Change
What seems like an end
to a caterpillar is
the butterfly's birth
Change
What seems like an end
to a caterpillar is
the butterfly's birth
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.
Therefore
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.
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.
Muskrat Love
Doing it in the ditch
on a fine spring afternoon
muskrats find romance
Taking Home With Us
The stars shine high
above the clouds
above the bombs
which scatter us like dust
every which way
looking to settle
but driven by winds
of war
and fear.
We try to take home with us
a teddy bear for security
of which we have none
a photograph of family
many whom have died
a blue china tea pot -
keepsake from happier times
now hard to remember
a heart burning with hope
for a future
for safety
for a place to build
to plant and grow roots
find neighbors and friends.
We dream of things we have lost
and hold tight to what we still have.
Daffodils
It would be easier
to sleep
blanket of snow
tucked over your head
dreaming of sunny
spring days
It is so difficult
to bloom
to turn your face up and
greet the new day
when it is cold
and lonely
But you, brave daffodil
brighten everyone’s winter
days just by being
and winter will not
last forever
One day the sun
will kiss you
awake
and you will trumpet
your joy to the world
Creator
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
You
God of all
Ruler, Creator
beginning and end
of all that is known
and what lies beyond
Beginning
of all
a universe in
ever expanding wonder
body, brain, and soul
intricate workings
a marvelous mystery
Yet
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
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.
Listen
The wild, roaring
rush of wind
surges through trees
like ocean breakers
crashing eternal
on rocky shores.
Listen
Snapping branches
create staccato accents
amid percussive storms
that blow
fear and hatred
through busy lives.
Listen
Hail rattles
down on hapless towns
hitting innocent bystanders
like stray bullets
and extinguishing the still, small
whisper of love.
Listen
We are all
but a near miss,
a second removed
from getting swept up
and blown away.
Listen
Ruth
I would not leave
though she told me,
Go back, find rest
a husband
a home.
I could not leave
for she was
a mother to me
her people, my family
her home, my home.
I dared not leave, for
how would she manage
alone and destitute
hands veined blue
legs morning shaky?
And so I followed
that I might be
her hands young and strong
her legs spry in the morning
sturdy in the evening
her family in the new land
her daughter
Ruth.
Season Change
In Detroit today for a conference and when I was looking at the green water of the river, there was this weird whitish section floating down stream with birds sitting in the midst of it. I looked closer and noticed that it was a large chunk of ice. The Spring thaw is here!
icebergs on water
mini islands for the birds
spring thaw on rivers