Thursday, February 21, 2013

Photo: An acorn cup in snow.

Winter similes
Walking home through woods:
Snowflakes brush my upturned face like tiny blessings.
Passing oak trees wave their branches over my head like a silent benediction.
And over everything, a white and pristine cloth like purity.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

 Photo: Sun on Snow

Can it be the imperfection of my soul
has caused thy hand of peace to be withdrawn?
Ah no, I think, for such do healers tend,
and not the one of perfect health, and sound.
My pain it is, my feebleness to stand,
will draw the eye of mercy to my plight;
and it is I must trust and wait in pain
until his coming shines into the night.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

In the wake of the man sleeping in the boat
I follow my heart though I cannot float.
I sink to the bottom astonished, afraid
but strive still to follow the promise I made
for he made it first and he will not turn
so walking on water's the lesson to learn
when the waves are pounding above my head.
Here I wait and I follow, for here am I led.

Monday, February 11, 2013

The unbroken mirror can cut as well
a mortal wound in living flesh
as all time's jagged edges saw
asunder hearts of love possessed.
And wrinkles harden, turning touch,
though soft the skin that ripple feels;
no hiding from time's harvest scythe;
no smoothing lines of too long life.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Remember when we were saplings young
and supple as whips in the wind?
We could not break though bent to the soil
and sprang upright with a song.
Remember when we were tall young trees
full of blossoms, and  heavy with seeds?
When a strong wind blew we waved and were glad,
flung down acorns, and seeds to the stars.
But now we are ancient, maple and oak,
years have passed, we here side by side.
And you say winter is coming again,
and I say must we face many more springs,
for the winds are colder and ache our limbs,
our bark is crumbling, infested and drilled,
the worm takes your acorns, my seeds are few.
Will it be mouldering or lightning or axe?

Saturday, February 9, 2013

I sometimes get the feeling I am "old" enough that I shouldn't keep running up with spiritual needs and wants I should have matured out of...I should have learned by now to trust in that grace I have long known even when I cannot sense it's presence. And I think of someone going through darkness without that learned trust. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me."

I, who know that light exists,
do not need the seeing of the light
so long familiar.
Though I am in a time of darkness,
there are many who have never yet seen the light,
known its warmth, felt its loving caress.
So in accepting my present darkness
(knowing it does not affect the light I now cannot see)
accept my prayer
for your blessed and blessing light
to shine for the one who badly needs it,
for those who have only known darkness,
for all who need your illumination.

Sunday, February 3, 2013

(Walking one day in the woods, I saw this partially melted tunnel of a mouse or a vole, in an intriguing shape.)
 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Jan. 19- I remembered this strange experience that happened to me about ten years ago, as I was swimming in the local public pool. I have never forgotten it:

God created one day
a question;
as I swam alone, afloat on my back,
all the sky before my face.
The broad bright blue held a single cloud
in the shape of a perfect question mark,
complete with cloud dot at the bottom.
Somewhat surprised,
I gave myself up to the question,
and fully took it in.
Beyond the knowledge in my mind
went the question,
and multiplied itself in honesty,
becoming all the unknown,
and even whether it could BE known.
I let myself sink in that water,
turned over, swam a while underwater
before turning again to the sky.

God created again that day,
an answer.
Right above my upturned face,
an exclamation mark proclaimed,
complete with cloud dot at the bottom.
Amazed and surprised I accepted
the assertion, the confirming yes.
Not astonished to sink like a stone,
but receptive to what I was given:
a definitely existing question, then
an answer that said I AM.

Jan. 19

The illness of your child can make you old;
the death of your child can make God seem cold.

Is it hard to be tall and strong, young man,
when life is too hard a strain?
Do people assume you are what you seem
when your inner child weeps with the pain?

What we really are remains unknown.
What God intends is not clearly shown.
But there's a friend more close than a brother.