"The Little Lamb's Tale"

(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"

(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"

(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"

(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"

(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?"

(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.