"Nestled"

(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

"Commuting"

(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.

"Lounging at Laguna Beach"

(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.

"The baby's cry"

(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.

"Sunday Afternoon"

(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!

"Jesus saves!"

(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!"

"In a child's eyes"

(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"

(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.

"A day of rest"

(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.

"Tiny treasure"

(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.