject. Maybe you can change my opinion.
I don’t run.
Nowhere to go.
Why should I hurry?
I want to know.
I don’t run.
Don’t want to sweat.
And if it rains,
I might get wet.
I don’t run.
Like many do.
Who says running is good for you?
Tendonitus
Causes pain
Shin splints, muscle pulls, ankle sprains.
I don’t run.
Since I’ve heard
Scientists say we should conserve.
Yes, my body,
Like a car
Loses its value when driven far.
Last summer Herb and I visited Pike’s Peak. Our guide took this photo of us pretending to run from Big Foot. I doubt if I could outrun Big Foot because I don’t run.
On the other hand, Herb is a runner. He’s competed in four marathons and done well for his age. He finished his last marathon at 65, and trains regularly.
I used to feel guilty about not running.
Dirty Harry said, “a man’s got to know his limitations.”
I’ve accepted mine. Running is not my thing. There’s joy in accepting yourself for who you are. I like my age. As a senior citizen, I think I’ve earned the right to say no to anything I don’t want to do.
Don’t get me wrong. I believe in staying active, choosing instead to walk or bike. We all know exercise is important, and I’m glad for alternatives. In the meantime, I ‘ll keep looking over my shoulder to see if Big Foot is closing in on me.
Thanks for reading my blog. If you like poetry, check out some of my more serious poems by clicking on the menu bar and selecting my poetry page. More poems and the stories behind them can be found under Categories in the sidebar. Remember, to like, follow, and share!
