Tag Archives: Poem

Faith in Those Little Things

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Whispers in the silent night

Tender touches by starlight

Words unsaid in angry voice

Actions fulfilled by free choice

Love’s strong arms held open wide

Know that God walks stride by stride

Watches like a parent proud

Mistakes expected: allowed

Understanding, patient, kind

Always there for us to find

Calls our names in winters wild

In spring, He gifts breezes mild

Summer’s heat sends us outside

God’s gifts in flowers abide

Rains remind of deep pain felt

Tragic death, deftly dealt

All these things, of faith speak

Comfort to all those who seek

God’s good grace, offered free

Sin’s release, for you and me

Faith defined in little things

Given by the King of kings

Roses

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Explore with me the rows and rows of roses.

Their faces turned toward the sun

Blossoms so tiny you could cradle the entire

Bush in the palm of your hand.

Others the size of dinner plates,

So heavy the stalks bend,

Turning their centers toward the ground.

Life-giving ground.

Nutrients galore.

Water drawn out of hidden wells.

Come with me to visit the roses

The shy ones, colors so feint it’s hard to

Distinguish where one ends and the next begins.

The vibrant ones

That scream, look at me, look at me,

And you do.

They have wonderful stories,

The ancient ones, the ones whose roots

Go back millennium.

I want to sit at their feet and listen.

Listen to tales of woe, of joy,

Of growth, of success

Allow them to fill my soul with joy.

An ever-abundant happiness

That will last for weeks, months, years.

They aren’t modest at all.

They flash their colors to the world

Inviting all to stop, stare, breathe in their heady scent.

Roses follow the sun. Opening at dawn,

Closing at sunset, rejoicing during the day.

I want to emulate them. Perhaps I do.

Questions and Considerations

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Does breath crystalize and fertilize the earth?

Is the soul really tender, breakable?

Or is it strong, strong like iron,

Able to withstand hurt?

Why do lambs cry all the time?

Why do they need the company of others

More than life itself?

Why aren’t humans like them?

Why do we move through life

Cherishing independence, reveling in the ability

To stand on one’s own two feet

Without once, just once, needing

The help of others?

Why do white swans choose the company of other white swans?

Shouldn’t a black one be equally attractive?

Or perhaps more so because of its difference?

Or is there something inside that moves one to select

Ones like itself?

What does that mean for humans?

If anything?

Why do hummingbirds’ wings beat so fast?

Is it out of fear?

Self-reliance?

Or simply because that’s the way things are meant to be?

Why do bears hibernate?

Is it the call of winter?

Something in the air tells them to hunker up,

To settle down before snows fall?

Or is it a need for deep sleep?

Why don’t people do the same?

Close windows and doors

Pull up the comforters

Turn up the heater

Stock up the cabinets

And not go outside for months?

Is it because bears are comfortable in their hides

While people need to lean on others?

People must feel, touch, hold

Cherish, react, love

While bears intrinsically know

That they are okay.

What about stones, tiny and large

Who sit alone along paths.

Do they feel alone?

Do they yearn for the weight of their kind?

Do they fear floating off into space

Unless something grounds them?

While butterflies flight about,

Seemingly without care or direction

Here, there, everywhere on a whim

Lighter than air

Stronger than a breeze

Able to withstand storms

That might send stones tumbling downhill.

So many unanswered questions

So many unanswerable questions

That change nothing

That influence nothing

Not even the beating of my heart.

Alternate Kingdoms

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Consider, no acknowledge,

That there are alternate kingdoms.

The planets come to mind.

Swirling masses of rack and glass

Floating around us

None have been identified as hosting life

Yet there could be

Could have been

Creatures crawling, flying, digging

Multiplying, colonizing

Creating kingdoms of their own

Wriggling in the waters swirling

Below in lakes and streams and creeks

A variety of beings build homes

Reproduce

Celebrating love and life and family

Much as humans do,

But in their words, their thoughts,

Their beliefs.

Flowers and bushes and trees

Send their spores into the void

Populating unoccupied spaces

With vibrant hues of greens, browns,

Reds, ochres

Which then become homes for others

Usually not by choice,

But needed, necessary to foster

New lives, new families, new clusters.

Creeping, crawling, walking, stomping

Through it all are beings with legs

Or no legs

Wings or no wings

Breathing air, inhaling pollutants

That humans have created,

Thinking only of themselves

Their needs, their desires,

Of only what they perceive their lives should be

The world, the kingdom, expands and contracts,

Breathing its own rhythm

Pulsing life-giving blood and fluids

Across the lands, skies, waters

Sharing common space without consideration

For impact, for change, for unwanted influence

On other lives

On other kingdoms

Heart Pain

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Her life with us was short,

Only three years

Her golden years.

She followed us around,

Slept on our laps,

Begged for food and love.

But she hurt.

Day and night she cried

In pain.

So hard to hear,

Knowing there was nothing I could do

Except love her and comfort her.

A time comes to say goodbye.

Unfortunately I wasn’t prepared.

Not after only three years!

She was twelve when we adopted her,

Already a senior cat.

But, oh so sweet!

Kind. Patient. Loving.

Fun to watch when the zoomies

Sent her flying all over the house.

Demanding when she expected food.

Loved her treats!

Noon every day we had to give her something special.

It’s just been minutes,

But already the house feels empty.

My heart will heal.

I will adopt another senior cat.

But until then, I will mourn.

Goodbye, Bingo!

A Conversation with my Cat

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I haven’t sat down with her and discussed her life.

I wonder where she was before she came to live with us.

Was her owner kind?

Did she feed the cat her favorite food?

Brush her fur?

Take her to the vet?

Bingo talks all the time.

She complains about food she doesn’t like.

She meows when she wants more than what we give her.

She yodels after pooping…is that her pride coming out?

Bingo’s vocabulary isn’t one I know or could master in a college class.

Nevertheless, I think I know what she’s saying.

Bingo, despite her age, can still leap onto kitchen counters

Squeeze into tiny places

Sleep on top of the oven or curled up inside the fruit bowl.

We couldn’t find her one day. Searched all her usual spots.

Found her in the coat closet, behind the vacuum cleaner.

Bingo must not have liked that hiding place, as she has never gone back there.

I like when she gets close enough that I can rub the top of her head.

Scratch under her chin. Run my hands down her back,

Even though feeling her spine worries me.

Bingo just turned fifteen.

How much longer will we have her?

She appears healthy, but we know that her kidneys are impacted.

Her teeth are badly in need of brushing,

But to do so, she’d have to be put under.

That’s too risky at her age.

Sometimes Bingo takes a stroll in front of my computer.

She’ll stand blocking my view of the monitor.

Or sit on the keyboard.

Or in my lap.

Making it impossible for me to work.

But I don’t care because she makes me smile.

Her purr warms my heart, makes me feel needed.

There’s something special about a cat’s love.

They take more than they give.

They offer tidbits of acceptance,

But we gush over them, brag about them,

Share photos of them, tell stories about them

As if they are our kids.

They are, in a way.

     Ode to Food

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Food, glorious food!

Sumptuous tastes of

Slowly roasted beef

Drowned in onions

Covered in gravy

Potatoes gently

Browned, sprinkled

With parsley and chives

Arranged in spirals in

Delicate designs

Green beans bathing in

Mushroom sauce, topped

With fried onions

Or drenched with butter

Stacked like lucky logs

Delightful desserts

Sugary cookies

Mouth melting cakes

Devilish custards

Compelling desire

More, much more, awaiting

Consumption by

Mere mortals yearning

To taste the nectar

Of the golden gods

Food, glorious food!  

Stones

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I bent over to pick up a small, pink stone

It glittered in the early morning sun,

Speaking a sunrises and sunsets,

 A baby’s scalp after a bath

The underbelly of my cat.

I slipped it into my jacket pocket

It’s weight negligible

At the crest of a hill a striated rock caught my attention.

The dark lines, close to the purple of my bedspread,

Seemed darkly ominous

But I didn’t know why.

A stone cannot harm me unless tossed in my face.

It bears no ill-will and harbors no grudges.

Yet if frightened me so much so that I hurried away.

At the bottom of a lake a cluster of green stones called my name.

They were quite lovely, speaking of life and growth and wealth

And health and all things good.

I yearned to take just one.

But if I did, would the pile change?

Would it no longer speak to the next passerby?

I sat on a fallen log, weighing whether or not to slip

The smallest one into my pocket.

Until a scrub jay warned me.

At the top of the mountain, I crossed a plane

Of striated rocks.

What caused the unusual markings?

Fire? Rain? Snow? Glaciers?

Perhaps all four.

I had to touch the smooth surface,

Wanting to know, to understand,

How they came to be.

I closed my eyes, raised my head toward the sky

And listened.

For what I did not know.

I stood there for what seemed like a long time.

When no voice filled my ears, I shook off the feeling

Of foreboding that had come over me.

These rocks, this hill, offered only a sense of

Ill will.

I shouldered my pack and retraced my steps.

Just as I closed my car door, lightning lit up the sky

And thunder roared all around me

As I rubbed the two little stones

Nestled in the warmth of my coat.

Roses

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My mother loved roses

It made no difference the color or the heritage

Whether they climbed or grew in a bush

She carefully tended each plant

As if it was a child, a baby

Needing nurturing to grow.

She’d buy several new plants each season

Dig the holes and line them with mulch

The roots would be unbound, then settled.

I wanted to be her rose

To be carefully tended

Nurtured, like the child I once was

I didn’t need her to buy me anything

But I yearned for her to create places

For me to learn, love and grow

I wanted her love

Needed her love

And cried when she didn’t deliver.

Deep Within

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Somewhere, hiding in my bones,

My blood vessels.

My heart, my guts

Is the real me.

Am I a beast struggling to escape?

A gentle giant yearning for peace?

An artist creating her own world?

Or a minuscule creature, hiding?

I hear a prayer

When the wind blows,

The birds sing

Children laugh

He answers in a touch of wind

A brush against my arm

The kiss of my husband

And the joys of friendship

Deep within lies my secrets

My hopes and dreams,

For even as I grow old,

I live for another day.