advent…a trial by fire

 

At heaven’s high command,

a white-hot beam of purest light

penetrates time and space

to touch our tiny blue planet.

 

Silence is muted by the

wholly alien presence with

whispering whir of mighty wings.

Flesh crawls with palpable wide-eyed terror

as the dazzling creature of holy flame

fixes its piercing gaze on 

a pale, trembling mortal.

 

“Do not be afraid.”  

 

Surprising, melodious words 

uttered by the molten-gold messenger.

But when he speaks again–

eyes lower, palms sweat, and

dry lips must answer with

the total stuttering truth

or risk disintegrating

in ashes and smoke.

 

 

what kind of flower are you?

My mother raised roses in lovely hues:

soft peach, pale yellow, and deep scarlet;

each properly pruned and sweetly scented.

I admired her backyard bushes in bloom,

squirmed under her careful cultivation as

she pruned flaws and nurtured character

I was of different seed by birth but

mom raised me like her own heirloom,

watered with tender attention until

Transplanted to Iowa and grafted to a farmer,

I find myself blooming like a wild prairie rose;

delicately fragrant yet proven to be hardy.

IMG_1410

dance recital

 

Bright sliver of moon

in rosy sky at dusk

gleams sideways smile,

poised, waiting…

grinning confidently

as tired old sun

burns down slowly,

limps below dark edge

of corn rows’ silhouette stage.

Day’s number is done…

time for moonlight’s moves!

 

evaporating equine

 

A galloping cloud pony,

high altitude cirrus bred,

stretches swiftly across

untamed prairie skies

while thin wispy tail

and swirly mane

float whimsically

in its trail.

 

Aside

confession

 

I’ll admit

sometimes

I must work at

being difficult

but mostly

I just am

without trying.

 

mother of pearl

 

Somedays

I feel like a clam

in a rough sea;

an oyster that

has swallowed gravel.

A mussel that

cannot move

from its place

but must accept

whatever passes

with the tide.

 

Unexpected rejection

and harsh words

have wounded

my soft insides

and it’s hard work

to cover the sharp

grains of sand;

to smooth over

the painful memories

so they will not

continue to grate.

 

I close up

to protect myself;

retreating inside

the tough shell

of my mind.

I desperately

want to believe

that these scars

can be transformed

into pearls

of beauty.

Aside

Wu-Yi, please

 

Authentic friendship is classic;

like a freshly brewed cup of tea

served outdoors on a veranda.

 

A spiced aroma of well-blended,

hand-selected, cozy comaraderie

fills the relaxed afternoon air.

 

Tea-time friendships

share the comforting warmth

Of cultivated attention.

 

Perfectly steeped

in robust undertones

of an exclusive conversation.

 

humid morning

 

scented bed

of blooming catmint

is kissed by

lavender mist.

the real deal

 

Marriage is a delightful balance:

Committed and caught,

Tender yet tough,

Purity of passion.

 

Marriage is a beautiful blueprint:

Love over a lifetime

Place for parenthood,

Good gift in a garden.

 

Marriage is a costly venture:

requires service and sacrifice

but reaps rewards of the

long-term investment.

 

Don’t settle for cheap substitutes;

Desire the genuine article.

 

parole

 

we all begin life as prisoners;

most of us escape our mother’s womb

only to face our own limitations.

 

our enemy would hold us hostage;

his methods are devious, his bonds are strong.

will satan’s fate be our own awful end?

 

we choose  to wallow in self-made dungeons

of addiction, shame, fear or bitterness.

our hearts slowly grow cold; our minds dark.

 

but there is a savior who slays the beast

he opens our prison cell and calls us into light;

we are out on parole until our ultimate release.

 

as seen from my window

 

IMG_8933

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A mythical “bluebird of happiness”

could never out do the cheery flock

of ordinary sparrows

gathering in my farm garden

for a chirpers’ convention.

Attendees all a”twitter” and

splashing sociably in the

rain-refreshed

birdbath.

 

no doubt drought

 

Thirsty corn stretches dry tassels heavenward, reaching for rain.

Dusty leaves curl inward, folded in fervent prayer.

Sparse clouds cast welcome shadows on the parched land.

Scattered drops of moisture fall mercifully down on baked fields;

Every drip a precious promise, raising harvest hopes.

A wise farmer knows God as a Father who doesn’t tease but often tests.

Creation’s plenty depends entirely on the Creator’s provision.

 

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