what do you want for Christmas?
I could do with something simple she says thoughtfully
Perhaps a scarf or a new mug or even a candle
I know it seems trite but sometimes the little gifts
shine brighter in my mind
than all the elaborate gifts that require me to smile louder
than my heart truly means
you know right?
I’d take one night with you cuddled up on the sofa
watching a silly holiday movie
perhaps with a hot drink
and we can giggle together and feel there is no tomorrow
sometimes those nights are best
I think perhaps that can be arranged
you pick out the movie and i’ll start heating up the milk
yes sir we have a deal
Tag: poetry
Vine
we sit around this table and share our burdens
and our sorrows and our fears
and it’s alright that we do so
for is it not better that we bare our faces
instead of holding in all that ails and brings us pain
the fruit of the fall that still haunts us to this day
so yes let’s come before one another
these brothers and sisters with whom
we break this bread and drink this wine
as our faces glow and hearts akindle
we speak of our older brother who went before us
our Jesus who bore all that we might draw nigh
and we consider that day we shall
see him face to face
oh soon we pray come our Jesus come
Faithfulness
he sits under the maple tree
and scribbles in his little turquoise notebook
as he breathes deep of scents of fall
woodsmoke on the breeze
gently crunching leaves
and he sets down his pen and cocks his head
waiting for the dinner call
for through the kitchen window he sees her
finalizing the dinner spread
rice and good spiced beef and maybe okra too
it seems he’s hungry after all
his writing done he leans back his head against the bark
while he ponders of the richness that has been granted him
and looks up at the first of the evening stars
this night while he sits
under the maple tree
Tobias and Penelope
tell me i said
what have you written of late?
oh you know, bits and bobs
she asked how’s the family
and i said oh they’re well
and the silence began to stretch
for there was nothing more to be said
than all the words that were not said
so many years ago
but you know what?
that’s ok
and we smiled as we parted
and our memories remained
Spirals and Buttercups
she leans across the table and
stretches forth her hand
of course i respond
a dash of cinnamon into the cup
why can’t i taste
the subtle intermingling you describe
am i that much of a barbarian?
perhaps
what does it matter she whispers
why shouldn’t we
why not
you’ll understand when you wake
this dream is not for us
my heart races as trembling
i place my hand atop hers
it is well with my soul
A Mailbox at the End of the Lane
A well-loved book is similar to a
favourite coffee cup
for both have been lovingly cradled
and from both have they been
drunk deep
mined for the sigh of joy that comes
with a sip of perfection
a well turned phrase
then she says to me
babe listen
do you hear the rustling of the leaves?
No no I say sitting here on this wrought iron bench
I’ve been considering books and coffee
and how they fit each other well
that may be so she replies and rolls her eyes
but your coffee is cold and your book is closed
and I could use a little love
but of course my darling
and I hold her close to me and
drink deep
Grafted
I walk down the lamplit path and wonder what lies at its end. For all I know, the promises that I have clung to will in fact crumble to dust in the light that a closer perspective sheds. We shall see shall we not. But I refuse to give in to fear. I know that my boots are faded and starting to fall apart now. I know that my hair is a bit more faded and sparser than when this path my feet began to walk. Yet there is still a wonder that burns in my heart and there is still a faint taste of cinnamon on my tongue that reminds me of when I sipped the wine back at the last waystation. I hold fast to these signs that point me back to what I have believed in and forward to what lies at journey’s end. I know that the hand that picked me out of the mire that I played in so many years ago is still yet upon me, though at times the pressure seems faint and the shadows play havoc with my sight. These are the times I hum to myself songs of promise and in the darkness those hallowed lines recite. For even now in the darkness I look to my feet and see a light. I am thankful that I do not need to trust in mine own wit or valor for the aid by which I hasten on. Instead I trust in another. And this other has proven to be a trusty companion time and time again. What more can I say now? I walk forward, step by slow step my feet fall heavily upon this cobbled path. My progress is measured more slowly now, yet when I read my old notebooks I’m reminded of how much my voice has become more true. It’s a wonder, divine miracle really. I lift my voice once more in song. And as I begin to sing my favourite, I hear the voices of others join in soon enough. Thank God I am not alone on this pilgrim way. Let’s hurry on now, my brothers and my sisters. Let’s continue to faithful be. See this path does not go on forever, though so often it seems as if that may be the case. There is an ending, a slow descent when the cobbles turn to sand and the path turns down to the river that runs so merrily. I cannot promise the crossing will be entirely pleasant. It is not always. Yet look and see! On the other side, see the mountain that rises in poignant counter-harmony. I do not see it yet with these eyes but I know it’s there from what I’ve read in these manuscripts that I hold so dear. I do so long to see it but not for the grandeur of its created frame. Rather I hope to see the one walking down its slopes to meet me, the one who found me when I was alone and crying, the one who grabbed my hand and pulled me up to walk this pilgrim way. This is what I long for, to hear his voice gently call me in the way shepherds call their sheep. I will answer as I answer every day now. My Lord my Jesus be near to me. And forever and always will I be.
Reminiscing
again in the silence spirals up
a bit of smoke
does it come from the corner
where that woman stands alone
i wonder if she prays as i do now
looking up to the sky that darkens
looking up at the stars that cry
i cannot guess but i hope so
just so i’m not quite as alone as i feel
sitting on the bench in front of the
convenience store
scribbling in my notebook
breathing out prayers
in the spaces between my tears
Pumpkin Time
Hello friends! Thought I’d write a quick few words this Friday evening. How wonderful it is to get a little bit to rest, I do say! I am also eager at the moment to test out this new laptop which I’m writing on. It’s been eleven years that my previous one lasted and while it is still limping along, I felt it was time to transition to the next generation. It is kind of nice to have a laptop that boots up in mere seconds instead of a minute or two! And the keyboard is glorious. Is it weird that I particularly picked out a laptop that would have a decent keyboard? And didn’t at all consider gaming capabilities? Ah well, I guess I have aged a few years since my last laptop purchase and thus it makes a bit of sense that my priorities would have changed. Now I’m more concerned about how it will feel to type long passages of text than on how capable my graphics card is. Things change. Of course, that change comes with the hopes that I shall at some point type long passages of text that actually have a slight bit of depth or beauty. Praying for such.
And now for what do I hope? I hope for a quiet night in which I am able to truly rest. Grateful for the few minutes I’ve had now reading a lovely and inspiring book – “The Imitation of Christ” and looking forward to a yummy dinner of burritos and avocado/tomato salad. Shall I write a few words now to christen this new laptop keyboard? I’m not sure my mind is settled enough to compose anything suitable. Perhaps I shall attempt nonetheless.
she turns back from the ledge
and smiles at me
reaching out her hand that I might
join her
and then I step forward and take her hand
our eyes meet
in solemn concord
and together we bow our heads and pray
under the sun that blesses
let’s walk forward as pilgrims
bear our crosses as our joy
for nothing else
will satisfy
Christ crucified is our cry
better than life as kings and queens
why do we wail for the want of jeweled crown
when we have one that went before
from whose crown-pierced brow that blood fell
mingled with those tears for us
Parking Lot
I sat with my hands folded in my lap
Waiting for you to make a move
But you didn’t
Because you couldn’t
Even though you wanted to
Perhaps your doubts or your
Self loathing
Or perhaps uncertainty that all our checks
And superficial chemistry amounted
To much
I don’t know
I don’t care
I wish my eyes showed the pain I felt
All I wanted is for our hands
To touch
Something Weird 