Day 30 – Poetry for Lent

Too much North

There is too much North in the wind
men turn up their collars
women put their heads down
rushing to their destinations
without lingering to look
the leaves scuttle down the road 
as if suddenly aware
it's now Spring
and they missed the autumn gathering
Daffodils close their buds tight
refusing to wake
before the heat is turned up

There's too much North in the air
park benches sit empty
playground equipment languishes
swings swaying empty in the breeze
birds hunker down
into feathered poofs while the
bird bath becomes a skating rink
even the grass genuflects
hoping to avoid 
the wind's ire

There's too much North in the wind
he says but I only grin
shrugging into my coat and hat
before going out to

Day 29 – Poetry for Lent

Gone to the birds

Two Pileated Woodpeckers interrupted
my coffee making this morning.
One dwarfs the feeder
a small-scale pterodactyl,
red-crested head bobbing energetically 
as sharp ivory bill
carves out chunks of suet flesh.
Its prehistoric mate
crabwalks sideways on the ground below,
head cocked one way, then another
searching for prey before
extracting some tasty morsel 
with surgical precision.

The turkeys show up next
all twenty-nine of them.
I sit by the slider and 
sip coffee while 
the jakes put on a show
like body builders at the beach
jostling each other in 
masculine power plays.
Puffed up and strutting
they drag their wings
and fan tail feathers 
angling them just so
to impress the ladies
But I'm the only female watching
The hens pay no mind
more interested in filling
their stomachs then checking
out the biggest and
best turkey.

Finally, with a sigh,
I go about my day,
morning having already
gone to the birds.

Day 26 – Poetry for Lent

Humanity’s Crazy Quilt

We stitch this quilt together,
panels of light and dark,
bright patterns sewn next
to those of somber hue.

The design not always one
of our own choosing,
we work with what we have,
a crazy quilt crafted from
bits and pieces of our lives.

We dream and plan in colorful
coordinated patterns of delight
with lustrous materials -
gossamer and ermine,
gaudy choices reflect
energy and youth.

But life is full of unexpecteds -
scratchy burlap work days
that irritate and exhaust,
pale washed-out squares of sickness,
grim funeral clothes 
stitched to pastel baby blankets
and lacy white bridal gowns
join seams with gaudy vacation shirts
or gray and black suits of mourning.

No one knows the pattern 
of their days,
how wide or long
their life will be.

savor those bright fabrics.
Approve the sections formed
of sturdy cloth that endure,
softening with the years.
And pray that when all
panels are sewn and stitched,
and humanity's quilt is finished
- as it shall be in time -
your square holds up well
and is pleasing to the
Master Quilter's eye.

Day 25 – Poetry for Lent

Tolkien & Lewis

I am currently reading A Hobbit, a Wardrobe, and a Great War: How J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis Rediscovered Faith, Friendship, and Heroism in the Cataclysm of 1914-1918 by Joseph Loconte. The book goes into the effects of the war on the political and religious landscape of the West. It delves into how Tolkien’s and Lewis’s experiences in the trenches inspired and played into the imaginary worlds they are so known for as writers.

I was thinking about the book when I went out in the hot tub with my daughter. The sky was clear and the stars were incredible. It all seemed so serene despite the horrors of battle still playing out in my head. This poem stems from that.

The Great War marches in
and battle fills the air
with the cries of the wounded
the pleas and prayers of the dying.
Explosions jar bones
loosen teeth
the throaty roars of heavy artillery
drowning out the staccato 
rattle of small arms.

Above it all
the stars shine
pin-pricks in black velvet
allowing a glimpse
of the beautiful light
high beyond this present darkness.

Caught by the machines of war
new realms form
and faith is forged.

Day 21 – Poetry for Lent

Oiy! The news can weigh me down. I feel like I’m generally an optimistic person, but lately, after I watch the news, it’s hard for me to be hopeful about the future of our country, environment, schools, water….

Missing hope

I boxed up hope 
some time ago
and can’t remember where I hid it.
I searched and found
despair and doubt,
and came across indifference 
buried deep within 
an empty chest.
But hope still came up missing.

I dug through pockets worn before,
paged through scrapbook memories,
even found a thread or two 
on lovers, family, friends.
But still hope came up missing.

A niggling fear begins to grow
I’ve caught it up with other things
and dumped or gave away 
to those with less.
I need it now,
I understand,
to clothe
my skeleton of stone.

But hope still comes up missing.

Day 20 – Poetry for Lent


Half way through Lent! I didn’t really realize how difficult it would be to do a poem a day for 40 days. Hence the resorting to Haiku now and then. : ) I saw the most amazing sunsets yesterday and today. And the stars! Incredible.

Teach me Your story
so I might know mine
so I can know others
so I’ll worship 
God of all
Ruler, Creator
beginning and end
of all that is known 
and what lies beyond

of all
a universe in
ever expanding wonder
body, brain, and soul
intricate workings
a marvelous mystery

End of all too
all roads, all lives 
return back to You
in time

Lord, You
make and unmake 
now remake me new
know me
name me
and love me too
when I circle back
iron drawn to Your magnet
a needle pulled ever 
to Your north

Day 19 – Poetry for Lent

Still, Small Whisper

Sometimes there is so much noise in the news, on social media. I feel like everyone is yelling and no one is listening. And then something happens, a friend in a car wreck, a co-worker loses a spouse, and it reminds me what is important–and what is just noise.


The wild, roaring 
rush of wind
surges through trees
like ocean breakers
crashing eternal 
on rocky shores.


Snapping branches
create staccato accents
amid percussive storms
that blow 
fear and hatred
through busy lives.


Hail rattles
down on hapless towns
hitting innocent bystanders
like stray bullets
and extinguishing the still, small 
whisper of love.


We are all
but a near miss,
 a second removed
from getting swept up 
and blown away.