In the gentle breeze

"Red Votives"

2011-10-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

(Composed after a trip to the San Juan
Capistrano Mission, October 2011)

A ruby red glow guides me
Down the dark corridor,
As I approach the altar,
The chapel of St Peregrine.

Prayers have been offered,
Tears shed for the sick,
The weary, the suffering.

I bow the knee and make my petition,
An intercession for those I know,
For those for whom these
Many votives have been lit,

For the relatives and friends,
Struggling to cope, to understand,
Seeking answers, seeking hope.

My soul yearns for their relief,
For peace and joy to uplift their spirits.
A fire in my breast urges me onward,
But I rise after a time, for the tourists

Are speaking in raised voices,
A healthy, young couple on holiday
Arguing about their camera settings.

"Lost"

2011-03-09T13:46:00.000-08:00

(Ash Wednesday 2011)

The push and pull
Tugging, yanking, jerking
Fibers of the soul.

The longing, the desire
Enticing, deceiving
As in a smoky haze.

Blurred photograph,
Faded newspaper clipping
Juxtaposed to

Scarlet roses, diamonds
The sweetest taste of
Chocolate on the tongue.

Inch by inch stepping
Deeper into the wood
The path is wholly lost.

"Wandering through the rain"

2011-01-03T22:58:00.000-08:00

(Composed January 3, 2011).

Wandering through the rain
Desperately seeking to find
The way, the path
Seems to have sunk
Beneath my feet, hidden
In the haze. Sunlight or
Moonlight behind cloud,
I know not whether it is night
Or day. The dim, grey ambiguity
Disguises what was once clear.

Lost in limbo, the liminal,
Unsettled, uneasy, uneven,
Tottering on the tippy top,
Shaking, swaying side to side,
Unable to stabilize, steady, secure

Eyes in the mud.

No mere flub or flounder,
But failing, falling
Flat.

Yet redemption even here
In the ground is found,
Washing clean.
Black is recognized as black,
White shines purest once more,
And men no longer look as trees.

"Heaven in the hay"

2010-12-07T13:18:00.000-08:00

(Composed the second week of Advent 2010).

Heavy is the weight, frigid the air,
Blackest solitude, broken
Are the bonds that would unite.
Hiding, buried deep in earth,
Far from the stars, years since
Last seeing their faint shimmer.

Sinking darker into earth,
Crushing struggle,
Pain of despair,
Deeper pit,
Anchor weighs,
Chains clatter,
Heaviest burden--
Imprisoned by night.

In this night virgin gave birth,
Unto us a child was born,
Into this cave a star arose,
Blessed light of infant eye
In cries of a babe is shone;
Salvation to humanity come,
Divinity in manger lay--
Resplendent heaven in the hay.

"Nestled"

2010-10-14T23:15:00.000-07:00

(Resting in the love of our Father
On October 13, 2010).

Tenderly nurturing the tiny babe
Enveloped in warm embrace
Gentle comfort as he sings
Delight streaming from his face

Cocooned in his mighty hands
Protected from all harm
None can dismiss his love
Nor snatch me from his arm

In him I am secure
Nestled in his grace
Mercy wrapped all around
His peace my resting place

"Progress"

2010-10-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

(Pounded out on the evening
Of October 1, 2010).

Melding the ancient with the modern
Creating a new work, a fresh perspective
The ancient stones arranged in a linear grid
The craft of antiquity, sculptures of marble
And bronze, now portraying in ways anew
Universal human truths newfangled
Contemporary issues and obsessions
Techniques, materials, myths of old
Recombined, rethought, reimagined

Refusing to simply duplicate
Nor desiring to merely replicate
But seeking to uniquely create
A personal interpretation, expression
Seemingly slow
Still, serene past
Juxtaposed with the rushing, dashing,
Moving, jolting, hustling, steam engine
Drive of the future—or rather the present—

Desiring a slower time
A time of refreshment
Still constantly pressing forward
Relaxation
Continually pushing onward
A quieter time
Barreling ahead into the unknown
A return to the garden
Ever enticed by the siren call of “Progress”

"Image"

2010-10-01T20:32:00.000-07:00

(In reflection on the Gerome exhibit
At the Getty Center in September 2010).

Imagining an ancient ruin
A resurrection of sorts
Recreating a distant land
A period far beyond our own
A culture only partially preserved
A people few have understood

Seeking to see as they
To feel as they felt
To explore the exotic
To discover the universal--
The human

Traits and tendencies surpassing periods
Transcending time and circumstances
Reaching beyond borders and boundaries
To find ourselves, our place in the cosmos
And to discern the Hand of God
The Image of the Almighty Beauty

"Spouts"

2010-10-01T19:56:00.000-07:00

(Composed at the Getty Center
In September 2010).

Nestled ‘neath the stairs
Alone at a table for four
Listening to the bubbling
Water pouring from dozens
Of spouts in the fountain
Gushing day and night
Always in the same spot
Time after time
Constantly flowing
Perfectly in sync
In one long row
As marching soldiers
Never turning to the side
Yet standing side by side
No interaction
No relationship
Just spouts shooting
Springs of recycled water
Always kept pristine
Remaining untouchable
Save by the curious toddler
Or the starry-eyed lover

"Filled"

2010-09-19T19:10:00.000-07:00

(Upon purchasing a new journal
On September 18, 2010).

Lovely leather binding pages
Sparkling with their silver edge,
Blank lines awaiting fulfillment.
Space for thought, room for
Expression; quiet moments to share
Beneath a blossoming cherry tree,
Beside the glittering open sea,
Amongst a pile of golden leaves,
Amidst the blustery winter winds
Pages fluttering and drops of rain.

Pristine now, crisp and clean,
Coffee stained soon to be, crinkled
Corners bent and shimmer dimmed.
Not worth a dime, yet treasured book;
Silent confidant for secrets shared,
Archive of fears, some joyful years,
Vial of tears and chocolate smears.
My life sketched with ink, not lead,
Encapsulation of my soul,
When the pages will be filled.

"Commuting"

2010-08-28T16:28:00.000-07:00

(Composed upon returning home
Wednesday, August 25, 2010).

Commuting...there is always traffic,
Especially now Imperial Highway
Is littered with orange cones and
Seemingly spawning caterpillars.
Slow signs label the lanes and
Road construction ahead forebode
Blinkers and barrage of break lights,
Beeping car horns, and blare of rap.

The car ahead cuts into the right lane
Nearly colliding with my neighbor.
"Crazy driver!" I mutter aloud.

Light turns red and I'm stopped
Diagonally behind the Pontiac;
Its back window quickly lowers,
Expecting flash of a singular digit.
Instead, it simply rolls up again.
Reaching the top, it descends once more,
Then rolling upward, tiny fingers appear
Over the edge, skipping 'cross glass,
Playfully following the window's trek,
Flitting as a butterfly among buds,
Soaring and diving as a seaside pelican
Above the waves at San Pedro harbor.
Chuckling to myself and wiggling my
Fingers, as they rest on the windowsill.

Light turns to green and we once more
Crawl forward, as once annoying cones
Transport to first grade soccer practice,
Dump trucks to hearty preschool play.

"Incarnated sol"

2010-08-17T19:39:00.000-07:00

(A blank verse composition
Of mid-August 2010).

The blazing ball of fire now sets westward
A shade of orange as vivid as the
Kenyan plain in the noonday heat of June;
Of tribal dance and lively drum beats free
The movement of life, fierce, shockingly bright
Yellow of vibrant hue, as lioness
On the prowl; a striking beauty, filled and
Overflowing with hot embers, ready
To ignite with passions deep; piercing,
Captivatingly rich Indian spice.

In the east, sweet pastels of gentle pink,
As the fragrant lavender rolls over
The Provencal hills of a distant field.
Timid beauty, soft and shy the silk shades
That paint the far horizon of the land;
Tender blush at a passing stranger’s glance;
An English rose garden blooms in the sky,
Reserved elegance, glories in the past.
Singular source of light captured, expressed,
In unique displays, as the heat of day
Gives way to peaceful, cool nights of summer.

Full moon rises in the desert tonight;
Driving ‘cross highway, my sister beside,
Genuine and honest, she won’t back down,
Taking charge and fighting for the distressed,
Freely, boldly expressing her desires
Unlike the introvert behind the wheel:
Quiet of spirit, seeking to refresh,
And often few of words, yet heart devout.

Reflecting, embodying golden rays,
Sublime paradox, incarnated sol,
As we travel back to the smog city
Rays of light diffused and stars to be hid
The stormy shadows seek the light to fade.
Even still each day ends in dusk’s delight.
Banker and social worker recognize
As a most magnificent sight t’ behold.

Some drawn to the east, others toward the west,
Still none deny the brilliance of its source--
Beautiful transformation it affects,
Glorious illumination imparts,
Radiantly transfigured by the sun.

"Blazing beach bonfire"

2010-08-05T15:43:00.000-07:00

(Composed on August 5, 2010
Scent of smoke still in my hair).

You know the smell
Just after the sunset
The raw and reassuring
The organic sweet scent
Of burning firewood
Mixed with fresh sea air
Speckled in gritty sand
Smoke quietly billows
Soaking into your skin
Saturating your sweater
Tenderly enveloping you
In its warm embrace
The fire laps at the logs
Hypnotizing waves of
Gold and scarlet flames
Glowing embers beneath
Blazing beach bonfire
Towels spread around
Cool, damp sand underfoot
Soft guitar strumming
Beat of the bongo
A floating melody
And the crackling of the
Marshmallow golden fire

"Eyes fixed"

2010-08-05T15:15:00.000-07:00

(Mind's eye on Mt. Wilson
Composed on August 5, 2010).

Overcome by the heat
Eyes fixed to the ground
Focusing on uneven dirt
Carefully avoiding a pebble
Stepping over a little twig
Altogether ignoring great
Mountain of plenteous pine

"Woe"

2010-07-31T17:24:00.000-07:00

(Composed in contemplation of
Isaiah 39 in late July 2010).

"It is good news!" declared he.
Many years would safely be
Comfortable in his wanton haze,
'Peace and security in my days.'

Woe to the foolish, selfish king;
Wealth to the winds he did fling!

Rich heritage he threw away;
His own sons he did betray:
Plundered land, dispossessed;
Exiled and harshly oppressed!

Woe to me who would lazily lounge
Forcing others to desperately scrounge!

Seeking comfort, preferring ease,
My fleshly pleasures to appease,
Merely the status quo to maintain,
Ever overlooking others' pain?

Woe to us all if so become we;
I pray, O Lord, may it never be!

"A quiet evening"

2010-07-24T22:29:00.000-07:00

(Composed in the stillness
Of July 24, 2010).

The sounds of the night
Sprinkler's mist descends
Distant honk of a passing car
The bark of a neighbor's dog
The muffled rumble of voices
Float from a television set
Palm fronds rustled by the breeze

Candle flickers, lamp is dimmed
Smooth jazz pianist on my iPod plays
While my pen glides across the page

A bit of the city's bustling remains
A few street lights turning yellow
Yet most families are now relaxing
In their homes for a quiet evening
Snuggled in their living rooms
Eating popcorn and watching a film
Perhaps laughing over a hand of cards

On the sofa I recline, journal open
Pondering the water softly trickling
Its gentle whisper in my window

"The sea"

2010-07-10T00:40:00.000-07:00

(Composed July 10, 2010).

A mere conglomeration of elements?
Fading blue paint on an old globe?
Or the stage for adventure,
The wild creature, the force
Of which many a poet has writ?
The crashing and splashing
The shimmering waves
Sparkling glow of the sun
Rolling and roaring
The rumble of bass
Terrifying and tranquil
Jet engine, mother's lullaby
The sheer volume, abundance
Ever moving and changing
Oh the mysteries of the deep
The secrets of the expanse
Seemingly infinite, yet bound
Magnificent and strong
Masterpiece of the Potter's Hand!

"Our King"

2010-07-09T22:58:00.000-07:00

(In reflection on Ezra, Nehemiah, and
The prophets of old on June 3, 2010).

Exiles return
To city in ruins
Charred remains
Of once golden temple
Dust and ash envelop
The mighty capital
City of King David

Vision of restoration
Rising from the rubble
Strongholds of opposition
Crumble before Almighty God
History's Grand Architect
The Master Builder
Our Carpenter King

Measuring state's boundaries
Plumb Line for the nations
Impaled by the
Tools of His trade
Pierced by the ones
He would save
Our Crucified King

Nailed to the very trees
He imagined in the beginning
Killed by His creatures
Sacrifice for their souls
The divine died
Ineffable mystery
Our Creator King

Resurrected and ascended
Interceding for us now
At the Father's right hand
Seated on His throne
Soon to judge the earth
The Just and the Justifier
Our Coming King

"See"

2010-07-07T15:20:00.000-07:00

(Inspired by the words of Isaiah
The prophet on July 7, 2010).

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Stumbling through the curtain,
Clothes torn and covered in ash,
Words echoing in my head:
Who are you?
Why would God care?
You are nothing.
You are alone.
No one sees.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Tears streaming the paper tumbles
Out of my hand and to the floor.
Head bowed low, I bend my knee:
I am a child of the King.
God does care for me.
I am precious in His sight.
I will never be alone.
God sees all.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Shouting my prayer to the heavens,
Exhausted, now barely whispering,
Slowly the weight begins to lift,
Gentle peace descends as a dove.
The oppressive haze starts to fade,
Evaporating in the presence of
Light eternal and Love divine.

"Ode to My Alarm Clock"

2010-07-05T18:58:00.000-07:00

(Inspired by true events
On Wednesday, June 30, 2010).

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring
When many a faithful year
Thou didst awakening bring,

From dreams of dark
And slumber deep
To day's warm sun
Thy promises keep?

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But left me to sleep alone,
World raced without thy ding?

Slept through my shower
Nor time to break my fast
For I awoke to find
'Twas sixty minutes past.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But trouble and frustration
As my sheets I did fling?

Alack I hurriedly did race
Past roommates, house, and store,
Mascara and brush in hand,
Left my pillow on the floor.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
Nor bing, cling, or even ping?
Why didst thou refuse to sing?

For pump the coffee in my veins,
Cold water thou couldst pour,
Yet nothing could jolt me awake
Like you silent clock forevermore!

"He offers his hand"

2010-06-26T18:23:00.000-07:00

(June 26, 2010).

Exiting the glittering hall
Heatedly I scurry into the cool air
Alone at the last bell's ring

Cobblestones form the path
Slowing, I carefully select each step
So as to protect my treasured shoes
When I notice him across the lawn
He has followed me outside

Ashamed I turn away
Momentarily losing focus
My heel catches in the stones
Wobbling at first
Then hitting the ground

Wiping the dirt from my rags
Raising my head I see
He has rushed to my side
He offers his hand
Mortified I push it away

Jumping to my feet I hurry away
Tripping over once sparkling hem
Now stained and torn
Jogging, he offers his hand
Yet I refuse

Stumbling in one glass slipper
Inebriated by overwhelming disgrace
First slower steps, now faster
Again he offers his hand
I angrily slap it away

Falling, I cling to the railing
Attempting to regain my footing
The metal creeks, then suddenly snaps
Sending me tumbling to the ground
Gashing my leg on a jagged rock

Bloodied, tears streaming
Throbbing with the pain
He runs to my side
Gently touches my shoulder
Soothing my pain

Tenderly, on bended knee
He offers his hand
Embraces me

"Mounting the stair"

2010-06-26T16:57:00.000-07:00

(Composed June 2010).

Starting on an upward trek
In the early afternoon
Joyful for the journey ahead
Excited to reach the heights
As I open the wooden door

Mounting the stair
Dark, narrow passageway
Steep and slim the steps
Clutching the ropes
I make my way up

Tiny slits of light
Beam between the stone
Offering a little guidance
Still leaving corners hidden
Cloaked in shadows

Stopping to regain my breath
I quickly glance below
It is a long way down
Yet looking up again
Quite a far bit to go

One hesitant step
Stair after stair
Stone upon stone
Spiraling higher
Suspended in shadow

Cold stone surrounds
Entombs me
Still I continue upward
Rising from the pit
Seeking the sky

Suddenly emerging
Bells ringing overhead
Sun brilliantly shining
Clouds billowing
Glorious light

Gazing at the splendor
Transcendent vision
Released from earth
At journey's end
Beatific delight

"White-knuckled"

2010-06-03T21:23:00.000-07:00

(Composed in March 2010).

In silent fear I trembled,
Imagined terrors assembled;
Anxiety laid its vicious trap,
Courage it did mercilessly sap.

From dreaded snare You set me free;
With a mighty hand uplifted me!
Led wearied heart to joyfully sing,
Transported me on angels' wing.

To what can I compare Your love?
To ocean's depths or heavens above?
Where could I go You would not see?
What obstacle is too great for Thee?

Yet how quickly my mind wanders!
When upon corporeal it ponders,
Once beautiful, brilliant light,
Hidden in midnight's awful fright.

How soon do I forget Your grace;
Your mercies appear commonplace,
Drowned by engines' rumbling roar,
Dimmed by enticing sins once more.

O how I long for trust complete,
Truth revealing lies' deceit!
Mountains low and valleys level,
In Your glories we will revel.

For now, white-knuckled I'll remain,
Clutching to Your promise to sustain
'Til the Father it does please
And all declare on bended knees:

Glory to the Lamb who reigns
Sovereign over all our pains,
Washed in His bloody stains;
Faithful love alone remains!

"Red and white"

2010-06-02T21:52:00.000-07:00

(In the days before Memorial Day 2010).

Rippling waves of red and white
Twinkling stars amidst navy sea
American flag flutters in the breeze
Proudly displayed from the heights
O'er Pentagon, Capitol dome,
She is a glorious sight!

Those who dreamed
Such freedom to create
Bowed the knee
Raised their rifle
Left family and friends
Sailing to distant lands

Crossing rivers, seas, continents,
Facing firing squads and torture pits,
Furious cavalry, fierce artillery
Hangman's noose, exotic disease,
Summer's heat and winter's snow,
Fire, bullet, rocket, torpedo.

California, Carolinas,
Alamo, Potomac's shore,
Lexington to Gettysburg,
Blood bought land,
Normandy and Vietnam,
Iraq and Afghanistan,

Losing limbs, minds, and lives
Broken bodies, broken homes
Mourning father, son, and brother,
Mother, daughter, sister, friend
All so that banner might wave
Above picket fence, prison cell.

"Taps"

2010-06-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

(In memoriam, May 30, 2010).

Piercing bugle's mournful call
Her brave soldier he did fall
Unto him she bows her head
Remembering her fallen dead
Her bold colors blazing bright
Lowered with the coming night

"Graffiti"

2010-05-16T21:44:00.000-07:00

(Tagged on May 16, 2010).

Multicolored graphics
Kaleidoscopic wall
Scream and shout
Unto action they call
Sharp warning unto all

Edgy Berlin's so cool
Tourists scurrying past
Snap a picture or two
Rushing by too fast
To realize sorrows vast

Paint splattered on stucco
Or each meticulous stroke
Pain, despair to express
Tears amidst the smoke
Staggering under heavy yoke

Dub it all "Graffiti"
Paint over the spot
Yet questions ignored
Are not so easily forgot
White walls dearly bought

"Opernplatz"

2010-04-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

(Upon visiting the square,
Composed in April 2010).

Dort, wo man Bucher verbrennt,
Verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen
Thousands of leaves flutter in the wind,
Volumes ceremoniously heaped high;
Unacceptable, Vile, Degenerate,
The works, the words, thoughts rejected,
Condemned, consigned to the flames;
Dark smoke billows in Opernplatz.

Such burning, frenzied censorship,
Fear hid in the smoldering embers,
Now fully ablaze with irrational zeal.

Seeking to protect themselves,
Future generations from dangerous tomes,
Exterminating decadence and corruption;
Instead, ignorant masses would create;
The fires of inquisition consume;
This raging inferno destroys.

Annihilating all seeming dissent,
And as the wise man said of old,
It would not end there.

For burning books would not uproot
Seed of difference, diversity of thought.
This conflagration of text would not suffice;
For fragrant forests up in flame
Would but the tinder be to burning flesh
Until all color, all beauty is razed.

Empty bookshelves, empty beds,
No phoenix would be found
Amongst this pyre of ash.

"Das Stelenfeld"

2010-04-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

(Composed in remembrance
On April 17, 2010).

Das
Stelenfeld
Hundreds in rows
Low as grave stones
Silent slabs in morning
Amongst the grey I wander
Between the concrete masses
Beginning even with the ground
Then slowly rising from the earth
Until they stretch as charging soldiers
Obscuring the view of the heavens above
Oppressive maze, confusing, they mislead
Memorializing the murdered millions
Lives cut short by hate and malice
Slowly fading back to the earth
Yet even still they linger
Lurking in the ground
Will we remember
Lend our voice
Or look away
Cowardly
Hide

"Moment passed"

2010-04-18T18:21:00.000-07:00

(Composed April 16, 2010).

A leaf falls into the stream,
Crisp and golden as a dream,
Floating as a morning song,
Lapping waters roll him along.

"Stay still," I yearn, "that I might gaze
Upon your beauty, sing your praise
Of vibrant colors, lovely display,"
Yet he cannot; he floats away.

I follow him with my eyes,
Refusing to say goodbyes
'Til he rounds the rugged bend
And I can no longer pretend.

I would jump and swim
Seeking to cling to him;
I would grasp him in my hand
Never letting go, demand.

Yet grasping would be losing,
In my greed cruelly bruising;
The plucking would be killing,
My nightmare's fulfilling.

Moments of exquisite delight,
Stir the soul, thrill, excite,
As the beauty of the dawn,
Yet soon they pass away...gone.

We weep and strain to see beyond,
Vainly flailing our magic wand
To follow their dazzling trail,
Yet our eyes simply fail.

We mope, and pout, and yearn,
For their quick, speedy return,
The tender moment passed,
Wishing it would only last.

Still moments do not swim upstream,
No matter how we yell or scheme,
Still theirs is not the only song,
For another leaf soon comes along.

"Today in La Mirada"

2010-04-18T17:15:00.001-07:00

(Composed on April 16, 2010).

It's a particularly breezy day
Today in La Mirada.
Enjoying a brief walk in the park
In the glowing afternoon sun,
I am distressed to read the black words
Spray painted in capital letters
"DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS".

As though an icy wind encroached,
Chilling to the very bone,
So this interdiction shakes me.
Beside the gentle flowing pond,
The sweetly chirping and quacking birds,
This prohibition in its silent shouting
Disturbs the melody with its dissonance--
Clanging cymbal 'midst soothing sonata.

"I turn to You"

2010-03-25T15:52:00.000-07:00

(A prayer and a resolution
Written in late March 2010).

In times of trouble where do I turn,
When rivers flood and fires burn?
When cars collide and loved ones 've died,
I'm still trying to learn

To turn to You,
Lord, give me strength
To make it through,
Following Your lead
You'll supply my need,
As I learn to trust in You.

The sun beating on my face,
Struggling to maintain the pace,
Muscles aching, resolution quaking,
Limping just to continue the race,

As I turn to You,
Lord, give me strength
To make it through,
Where You direct
Love to perfect,
As I learn to trust in You.

Whether sunshine or sorrow
Calm or cold winds blow,
No end in sight in the dead of night,
You're always here, I know,

So I'll turn to You,
Lord, give me strength
To make it through,
Following You guide
None will be denied.
Lord, give me strength,
Give me Your strength
To make it through,
As I learn to trust in You.

"Anticipation"

2010-03-14T00:03:00.000-08:00

(Delightedly typed the
Evening of March 13, 2010).

Sweet anticipation,
That flutter in the stomach,
The thrilling lightheadedness!

With a click of the mouse,
My plane ticket was bought--
I'm going to Germany for Easter!

My bags to pack,
Fun details to plan,
The countdown has begun!

Dear friends to visit,
New lands to explore,
Plenty of museums, for sure!

Forest trails to hike,
Wines ready for tasting,
Maybe I'll try some schnitzel!

Oh how I love to travel,
To discover new beauties,
To seek the awaiting adventure!

To journey with a friend,
To find a new favorite spot,
Experiencing life across the sea!

A few weeks still to wait,
Yet waiting is half the fun,
The joyous anticipation of a trip!

"Reaching to the neck"

2010-02-28T20:52:00.000-08:00

(A reflection on Isaiah 8,
Composed February 28, 2010).

Strolling beside gentle stream
Relaxing grassy banks
Warmth of sunshine overhead
Cricket humming thanks

Peal of thunder jolts the air
Electric tensions blaze
Oppressive clouds furiously race
Sky stained inky haze

Rain pours, pelting face
River rushing flood
Running, seeking higher ground
Plunged into mud

Murky water to the knee
Rising tides wreck
Waist, chest, shoulder deep
Reaching to the neck

Treading water 'neath the rush
Gasping for the air
Darkness below, black above
Dizzy, tumbling scare

No branches lend their aid
Nor smooth shore
No lifeboats or rescuers come
Nor stroke of oar

Weary, losing any strength
Torrential stirring
Merciless rain choking breath
All vision blurring

Aching with no end in sight
Branches entangle
Complete, utter despondency
Suffocate, strangle

Closing in as the blade
Guillotine gleaming
When tapestry torn asunder
Brilliance streaming

Amidst the storm, clouds part
Veil's lifted
Glorious beams of light
Radiance gifted

Stars above, soul below
Heavens illuminate
Resplendent hope arrayed
Never comes too late

Reflecting off the very waters
That would drown
Now become heaven's mirror
Everlasting renown

"Faithful"

2010-02-18T22:35:00.001-08:00

(Meditating on the Exodus,
Composed February 18, 2010).

Egyptian masters at their heels,
Nearing the edge of possibility,
The Israelites are critically cornered,
Cowering before the sea,
'Til the Lord parts the waters,
Sets His people free.

True to His promises
His word will endure

Entrenched, enslaved to sin was I,
Chasm 'tween us was so wide,
Nothing I could do to escape,
Chained to my rebellious pride,
'Til the Lord comes to earth,
Rescues and purifies His bride.

The Lord is faithful
His love is sure

In the desert Israel did cry,
No sustenance to be found,
Grumbling against the great I AM,
Raising a rebellious sound,
'Til the Lord opens heaven,
Bestows manna on the ground.

True to His promises
His word will endure

Even now in my great need
Before Your feet I humbly kneel,
Overwhelmed and terrified,
Such pain and fear I feel,
'Til You gently comfort me,
My weary soul You tenderly heal.

The Lord is faithful
His love is sure

Oh true to Your promises
Your word will endure
Lord, You are faithful
Your love is sure

"Falling back"

2010-02-09T22:08:00.000-08:00

(Composed November 9, 2009).

Springing ahead is tough,
But how I love falling back!
Still the days grow darker,
Leaving work as the sun sets,
Afternoons as black as midnight.
Unlock the door; turn on the light.
Darkness is but the absence of light,
For darkness alone cannot overcome
The glimmer of a single flame,
The blaze of a roaring fire,
The brilliance of the noonday sun,
The glory of the risen Lord.
Darkness may last for the night,
But hope longs for the first ray,
Seeks, clings to the promise:
The coming of a new day!

"The God who speaks"

2010-01-26T11:09:00.000-08:00

(Composed in the light of Isaiah 6 and Psalm 115,
On the morning of January 26, 2010).

Crudely carved block of wood,
Lump of blackened stone,
Sun-baked ceramic figurine,
Fragment of broken bone,

Behind museum glass they sit
Beneath fluorescent light;
Permanent exhibit they form,
Here each day and night.

Artifacts of ancient lands,
Revered as gods were they,
Now people pass, children laugh
In line for the café.

Their little ears hear no sound,
Eyes unable to see;
Their lips cannot form a word,
Nor answer an urgent plea.

Praise the Lord who hears our prayers;
He listens to our cries!
Rejoice! Jehovah sees our needs
And graciously provides!

Sing for joy all ye earth
For ours is the God who speaks,
Transforming hearts, changing lives
Of anyone who seeks!

I joined the fight against poverty

2010-01-22T13:32:00.000-08:00

“I joined the fight against poverty!” the white-lettered t-shirt seemed to shout from its black canvas, as I pulled it out of the box, careful not to dump the packing popcorn all over the floor. I had been waiting for this package to arrive for weeks, and it was finally here!

It all began last spring. I was looking ahead to my one year review at work, and I wanted to do something special to celebrate my first year as a college graduate. That's when it hit me--I was, for the first time in my life, financially stable, generally independent, and actually able to sponsor a child through Compassion International! I had grown up watching the commercials on TV of children in need, their empty eyes yearning for food, for hope. I had even spent a couple summers with the Continental Singers raising sponsors. I had always wished that I could do something for the poor children of the world, but I hadn’t had a steady income. Now I did! Now I could do something about it!

Excitedly, I logged onto the website, clicking through the photos. With so many children in need, how do I just pick one? Then I saw her, those brown eyes called out to me: Clemence Matano. ‘She’s perfect!’ I thought. A little seven year old girl (She’s eight now!) living in southern Kenya with her parents and two siblings, according to the little biography on the site. In her simple lavender dress and her shy smile, I couldn’t tear myself away. And she loves to sing! Bonus!

In our first correspondence I learned that her favorite subject in school is capital letters. I admitted that they are rather fun to write. “I LOVE TO WRITE IN CAPITAL LETTERS TOO!” I responded. I hoped she might giggle. After all, I don’t think email writing etiquette really applies when writing to my little Clemence. In the days that followed, she began drawing pictures of herself and her home to send to me; I continued to send photos, and not sure what to say exactly, I told her a bit about California: the geography, the scenery, the weather.

This fall I began thinking about how I could give more. I wanted to become involved in a ministry too, somewhere that I could really invest my time and try to make a difference. One afternoon when I was exploring the website, I first read about Compassion’s Advocates Network. “Become a voice for the voiceless.” I had heard the phrase before, yet it meant more to me now. I can’t change the entire world; however, Compassion is eager to show that you can make a difference in the life of one child, and that makes all the difference for her world. Shy as I can be at times, these dear children continue to live and die in silence. Rather, their cries for help are drowned out by our surround-sound home theaters and our blaring iPods.

Looking through the contents of my training material, another pair of brown eyes pierces my soul, Kabuye Sam, the first child for whom I am advocating. A little Ugandan boy, just seven years old, Sam is wearing his little tennis shoes, ready for the next soccer game. I can see him now: playing with his friends in the field, and then sitting in the school this afternoon learning to read the story of Jesus’ life. Without a sponsor this will not be possible. Without a sponsor Sam will become another sad statistic, another malnourished child, another uneducated laborer like his father, perhaps another victim of HIV/AIDS.

Won’t you consider partnering with Compassion? Join the fight! Together we can make a difference: Releasing children from poverty in Jesus’ name! One child at a time!

Sponsor a Child

"Immobile"

2010-01-14T21:22:00.000-08:00

(Written on the evening of January 14, 2010,
Remembering where I was last Thursday night).

The battery light flashes on my dashboard.
I cringe as the radio turns off seconds later.
Gliding to a stop at the light, I restart the car,
Praying I will just make it to the repair shop.
The engine shakes, but starts, so I rev the gas,
Shifting into drive as the light turns green.

Rolling forward I push the pedal to the floor.
"Come on, baby! You can do it!" I coax.
The lights go out. The engine stops.

Panic.

Desperately I try to restart the car.
The key turns without a sound.
In fact, nothing happens. What now?

Timidly stepping out, my eyes searching;
Cars swerve around me left and right,
Filled with staring, disgruntled eyes,
Their turning signals flashing as they pass,
Avoiding the bothersome hindrance,
The irritating inconvenience--ME!

Mind racing amidst the honks, stranded,
Lost in the endless waves of car after car,
A stranger approaches and offers a hand.
Another comes, stopping the ceaseless flow,
Then pushing my immobile automobile
Off the crowded, bustling road.

My car is fine now; it all worked out,
Yet I cannot help but wonder if I,
Seeing another stuck, would stop,
Get out of the car, and break a sweat,
All to help someone I'd never met,
Someone I would never see again.

I think of the thousands in Haiti,
Perhaps even millions by now,
Shaken, desperate, in need.
I have never met one of them
(I probably never will)
Yet I cannot help, but seek to help.

I may not lift the rubble with this hand,
Yet I will give to those who can;
For even a weak and weary hand,
When united with his brother's,
Can meet an urgent need,
Can move the immobile.

"To a new year"

2010-01-07T14:34:00.000-08:00

(Composed the first week of January 2010).

Some new years feel like a new blouse,
Purchased from the boutique rack,
Colors bright, completely unworn,
Blooming with great expectations,
Long awaited and at a high price.

Others are more like digging through a gym bag
Trying to locate a not so smelly sock,
Filled with more of the same old troubles.

This year, however, like a familiar friend,
Having begun and ended in the same spot,
Is most like pulling a newly laundered
Pair of blue jeans out of the dryer,
Fresh and warm, yet snug and comfy.

Thus, this year begins like the last,
Toasting my plastic cup to a new year,
Bundled on the rosiest street of Pasadena.

"I saw a mansion in the desert"

2009-12-28T19:23:00.000-08:00

(After a trek through the Mohave Desert
From home into L.A., December 28, 2009).

I saw a mansion in the desert
With glossy paint and picket fence.
Lamp posts lined the dirt path,
Large plastic creatures strewn
Among a few nude white statues,
As I drove down Highway 395.

A couple miles back I passed
A rusted old car, heap of scraps,
Long ago forgotten beside
The boarded up gold mine--
Once valuable treasure trove,
Now an abandoned hollow.

AUTO PARTS is painted
On a few old wooden planks
Nailed on a crumbling garage.
Hard to tell if it's still open
Or if no one really cared
To pull 'em down before they left.

Well, it looks like one still lives
In this lone desert mansion.
The land must 'a been a good deal--
Not much competition for this plot.
Think it was a young girl or an old fella
Paid this time, seekin' to fulfill the dream?

I wonder how long 'til this soul
Grown weary of barren heat and sand
Flees without glancing back,
Leaving another old roof to rot,
Another stack of boards to break up
Vast stretches of dirt, rock, an' weed.

"Winter's night"

2009-12-23T13:45:00.000-08:00

(Composed December 23, 2009).

The rising sun must later leave the sky,
Each blooming flower, whither and die.
Spring graces us with glorious display,
Then winter strikes to our dismay.

Although the vivid brilliance fades,
Warmth the air no longer pervades,
Time cannot their memory deplete
Stunning colors or fragrance sweet.

Although the rays dim from view
And petals melt as morning dew,
The frost of this cold winter’s night
Cannot their tender remembrance blight.

"All eyes to the stage"

2009-12-17T15:55:00.001-08:00

(Moments remembered on December 17, 2009).

Clusters of choir members scattered around,
A couple of altos reviewing their part,
Another munching on carrot sticks in the corner.
Violas from the orchestra tune,
Black collars popped and red ties hanging;
Girls scurry barefoot to the mirror,
Hurriedly reapplying their lipstick.

The doors fly open and the audience floods
Down the aisles and to the front.
Hugging and chattering with a grin,
The room is filled with their enthusiastic buzz;
Eagerness and delighted anticipation pulses.
Taking one last gulp of water, I stash the bottle
Beside an empty cello case and a roll of electrical tape.

Moments later the house lights dim,
The crowd grows silent;
All eyes to the stage.
The choir adjusts our black folders,
Clicking on the little music lights.
The conductor raises his baton;
Deep breath and…

"Rearview Mirror Reflections"

2009-12-17T14:15:00.000-08:00

(Jotted down December 17, 2009).

The morning commute is always an adventure!
My fellow drivers never fail to amaze me
With their crazy maneuvers and sudden stops.
Orange cone-lined construction zones are especially thrilling!
Yet perhaps my favorite part of the drive is
Sitting at a stoplight and glancing about.

Mascara wand and shiny pink compact in hand,
A young women stares at her reflection,
Applying powder, now manipulating metal pinchers
While the other cars zoom by, and
A teenager in his skinny jeans and red beanie
Pops a zit then bites his nails on my left.

A mother walks her daughter to school,
Girl bundled in pink scarf and white mittens,
Mother in a dull, frumpy brown jacket,
As the orange-vested gentleman,
The school’s friendly crossing guard,
Raises his sign and steps across.

Animatedly talking on her phone, or better yet,
Vigorously texting a curious friend,
"Baby on board" bumper sticker in the back,
The mom beside me would hardly notice, if
A fiery meteor fell from the sky
Or a bomb exploded up ahead.

And in his starched white shirt and tie,
Suit jacket hanging in the backseat,
The man ahead of me scarfs down
A steaming breakfast sandwich,
While I, finger tapping and latte in hand,
Sing along to a lively country song.

"A rag-wrapped babe"

2009-12-10T13:41:00.000-08:00

(Composed the second week of Advent 2009).

To these the Son of God came down:
To broken, steeped in sin,
To the hopeless, weary, defeated,
Unto wounded and hurting men.

No marble columns greeted him,
No vaulted ceilings high,
No hallowed halls, nor towers white,
Nor servants gathered nigh.

A rag-wrapped babe, God is with us!
An infant’s piercing cry,
Wrinkled fingers reaching out
From earth up to the sky.

Rejoice! Be glad! Jesus has come!
Our waiting’s not in vain.
Our Savior, Jesus Christ the Lord
In Bethlehem is lain.

"Hearts' delight"

2009-12-10T10:59:00.000-08:00

(A choir member's fervent prayer,
December 10, 2009).

The torn screen door swings open
Exposing a heap of cans on the floor,
Drained dry, sapped six-packs,
Dreams, distant hopes of youth spilt,
Now dingy stains on the carpet.

The stench of beer and sweat
Drenches every inch of air,
As a cloud of thick smoke swells.
Cigarette butts litter the floor,
Tossed aside, burnt out, scorched idealism.

Shining childhood naivety,
The innocent glow of youth,
Tainted, tattered, tarnished,
Smothered, suffocated, strangled,
Mangled, maimed, and marred.

There was a party here last night,
Or did he drink alone?
It hardly matters now.
Alone he slouches on the couch,
Dead eyes, anesthetized to life.

Is there hope for him this Christmas?
Might he find joy this time of year
Amidst the plastic twinkling lights?
Might the brilliant Advent candles bright
Illumine this soul and enliven his eye?

May we not glide by this Christmas
Snuggled in our jingling sleds,
Cocoa in hand and cookies sweet,
Joyful carols ever echoing
In our scarf-wrapped little heads.

May the truth of that blessed night,
Floating, soaring through our song,
As the star which shone so bright,
Lead the lost to our dear Savior,
Guided by our hearts’ delight.

"The gentle, floating breath of flute"

2009-12-01T11:14:00.000-08:00

(Upon meeting Debussy's faun,
December 1, 2009).

The gentle, floating breath of flute,
Melody flitting as a leaf in the breeze,
Pale, lily yellow, tranquil and fragrant,
Bold flashes of color, hints of scarlet mystery,
Meandering through fields of vibrant wildflowers,
Beneath the shade of blossoming cherry trees,
Delicately sweet, glistening honey of the comb.

Pipe's playful frolicking tune overhead,
As sunbeams peaking through tender leaves,
Then burning bright as the golden sun,
Blazing in her brilliant noonday glory,
Piercing the veil of the billowing cloud,
Twirling higher, faster and faster...
Mighty crescendo of brass and string!

Stillness, cool as the babbling brook,
Serenely gliding over pebbles smooth,
Against the trunk of a budding tree,
Beneath the sparkling stars, dreamily nestled.

"The Little Lamb's Tale"

2009-11-23T10:49:00.000-08:00

(Composed November 19, 2009).

The sun is in full bloom today,
A few wispy clouds overhead.
Birds are chirping in the meadow,
The promise of adventure in the air.
Prancing about the open field
Through green pastures and wild flowers,
A butterfly catches my eye,
So I skip after it to get a better look,
Its golden wings shimmering.
Among the trees I wander
Over roots and fallen leaves
Following the distant glittering.
My hooves now sore, throat dry,
Grown raspy with want of water,
Still I trample onward.
Entering shadows, hidden from the sun,
I stumble after the elusive sparkle.
Finally drawing nearer I hobble,
All my energy, just a few steps more...
My eyes riveted on the growing gold...
Suddenly the earth gives way beneath me,
As I fall downward, air rushing my face,
Landing hard, and SNAP!
"AHHH!" I cry out in pain,
My leg throbbing, pressure floods my ankle.
"HELP!" I moan, but no one responds.
Alone in the darkness I sob,
"Is there no one to help me?"
There is only silence.
Feet flailing I try to crawl forward,
But I am too weak.
Pushing harder I try to stand,
But I fall once more.
Utterly exhausted I curl tightly,
Clinging to a lone scraggly bush.
I wrinkle my nose as a bit of dirt
Falls from the cliff above.
Bleating once more, now with hope,
I lift my eyes heavenward.
Gentle hands surround me,
Embracing my thorn-filled fleece,
As he lifts me from the ledge.
The sharp pang in my leg
Seems to ease under his touch,
Wrapped in his strong, secure arms,
Held tightly to the shepherd's heart.

"Above our own"

2009-11-20T15:30:00.000-08:00

(Composed after our latest gathering of
The Dinner Club, November 19, 2009).

A lively group of young adults,
Munching and chattering after work
About music, family, school or sports.
It's quite a party tonight!
A few tea lights cast their glow,
As pumpkin pie is passed around
And laughter flitters in the air,
When the door swings open and
The room grows suddenly still.

"A friend is in need. Please pray."

Instantly the separate clusters unite,
One after another petitioning for peace,
Uplifting a sister before our Father.
Of one mind and a single purpose,
Earnestly pleading on her behalf.
Interests, occupations, age, and size,
What naturally divides, now cast aside,
Huddled together before His throne,
His will to seek above our own.

"Cuppa"

2009-11-17T22:02:00.000-08:00

(Composed in the late afternoon
of November 17, 2009).

Walking through the front door
Thoughts swirling in my mind,
Bubbling to the surface like the
Effervescent fizz of a champagne bottle.

Like soap suds rushing to the drain
At the end of a long, hot bath,
So these thoughts flood my mind
Once the rumbling pressure of noise
At the end of day is finally uncorked.

And as a cuppa soothes and warms
The frostbitten, weary traveler,
So such pause for contemplation,
The cold, stiff corners of the soul.

"The MOT"

2009-11-16T13:11:00.000-08:00

(Composed in reflection
on November 16, 2009).

I went to the Museum of Tolerance the other day.
Car inspections, baggage searching, metal detectors,
Like entering a neutral zone in hostile territory.
After waiting for our guide, we were led down
The spiral ramp, descending into the pit.

Entering the exhibit, we followed the dim light,
Viewing pictures, observing the flickering footage.
Slowly we made our way past a café scene,
The rugged ruins of a dilapidated ghetto,
Through the barbed wire gates of Auschwitz.

Images of dying babes flashed across the screen,
Stories of the worst types of cruelty imaginable.
On the cold concrete we sat, silently sobbing
Beneath the wailing melody of a Hebrew lamentation,
The innocents slain for their star.

Sliding my card into the machine,
My eyes riveted on the printer.
‘Please let her live,’ I pray.
The paper glides into my hand:
Freda Gabe was never seen again.

Eyes glistening, our feet shuffle into the elevator.
Slowly we rise, flight upon flight.
A little man with a thick Greek accent,
Body scarred and arm tattooed,
Addresses the eager gathering.

He shares his story, the horrors endured,
The loss of his entire family before his very eyes,
But his fighting spirit shines through in his grin,
Although struck down, he survived.
Though tortured, Albert lived.

"Dear Katie"

2009-11-16T11:40:00.001-08:00

(One month from her graduation).

Dear Katie,
Graduating from college was like breaking the tape,
Finishing the last stretch of a race,
A seventeen year long marathon,
Breathless and stumbling,
Yet full of joy, excitement, and relief.
Enjoy the last few paces of the straight away!
The finish line is in sight!

"What to say?"

2009-11-06T21:52:00.001-08:00

(Written the first week
of November 2009).

What to say of a pain so deep?
What to say of a loss so great?

My friend lost her father today.
I guess 'lost' is the wrong word,
For she knows where he went.
Her beloved dad went on ahead.
He left to lead the way home,
Yet he is gone and she is here.

Shock. Tears. Unbelief.
Questions. Comfort.
Sadness. Peace. Pain.

What must she feel?
What could I ever say?

So a simple card
And a single orchid
On her doorstep I left,
The best gifts I could give,
And soon a hug and a shoulder,
The most poetic images I'd display.

"Those little gold stars"

2009-10-28T11:40:00.000-07:00

(Composed after House of Prayer,
October 27, 2009).

Head bowed, tears gleaming in my eyes
Shed for the pain of another, I was reminded:
Life is not measured in dollars and cents,
In titles, degrees, and lengthy acronyms,
Or little gold stars on the board;
Yet some days I struggle and strive,
Polishing those little gold stars,
Trying to make them shine brighter,
Reapplying the peeling adhesive,
Keeping them in a straight line.

I don't feel so bad with their glint in my eye,
Still over the years these mere stickers
Seem to simply fade and fall away,
Like the pale ribbon in the back of my closet:
A first place blue ribbon in archery,
Shiny and new the summer after fourth grade.
Actually, come to think of it,
I might have thrown that ribbon away.
Oh well. Nobody really cares about it now.
Old trophies aren't worth much in the end.

Praise the Lord He looks at the heart,
Not our paycheck, job title, or resume,
Not our model of car or IQ,
Nor our number of facebook friends!
Praise the Lord for He is good,
And His mercies are new every morning!
Praise the Lord for His lavish love,
And His gracious provision for our needs!
Praise the Lord for His faithfulness,
And His tender mercies unto me!

"A new friend"

2009-10-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

(Composed in cheerful reflection
on October 19, 2009).

A room filled with strangers,
Timidly I sit in my chair,
Trying not to look as awkward as I feel.
Glancing around the rows,
I earnestly seek a familiar face.

My eyes meet another's.
'Oh no! What was her name?
I just met her at the registration table.'
My lips form a tilted grin,
Quickly turning around in my chair.

Trying to assemble a new strategy,
I start to fidget, adjusting my sweater,
Then crossing my legs for the fourth time,
Flipping through the program again,
Checking my cell phone for "messages".

"Tori, is it?" the girl beside me asks,
Reading my scribbled name tag.
"Yep. That's me. What's your name?"
'Becky? That's not so scary.
She looks pretty nice.'

'Oh, interesting...I wonder if...'
Soon I lose sight of where I am,
Intrigued by her cheerful story,
Visualizing her life at home
And imagining her time spent abroad.

"Thank you all for coming,"
The speaker stands to welcome the group,
Starting the session and the retreat.
"It was nice meeting you," she smiles.
"You too," I reply.

Happy to have made a new friend,
I look at the lady at the podium,
Warmed by the thought of a weekend
Filled with lovely ladies to meet,
Many new friends to discover.

"Lounging at Laguna Beach"

2009-10-19T10:34:00.000-07:00

(Composed amidst the fog
of October 18, 2009).

Lounging at Laguna Beach,
A lovely, foggy autumn day,
The mist floated in the air,
The gentle crashing of the rolling wave.

I was enjoying the peaceful beauty of the scene,
Delighting in the refreshing sea breeze,
When a flock of birds descended,
Surrounding me as I huddled on my towel.

Squawking and fighting over a piece of trash,
They nipped at a moldy slice of bread.
Nervously I glanced around.
They all seemed to be staring at me.

'I hate sea gulls, ugly diseased creatures.
What if they start pecking me?
So this is what Hitchcock meant;
And I was having such a nice time!'

Up the shore a little girl came running,
Maybe two or three years old,
Stumbling through the moist sand
In her little blue wetsuit with braided hair.

Joyfully she hobbled toward the birds.
They skipped and hopped ahead,
Then in one big rush, away they flew--
A thin white streak in the grey sky.

"What is in your hand?"

2009-10-12T21:11:00.001-07:00

(Composed in reflection after a
retreat on October 12, 2009).

What is in your hand?
A pen.

A passion.
A love for my God.
A pain.
A heartache.
A longing.
I give it to Your service.

An eagerness.
A frustration.
A beloved friend.
A ruthless enemy.
I entrust these to You, O Lord.

A warmth.
A zeal.
A chill.
A fear.
A strength.
A wound.
A distress.
A delight.
In it all I will praise You

that they may believe that the Lord
has appeared to you

"Sparked"

2009-10-09T22:21:00.000-07:00

(Candle ignited October 9, 2009).

The wind howls, whipping through the trees,
Thrashing leaves and scrawled branches pound,
As I falter in the darkness of the wood.
My thin coat is soaked and shredded.
Alone, cold, and vulnerable, I cower.

Dizzying torrents fill my mind,
Floods of doubt and terrors pummel.
'Is that a building up ahead?'
Leaping, a gnarled tree root catches my foot,
I flounder and fall in the mud.

Dazed I struggle to regain my focus,
While the rain continually pelts my face.
The ache in the pit of my stomach,
Drenched deeply to the very core,
I cry out in pain.

I cannot move any farther.
Muscles aching, worries overwhelming,
The throbbing is too much to bear.
A soft word I hear, yet I see no one,
As though a faint whisper floated on the wind.

Breathing deeply, I struggle forward,
Crawling toward the wooden structure
On my hands and knees on the forest floor.
One hand after the other I push on,
'Til I finally reach the rugged cedar planks.

Cold and shivering, I crouch,
Seeking warmth, shelter from the storm.
My vision blurred, I wipe the glass,
Desperate for hope, a ray of light,
On the other side of the window.

A tiny flame flickers in the frame.
Raindrops enshroud the surface.
Squinting I peer into the foggy pane.
Earnestly I pull on the metal ledge.
It does not budge.

Too dark to see, I stumble around the perimeter,
Tripping over stones and fallen branches,
Water pouring over my head,
My hands probing up and down the walls,
Fingers groping, searching for a knob.

At last I find the edge of the door,
As a cloaked and aged man appears before me,
Extends his hand, beckoning me to enter.
He pulls the door open, warmth sweeps over me,
Yet trembling, I feel my legs giving way.

Blinking, I slowly open my eyes, peering up.
Hazy at first, gradually my vision grows clearer.
His tender, shining eyes greet mine.
Deeply I breathe in the glowing air,
As he gently lifts me to my feet once more.

Surveying the room, I see not only a single flame,
But little lights scattered among the pews,
Each candle held by a weary traveler of varying ages;
Some are soggy and still dripping,
Others radiant and almost completely dry.

In his hand he holds my candle.
I had carried it in my pocket, merely frozen wax.
Ashamed, I bow my head before him,
And in his presence, it softens and ignites,
Sparked by the beatific twinkling of his eye.

"Hostages no more"

2009-10-03T17:22:00.000-07:00

(Recounted October 3, 2009).

I had a dream this week that a man put a gun to my head.
Barrel pressing under my chin, I was instructed to walk;
Obviously running was not a viable option.

"Your life is worth more than all the money in the bank"
We have been told on more than one occasion.

Working for a financial institution, there is always the chance
That a crazy bank robber might take you hostage,
Attempting to break into the secured cash vault.

We've seen the training videos, but what can truly prepare
For the sensation of cold metal on your skin?

Fear so easily sneaks into the soul when you lie down to sleep.
I have not been up late at night worrying and counting sheep,
For it is not a rational, waking hour's fear.

The farfetched, terrifying scenarios that just might come true:
This is the stuff of which nightmares are made.

Yet we have been saved from much greater horror than this:
Christ has rescued us from life's supreme robber: Death!
We are hostages no more! So where is our great rejoicing?

It simply comes and goes, as our mood flows up and down
Like the crashing waves on the beach.

"The baby's cry"

2009-09-29T09:42:00.000-07:00

(Composed September 29, 2009).

In the somber chapel, the parson spoke,
His words gently lulling the congregation,
A beam of sunlight in the stained glass shone,
Casting a warm glow throughout the room,
Dripping of rich honey and liquid gold.
WAAAAAHHHH!

The baby’s cry shook the sleepy crowd
Like the trumpet-led blast of Jericho.
The little stentatorian could have drowned out
The resounding hooves of a stampeding herd
Or the thunder of a charging cavalry unit.

A couple older gentlemen cleared their throats,
As some of the teens began to whisper.
Blushing, the mother leapt to her feet,
Drew the infant into her arms and ran out.
The preacher shook his head and continued reading.

In the temple of Jerusalem they grew angry,
Disgusted and filled with hot disdain,
The arrogant priests and scribes dismissed the youth.
From the ‘naïve little ones’ who cried, “Hosanna!”
They turned their faces and walked away.

From the lips of children and infants
You have ordained praise
Jesus rejoiced to hear their song,
Their eager squeals of joy and glee.
The jumping, running, dancing whirl,
Tender smiles on their little faces,
Sweet enthusiasm for their King.

The disciples dusty and weary from the journey,
Crowds pushing in on every side,
Herded the little rambunctious rascals,
Isolating and shoving them away.
The rabbi was surely too busy for these.

Let the little ones come to me
And do not keep them away
Jesus stood with arms wide open,
Calling little ones to His embrace.
Those overlooked, ignored, and weak,
In these He placed fervent delight,
Rejoicing in His dearly loved children.

"I went for a long run today"

2009-09-23T15:06:00.000-07:00

(An autobiographical account
of September 22, 2009).

I went for a long run today.

I love to run around the park,
The breeze blowing in my face.

I ran by families going fishing,
Clusters of friends playing frisbee,
Little girls feeding a flock of geese.

That's when I got a blister on my foot.
I tried limping for a little while,
But that was not very effective in
Stopping the rubbing, the hurting.

I was struggling on the cement path,
When I had a brilliant idea--
I took off my shoes and walked in the grass,
Down the green slope, among the trees,
And to the little rippling pond below.

When is the last time you untied your feet,
Toes hidden among the silky blades of grass?
Why do they call them "blades" anyway
When they are so soft and soothing?
The strands of grass? No, that wouldn't work--
It sounds like the earth is unraveling.

Well, you should try it sometime soon.
The freedom of your toes to wiggle,
The refreshing tickle of nature's fingers.
Most days my feet seem to be numb.
I don't even think about them
Housed in their little leather soles.
What a joy to feel my feet again!

"Monday morning"

2009-09-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

(Eagerly typed on
September 21, 2009).

Monday morning--
So many possibilities,
Opportunities yet to be had.
Although you plan ahead,
There's always a surprise.
You never know exactly
How the week will go.

Sleepy from the night before--
Homework, a feature film,
A long talk with a friend--
I never seem to make it to bed
As early as I planned.
Still, when eyelids split,
Anticipation swells for the week.

Some drag themselves out of bed,
Coffee is a must in the darkness.
I have those days myself too,
But more often than not I find
Monday mornings are refreshing,
Filled with the unexpected joys,
The promise of a new beginning.

Like the glorious dawn,
The first warm glow on the rim,
A hint of light in the black,
Greeting the crisp morning air.
Not completely illuminated,
Yet overflowing with delight,
Eyes fixed on the horizon.

No one knows the time,
TBA's on the invitation,
When we'll hear the trump,
Angel's shout resound,
Transfigured by His brilliance,
When the Lord calls us home,
And it could be today!

"Sunday Afternoon"

2009-09-20T17:25:00.000-07:00

(Inscribed by the magical beauty
of August 23, 2009).

Fanciful Summer's breath beacons unto me.
My iPod's soothing piano solo,
Fingers delicately stroking the keys,
I stroll to the park, meandering down my block,
Weaving through houses and winding streets,
Like bounteous rows of the blossoming rose.

Jingling bicycle bells and dog collars,
Quacking ducks and honking geese,
Whirl of skateboards and rustling leaves,
Frisbees soaring into the blue,
Each a soloist accompanied
By the gentle, flowing melody.

The pages of my journal flutter,
My sun-kissed hair joins the dance,
Flitting and glittering in the breeze.
Giggles and squeals float across the pond,
As children skip and prance,
Dodging water balloons midflight.

Bobbing his emerald head,
Then tipping completely over,
A duck tumbles in the waters
Perusing the depths for a snack,
And a gentle rumble of a plane overhead,
An afternoon twirl through the clouds.

A flock of geese clumped beneath
The welcoming shade of a tree,
Moseying across the grassy slope
Just out of the pages of a storybook.
I half expect to see the crook extending,
From behind a tree Little Bo Peep to appear.

No swans today, yet on such a pond
The ugly duckling once discovered his beauty,
And among such trees a little hooded girl,
Skipped with sweets for her grandmother,
And a young blonde discovered a house,
Tasted porridge and slept in the baby bear's bed.

With the shimmering golden rays and sparkling pond,
Grassy rolling hills and shady trees,
How can some so easily dismiss fairy tales?
"Mere rubbish and poppycock," they say.

Modern adults too busy for childhood fables,
Too mature for talking animals,
Too advanced for simply moral tales.
May God have mercy upon us all!

My soul, soak in the warmth and tranquility
Infused in every golden ray!
O breathe deeply of the magical air,
The beauteous dancing of the breeze!

Praise Him who formed the heavens,
Who fashioned the earth with His Word,
Who walked beside Galilee's sea,
Who climbed Golgotha's solitary tree!

"By his stripes"

2009-09-20T17:18:00.000-07:00

(In reflection after taking
the Lord's Supper in August 2009).

"Nothing but the blood," the pastor sings,
As I make my way down the aisle.
Dipping the bread in the cup, I say, "Amen,"
And return to my seat with morsel in hand.

Permeated pinch of bread, lifting to my lips,
I squeeze too hard and it drips on my hand.
'Clumsy, irreverent fool!' I shriek.
The crimson trickles down my skin,
As a trail of blood on my palm.

Startled my fingers curl.
My other hand flies to the spot,
Cupping my hand, as though
Protecting a bloody wound,
Covering an exposed gash.

I gaze at the scarlet.
Such were his stripes that day
When his hands they pierced
And his flesh they flayed.
Sweating tears of blood,
So flowed the cleansing flood.

Like the coal-purged lips of Isaiah,
Once leprous, Naaman's childlike flesh,
Hemorrhaging woman or epileptic boy,
The sinful, withered hand of my soul.
Broken, shriveled, rotting
Now redeemed, renewed!

By his stripes we are healed

"Friday Afternoon"

2009-09-20T17:14:00.000-07:00

(At my computer on the sunny
afternoon of July 24, 2009).

Oh to go for a long walk in the park,
To see the leafy trees, the silky grass,
The clouds swirling overhead.

To hike to a hidden waterfall,
To feel the warm sunshine, the rugged path,
The cascading roll of mist.

To stroll along the beach,
To hear the squishing sand, the soaring birds,
The swell of the ancient ocean.

I long to gaze upon a painting,
To dance and twirl in another's arms,
To behold a glorious symphony beneath the stars.

Alas, I sit at my desk,
Sorting through research requests and projects,
But this weekend...

"Veneer"

2009-09-20T17:09:00.000-07:00

(Punctiliously typed
on July 24, 2009).

I am tired of sitting here
In silence,
Immersed in silence,
Drowning in silence,
The white walls of silence.

Still and sitting in our chairs,
All humanity, breathless
From the racing numbers
011001100111010101110100
011010010110110001100101
The never-ending sprint
To reach the next peak,
To be the next big thing,
To make the next buck.

Complacent in our cushioned chairs,
Enclosed by these walls, built to house us,
Protect from weather and vermin.
These walls have become our plastic tombs,
A faded and peeling veneer of reality.

"Jesus saves!"

2009-09-20T16:57:00.000-07:00

(Heard the song, voice resonating
on July 12, 2009).

Cheerful smiles, giggling eyes,
Bouncing golden curls and clapping hands,
Little Nicholas jumps and plays.
The happy tune fills his soul.
In jubilant innocence, infant delight
He shouts, "Jesus saves!"

"Times are tough.
We are going to have to let you go."
The words echo in his head,
As he trudges to the car.
Hands trembling, mind racing,
He sees the question in their eyes,
His dear wife, even now,
Hungry little faces round the table,
'There's no food in the pantry.
What am I to do?'
That childhood ditty dances in his mind,
In quivering voice, eyes to the sky
The chorus repeats: "Jesus saves!"

"The cancer is back,"
The doctor in his starched white coat
Walks out of the room.
Their eyes meet in silence
Gently looking into the depth.
His brown eyes water as he looks into hers.
He leans in to kiss her cheek.
"Jesus saves!" she whispers in his ear.
He reaches out and draws her into his arms.

Hobbling up the church steps
He makes his way to the pew.
No hand in his this week
For she is with her Maker now.
Over these many years
The strength of his voice has faded,
Yet like the steady,
Deep roar of the ocean,
He rumbles on, "Jesus saves!"

"Laser beams"

2009-09-19T14:29:00.000-07:00

(Upon returning home from
a drive on August 2, 2009).

Red and blue lights flashing ahead,
A cluster of police cars on the curb.
"Rubbernecks" they call us,
Our eyes sprint to the scene,
Fixating on the 'cuffed.

A man stands with hands raised,
Legs apart for the frisking.
The policeman barks at him
While we stare intensely.
Fire shoots from the eyes,
Watching, glaring, judging--
Condemnation without a trial.

Strike of the rod
Crack of the whip
Agonizing pain
None to comfort

"Crucify him!" they shout
At whom they cheered "Hosanna!"
Once with joy and smiles for the king,
Now their radiant eyes are turned,
Morphed into laser beams,
Not simply to pierce his hands and feet,
But red-hot and sharp as iron,
Seeking to impale his heart.

Wincing from the shame,
Denied and rejected,
Dishonored and disgraced.
Stumbling beneath the weight,
Crushed by the cross,
He collapses on the dusty road.

Jeering crowds surround,
Yet humiliated he could not be,
For he humbled himself,
Sacrificing for his accusers,
Crushed for our iniquities,
Laid down his life for his enemies.

"A Moving Day Reflection"

2009-09-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

(In the last days of
the month of July 2009).

Dust hangs in the air.
Cardboard boxes stacked high
Fill the empty room.

Dingy walls exposed.
Every object touched, examined,
Appraised by light.

Lay aside every encumbrance
The sin which so easily entangles us
Let us run with endurance

Hidden corners now revealed,
Embellished rugs pulled out,
Closets emptied.

The stains and cracks,
Peeling paint, chipped tile,
Illuminated lie bare.

Spider webs and bobby pins,
Popcorn kernels, bottle caps,
Pennies on the floor.

The lost are found,
Forgotten remembered,
Fallen uplifted.

Pilgrims on the earth
Seeking a homeland
A heavenly one

All temporal is shed,
Unburdened and released,
Lightened so to soar.

"The way unveiled"

2009-09-19T14:19:00.000-07:00

(Brought to light on June 28, 2009).

Rickety fence, ashen from searing heat,
Thrashed by wind, drowned by rain,
Buried 'neath spiders and web,
Helpless prey trapped within
Sickly, silken tomb.

Snarled branches, nettle, and brier
Veil the way, choking out life.

Boarded up windows,
Putrid stench seeps.
Sharp nails protrude,
Spikes stabbed through plank.
Gaunt and grey, door barred shut.

Earth shakes.

Foundations crack.

The way unveiled.

Fingers uproot thorns,
Gently trickling crimson.
Drops of sweat, cascading brow,
Soothing dry, cracked clay.

Hands pry rugged boards,
Pierced by the nails.

Smiling eyes, doors bow,
Sparkling bright, gentle radiance.
He exhales, stone melts,
Peaceful zephyr, breath of life.

Through its wall his feet step,
Life and light herein dwell.

"Afraid to fight?"

2009-09-19T14:14:00.000-07:00

(Pondered at Panera,

June 20, 2009).

Shining knights on armoured steeds,
Banners raised with swords ablaze,
Battling for king and country bright,
These brave few face the field.

A clan of humble farmers joined,
Standing against oppressors' night.
Pitchforks in hand or stone in sling,
United to fight, free family.

Colonists in a strange new land,
Filled with hopes and Jefferson's dream,
Bayonet at the ready, enemy draws near,
These common folk defend fair liberty.

Noble deeds of our fathers past,
Epic battles, our history shaped,
Against the odds, seemingly doomed,
The stuff of folklore and fantasy.

Safe in the suburbs live I,
No nearing front or arrows o'rhead.
Pen in hand, at a cafe I sit,
Far from fear or peril's fright.

What is my part to play?
Where will I take my stand?
What grand victory to seek?
What frightful fiend to fell?

What of those days of old?
Grown comfy, lazy, self-absorbed,
Blind to pain and other's distress?
Feeble, faint, afraid to fight?

"Il Divino"

2009-09-19T14:10:00.000-07:00

(Chiseled the morning
of June 16, 2009).

A blank canvas,
Empty, yet full.
Brimming with potential
While bare of design.

What is hidden in this marble?
Who lies beneath your lines?
Will I chisel away the speckles
Or mar with my brushes' stroke?

Grand figures, elegant and strong.
Il Divino fashioned from the dust.
Though the work of his hands they be,
Yet none his own beauty could embody.

Prophets, apostles, our fathers attest,
More lovely, hallowed be his stained hand
Than any graceful illustration by it made,
Lowly, majestic image--beauty in the flesh.

"I stretch out my hand"

2009-09-19T13:32:00.000-07:00

(Penned after reading the First
Epistle of John on June 14, 2009).

Alone, surrounded by blackness.
Offering aid, comfort,
To clasp another,
To unite amidst the darkness,
I stretch out my hand.

Extended, palm exposed,
Reaching...
SLAP!

Stinging my fingers retract.
Wounded I recoil my hand,
Withdrawing back into myself.

Fingers throbbing,
Meditating on the hurt,
Blood pulsating,
Heat radiating,
Drops of sweat begin to form.
Tightening, tension,
My fingers curl...
I thrust my fist into flesh!

Relief of tension,
As muscles relax,
Pent up rage dispelled,
Fingers tingling--
The satisfying sting of justice.

Then my eyes open and I see--
The pain inflicted in return,
Greater than the wound sustained:
The terrible darkness of the eye.

Overwhelmed by my hurting hand
And the hurt inflicted by my hand,
I weep
Over my pain, my brother's pain,
The very existence of pain.

Weak, hand trembling,
I reach out once more.
Hesitant, timid,
Vulnerable, unprotected.

At present, fingers quaking,
Wounds tender at the touch,
But perhaps someday soon,
In brilliant light we shall fully embrace.

"Your rod"

2009-09-18T22:44:00.000-07:00

(Composed on May 18,
Victoria Day 2009).

Swinging his stick back and forth
Over the line 'tween grass and cement,
Clicking his cane in a series of taps,
Testing the surface, measuring its expanse.

His eyes do not assist in his journey,
Nevertheless able to see the way,
With his trusted rod at his side,
Observing the distinct textures, he remains
On the constant and unchanging path.

With his staff ever-moving,
Searching, testing and trying,
Leading the way home,
He need not fear.

A telephone poll ahead,
An electric box grow near,
Yet his rod warms of danger, and,
Though he approaches obstacles,
He is not overcome.

The future, as a dim haze,
Wrong often seems right.
My eyes are unable to see.
Ever-clinging to the Word of life--
Your rod and my staff--
Might I not wholly lose my way!

" sigh "

2009-09-18T22:40:00.001-07:00

(Doodled on May 13, 2009).

People speak of boredom as a feeling,
Others as a state of being.
"Boredom" is not simply the lack of activity,
But the lack of interesting and engaging activity.
Wasted time. Waiting. Without purpose. Wilting.

I may perch on a grassy lawn perfectly contented,
Counting the blades of Kelly-green grass,
Watching the gentle tendrils sway,
While another may shout, "I'm bored!"

Silent in a dimly lit room,
Surrounded by dusty old volumes,
Seated on a hard wooden chair,
Can be paradise for a few like me.

Yet caged in a sterile desk with nothing to do--
No pending items, no projects,
No training or upcoming events--
Is nearly universally acknowledged to qualify as
Legitimate grounds for boredom.

"Ode to the Q-Tip Tree" or "Fronds to the heavens"

2009-09-18T22:35:00.000-07:00

(Composed at a table with friends
at the local Panera, 30 May 2009).

Born to privilege are some,
Robed in gold and precious gem,
As kings and princes these cedars come,
Rising to great heights of majesty.
The mighty oak stands tall,
While others, adorned by exotic fruit,
Display bows of exquisite flower.
Yet as thou, O little Q-tip tree,
Lowly as the shepherd boy or carpenter's son,
Dirty and scraggly, barely a leaf,
Cloaked in rags and burlap sack
(Nothing beautiful to attract the eye),
In such attire was our Savior born--
No jewel-bedecked, sparkling crown
Or marble Roman palace ground.
So lift your voice! Extend your hands!
Fronds to the heavens, as the children raised--
That Sunday morning their Savior praised!

"Frost on the windshield"

2009-09-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

(Composed April 2009).

Steam rises, wafting from my peony tea cup;
PG Tips warms me from the inside out.
The timid lamp glows in the dim room.

Clouds fill the sky outside my window,
And a cool evening breeze creeps through the screen,
As the rhythm of horns and swirling tires floats up
From the racing cars on the boulevard below.

A faded newspaper clipping
And an old leather book
Snuggle at home on my desk.

I scribble this line in my journal,
Running my fingers through my hair,
Wondering what to write next.

I twirl my pen.

I tap my foot.

I shift my weight,
leaning to the side.

What word to write?
What image to describe?
All the letters look the same
Flat on the page.

The gears in my brain grow lethargic,
Like my car Phil on a chilly morning:
Breaks squeaking and frost on the windshield.

"Rainbow"

2009-09-18T22:24:00.000-07:00

(Composed in April of 2009).

Wrapped snuggly in cozy blankets,
Fluffy pillow 'neath my head,
My eyes glide toward the ceiling,
Gazing at shapes in the popcorn sky,
And sunlight peers through the blinds
Casting a warm, buttery pinstripe on the wall.

Saturday morning--
No urgent matters to invade the room, unwelcome guests,
No alarm clock to imprison the silence, locked in chains,
No task sheet to hold me hostage, no ransom to pay--
Simply lovely freedom to lounge and relax all day.

"Ought I rise?" I ask myself with a sigh.
A grey cloud lurks at the door.
Then like an effervescent rainbow emerges in the sky
Following the dark and dreary storm,
On this week's end a sparkling grim sweeps 'cross my face,
And my eyelids slide shut once more.

"No stone"

2009-09-16T22:05:00.000-07:00

(Composed on Ash Wednesday 2009, Inspired
by reading the Gospel of John chapter 8).

Face-first I tumble into the dirt,
Hurled by the angry thrust of my accuser.
My clothes are a mere draping of rags,
Ripped as he dragged me from the bed.

Here in the middle of the temple courtyard
I lie alone, exposed for all to see.
A trickle of blood runs down my cheek.

Publicly humiliated, they curse at me,
Shouting disgrace, contempt,
And words of judgment.

Shaking.
Trembling.

The scorching sun is overhead.
A pile of stones surrounds me,
As a mob gathers.

One man draws near.
My husband approaches me,
Bends to the ground,
And lifts a stone.

Anger and rage fill his eyes.
Clenching his fist, his knuckles turn red.
I turn my face, bracing for the impact
Of his bone-crushing justice.

The shouting ceases,
Stones tumble to the ground,
And the mob disperses.

Silence.
Stillness.

Lifting my eyes, I see a man's feet before me.
Slowly my gaze reaches his hand.
He holds no stone.

Instead, he gently extends his hand to me.
Love and compassion warm his eyes,
As a single tear trickles down his face.

"In a child's eyes"

2009-09-16T22:01:00.000-07:00

(Composed in a cafe
on February 14, 2009).

Smooth jazz floats from the speakers,
As a family is seated in the cafe for lunch.
The young couple munches their baguettes
As their two toddlers laugh.
The little boy in a red baseball shirt
Sips his milk and stares about
With his big brown eyes,
While the girl in her pink stretch pants,
With a matching top and little pink bow,
Attempts to pull the lid off her mom's cup.
She shakes the plastic cup
And giggles as the ice cubes jump.

Everything becomes a curiosity
For little eyes and fingers.
Every color, texture, and sound,
A new adventure, a hidden treasure,
Uncharted waters to explore.
A menu, a cup, a napkin
Become a fort, a tambourine, and a hat
In the eager hands of a child.
What energy and enthusiasm for life!
What joy they bring,
As the monotony of daily life
Becomes a fascinating excursion
When reflected in a child's eyes.

"Balance Beam"

2009-09-16T21:55:00.000-07:00

(Composed February 14, 2009).

A tightrope walker learning to balance,
That perfect equilibrium to establish,
Neither too much to the left or the right,
But lightly stepping in his orange tights,
Careful not to shake the hanging wire
That separates him from the earth below.

A little girl in her blue leotard
Beginning her gymnastics class
Mounts the balance beam,
Then cautiously steps forward.
Unstable, her arms extend,
Attempting to stablize her weight,
As her toes hesitantly reach ahead.

A tickle in the throat, a cough, a sniffle,
Orange juice and vitamins, I swallow
Orange pills in the morning light, blue by night.
The delicate balance of health--to avoid illness,
To maintain some sense of wellness--
I rest, medicate, and attempt to remain lively,
Fighting for health, on the balance beam I flail.

"Soundtrack"

2009-09-16T21:52:00.000-07:00

(Composed to the smooth jazz
in the cafe on February 14, 2009).

Out the window I stare
From the warmth of a cafe table,
Spotting cars drive by and couples stroll,
And a flock of birds in mid-flight.

The hustle and bustle of the city
Becomes a choreographed dance,
As the jazz seems to infuse all in sight.

The flustered shopper seems to float
On the notes of the saxophone,
As the kids in line for the pizza party
Smile and laugh to the beat of the drum.

Calming me into a contemplative state
Or exciting my soul and moving my feet,
This music becomes the soundtrack of my life.

"Unopened"

2009-09-16T21:47:00.000-07:00

(Composed on the crisp
afternoon of January 28, 2009).

A Christmas card was returned to me today.
"Return to Sender," it read
Like the Elvis song I've heard,
Only not nearly so cheerful.

It was stamped and sent back,
Yet the little holly sticker still remains
Clinging to the sealed envelope flap.
Another friend I've somehow lost
Over the many years--
We were best friends once--
Moved without a change of address.
I suppose we rarely sent letters.

From Facebook I know
She is getting married soon,
But it is profoundly sad that
I know her current status,
Yet I do not know where she lays her head,
Where she cooks her meals,
Or laughs with her new friends.
Too late to resend it now, I suppose.

The Christmas joy I wished to give--
Perhaps a mere formality to send--
Now like an undesirable present
Is returned to me
Six weeks later and unopened.

With a sigh, I toss it
In the kitchen trash can,
Soon to be covered in
Moldy tomato sauce
And sour milk.

"A day of rest"

2009-09-16T21:42:00.000-07:00

(Composed in the park on Martin
Luther King Jr.'s Birthday 2009).

Half a dozen young ladies reading,
Lounging in the afternoon sun,
With their picnic blankets spread
And empty Starbucks coffee cups.

A little girl, no more than four,
Skips through the grass in her purple pants,
Giggling at the terrier wrapped in his red sweater,
Trotting on the path, his owner tethered to a leash.

A little boy peddles on his bright yellow tricycle,
Huffing and puffing in his attempt to mount the hill,
And big maple leaves float from their lofty branches,
As birds hop along the edge of the low bushes.

Blurs of color, pink and blue, catch my eye,
As a flock of children descend the grassy slope,
Rolling, toppling, and tumbling into each other,
Laughing at the silly, spinning world.

An ant crawls onto my journal, trying to find his way.
Walking across the words, zigzagging along,
Gently I guide him with my ballpoint pen
Back to the grass from whence he strayed.

The setting sun lends an amber glow
Silhouetting birch trees scattered on the hill,
While families, after a day of rest,
Gather together and start the journey home.

"Stars"

2009-09-16T21:39:00.000-07:00

(Composed January 14, 2009).

I saw the stars last night
Speckled in the midnight sky.
Rarely does one catch a glimpse
Of what lies beyond the smog.

LA is so commercialized, you know.
There is little time to bother
About the hazy sea
Which separates us from reality.

We have lights, it's true,
So don't let it trouble you.
We'll construct our own stars of tin foil someday,
If we care to.

"The Gnat"

2009-09-16T21:32:00.000-07:00

(Composed at my dining room
table on January 12, 2009).

As I sat sipping a glass of wine,
I turned to the side
To flip the page of poetry
I was reading.

When I glanced back,
A gnat I spied,
Floating on the surface
Of my smooth merlot.

'How sad,' I thought at first,
'To waste a good drink
For an ignorant, dirty bug!'

When all at once, I laughed,
'What a glorious way to die,
A dive bomb into the wine,
Drinking deeply of the vine!'
As should I.

This is my blood which is shed for you

No timid sip to take,
But jumping, leaping,
Diving into the deep.

Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man
And drink his blood,
You have no life in you

Reckless abandon,
Complete emersion,
Total saturation in Christ.

My blood is true drink

"Hearts Aglow"

2009-09-15T20:45:00.000-07:00

(Composed my birthday week
in January of 2009).

Friends gather around a table,
Stories are heard,
Both deeply philosophical
And delightfully absurd.

Tuscan wine makes the rounds
As sparkling laughter abounds
In the candle's flickering light
Like stars shimmering in the night.

Dean Martin serenades
While the creamy sauce marinades
Our tongues with pure delight,
Kindling smiles warm and bright.

Some like a jingle of silver bells
Others, merry horses in a stable,
Uproarious laughter resonates,
Encircling the festive table.

Like the melodious chirping of birds,
A chorus in the sun's brilliant ray,
Cheeping and twittering to one another,
So friends rejoice in this beautiful day.

Or as a lively babbling brook,
Skipping across the chiming stone,
Tinkling as it frolics and plays,
So laughter rings its cheerful tone.

Like a blazing fire on this winter's eve,
Dispelling the darkness and bitter cold,
Golden candlelight and crimson merlot
Warm the soul and sets our hearts aglow.

"Why often worry we?"

2009-09-15T20:41:00.000-07:00

(Composed after Grace Group
on December 21, 2008).

Chirping birds hop around
Gulping worms they have found,
Twittering and flittering about,
No cares, without a doubt,
Satisfying sustenance does abound.

Lovely lilies blossoming
Dazzling in brilliant clothing,
Warmed by the sun's rays,
All men they do amaze
Without a tailor's sewing.

Never does a bird fall,
But Father God sees them all.
Abundant blessings He bestows.
His dear children He truly knows,
And answers those who call.

Why often worry we
When trusting would we be
Could we but understand
The Father's mighty, loving hand,
From anxiety we would be free?

"Tiny treasure"

2009-09-15T20:38:00.000-07:00

(Composed after first meeting Eliana
on December 19, 2008).

Tiny fingers, hands, and toes
Curled into little fists.
Bright eyes blink gently,
Then sleepily squint,
Lips purse--big yawn in little mouth.
Eliana snuggles tenderly,
Cozy in my arms.
Tiny treasure dearly loved.

"A text message!"

2009-09-15T20:33:00.000-07:00

(Scrawled after reading it
on December 18, 2008).

Humming a Christmas carol, I drive,
Rush hour traffic, yet I don't mind--
It's Christmastime after all!

Lights twinkle across rooftops,
As the sun peacefully sets--
A lovely winter afternoon!

Da, da, da, da, da, dum.
An envelop appears on the screen
Swooping across Christmas tree wallpaper.

A text message!
Instant delight!

Anticipating a "Hi!" or "Waz up?" I read,
"My mom is in urgent care..."
Eyes darting across the text,
Glancing at the tail lights ahead of me.
"She fell again and can't feel her leg."

"What? No!"
I blink my eyes unconsciously,
Shock...
The muscles in my face instantly tense,
Brows furrowed, grimacing,
'How could this happen?
Oh, not again!
Last time was frightening, but again?
Will she recover?
But her graduation is tomorrow!
The pain she must feel!'

Her concern and worry pierce my soul.
Water fills my eyes.
Sadness, pain, and sorrow well over,
Overflowing my heart,
Flooding my cheek.

Nothing to say,
No words can express.
Just tears to shed
For my dear friend.

"Tragic Devastation"

2009-09-15T20:27:00.000-07:00

(Scribbled amidst the smoke of the Orange
County Fires the evening of November 15
and the dawn of November 16, 2008).

Blood red fire
Sulfur yellow flames
I see them on tv
Burning structures,
Apartments, houses,
Homes consumed
By raging flame.

Heat, smoke, ash
Overwhelming
Damage,
Destruction,
Tragic devastation.

Smoke is in the air,
Driving home to pack,
Scared, anxious, alone
Collecting my treasures
Records, pictures, memories.

It's only a precaution,
Yet just to think,
I lose it all?
Up in smoke?
Gone for good?

Of course, one day all of it will burn
When with my Savior, I am united,
But until that day, O God,
Have mercy; protect us.
Watch over those I love.
Wrap them in Your strong embrace.

...

The destruction of the night
Is woefully brought to light,
As flakes of ash,
Flecks of homes,
Rain from the sky
Like a dingy blanket of snow.

The sun is burning with a fiery glow.
Smoke permeates the air all around,
Oppressive grey haze surrounds.

Have mercy, O my God.
Give grace to the hurting,
Peace to the suffering,
Love to the mourning.
Be near them, O God.
Hold them close.

"Rest"

2009-09-15T20:22:00.000-07:00

(Composed November 2008).

Kick off your shoes
And take a seat.
Recline yourself.
Prop up your feet.

Light a candle.
Smell its scent
Fill the room.
Relax content.

Sip your Zinfandel,
Refreshing vine,
Sweet cordial fruit,
Ambrosial wine.

Read Bronte's Jane Eyre
Enchanted by romance.
Play Strauss' Blue Danube
Charmed by the flowing dance.

Close your eyes.
Let the music unwind
Tightly clenched hands
And worried mind.

Rather, whisper a prayer.
Seek quiet repose,
The Peace in our hearts,
And Rest for our souls.

"A Stroll through the Park"

2009-09-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

(Composed in mid-November,
the week of Veterans' Day 2008).

The beginning of a path
Open and inviting.
The gentle breeze whispers to me
Bids me come for a stroll.

"Open your eyes and see!"
He calls unto me.
"Gaze upon the beauty of this place.
Enter into its warm embrace."

Meandering up the grassy hill, I stroll.
Shady trees outstretch their branches,
Extending outward, upward,
As though reaching toward heaven.

In the rustling leaves birds chirp,
The winged chorus of beautiful harmony,
Accompanied by the hum of insects
Dancing in the breeze.

A squirrel prances
A lizard leaps
A butterfly flutters by
As birds twirl in the sky.

The patter of rabbits' feet
Eager to join the jig
Celebrating the beauty of the day
And proclaiming their Creator's praise.

The breeze caresses the trees
Orchestrating the woodwinds' play.
Leaning against a tree,
I hum along, enraptured by the melody,
Warmed by the sun's enveloping ray,
Swaying in the gentle breeze.

"Autumn"

2009-09-15T19:32:00.000-07:00

(Composed over a cup of tea in the
early evening of November 3, 2008).

I love autumn!
The cool, brisk air,
Falling golden leaves,
Fluffy gray clouds,
The occasional afternoon drizzle.

Snuggly cashmere sweaters,
Scarves and gloves of rich jewel tones,
Boots, umbrellas, woolen coats.

Harvest festivals and costume parties,
Football season,
The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Freshly baked turkey and dressing,
A slice of pecan pie,
Hot apple cider.

Glowing candles,
Pine trees and nativities,
Twinkling Christmas lights.

Autumn is a time of laughter and cheer,
Cuddling together, warming by the fire.
It is the season of thankfulness and annual traditions,
Special time spent with family.

People are more generous this time of year:
Intentionally giving gifts to all they love
And remembering those in need.

The fall is both the ending of a year,
Celebrating its joys and grieving its sorrows,
And it is a new beginning,
A reordering of what truly matters.

Autumn is the time to read a great book,
Catch up with an old friend over a pot of steaming tea.
It is the time to sing carols and jingle bells,
To drop a coin in the kettle,
To rake a widow's leaves,
To warm the heart of a stranger,
To remember the lowly manger.

"Beside the Stream"

2009-09-15T19:27:00.000-07:00

(Composed in the quiet afternoon
of October 22, 2008.)

The bubbling brook
Whispering breeze
Chirping birds
Dancing leaves.

Calmly the water flows.
Gentle ripples form
A mosaic of teal and azure
Brushing the tranquil stream.

Sitting in the shade,
I gaze around
Embracing the quiet melody.
The chaos of the city traffic
Hushed by the patter of water 'pon stone.

Time seems to stand still,
Save the natural rhythm of the day.
Just sunlight or moonlight,
Cares simply float away.

The beauty of simplicity
No stress or worries near,
Only quiet moments tucked away
Sweet memories so dear.

"At My Desk"

2009-09-15T19:19:00.000-07:00

(Composed at my desk
on October 21, 2008).

Buzz, the humming lights.
The air conditioner whirls.
Click of the mouse.
Tap of the keys.
Binders snapping shut.

Ring! Ring!
The phone cries out,
Ring! Ring!
It demands.
Another noise, another sound,
Mounting tension
Frazzled banker frowns.

I squeeze my "stress reliever" ball
Like a nurse checking blood pressures rise.
Are these things clinically proven?
I think I might hyperventilate!

Papers everywhere...
My desk looks like a chess board,
Checkered with pages
Awaiting their strategic move
From one pile to the next.

Sipping my soda, I watch the clock,
No ticking or tocking to be heard.
The electronic numbers silently slip by,
As one day spills into the next.

"Tossed by the Wind"

2009-09-14T22:48:00.000-07:00

(Composed in silent mediation
at Soul Care Day, October 13, 2008).

Tossed by the wind,
Thrown this way and that,
Tumultuous storm at hand,
Fearful am I.
Battered and torn,
Ragged, I feel,
Empty, forlorn.

Stop resisting the wind.
Flutter in the breeze.
Release the bonds of propriety.
Dance in the wind.

You are not lost--
I see you.
I am here even now.
I am the Lord of Creation
at all times, yes, even now.
I am in the breeze.
I am in the wind.
I lead you to my feet.
Do not run away.
Be not dismayed.

See the beauty in the rustling leaves.
Hear the water stream over the rocks.