at home with homeless

 

ask a homeless person
what is home to you?

ideally, it’s a safe place
comfortable and pleasant
my sanctuary from the world
where people love you…family

home is peace, not just a roof
maybe a tent on an ocean beach
even a sleeping bag under a bridge
anywhere you lay your head to rest

people look right past me
have you ever felt invisible?

after mom died, no family left
now depend on disability checks
you know how VA ignores veterans
no shelters for people with pets

self-medicating mental illness
spent rent money on crack
nobody will hire an ex-convict
hard when you lose everything

maybe we’re all homeless
looking for the key to security

 

 


Inspired by documentary, “Signs of Humanity” (2016) available on amazon.com based on artist Willie Baronet’s coast to coast trip to collect (buy) signs from homeless people for his “We Are All Homeless” art exhibits.

#socialmedia

Job answered, ” No doubt you are the people, and wisdom will die with you.”

(Job 12: 1 & 2)

waiting for epiphany

at home in our white-sided farm house, i’m poised to write as i sit by my small white-laminate study desk in our quiet, white-walled guest room.  bare square of first day of new year on the white-paged calendar stares back at me.  i look out white-framed window before me into our white-drifted snowy grove, hoping for inspiration but mind feels blank, like tv screen white-out.

over past year, i’ve often gazed out this same window, inspired by natural scene of trees with white-sunlit leaves waving in breezes.  i’ve watched white-puffed daydream clouds sail summer skies while squirrels played in the grass, rising on haunches to show white-furred bellies.

why would someone park canoe trailer with white-topped carrier full of life vests right in center of my woodsy window view?  old skeletal metal rack with two aluminum white-stickered canoes mounted upside down and tied with bungee straps distracts my vision.  without the sun, everything feels cold on this white-iced winter day.

 

it’s twenty-twenty

year clear for perfect vision

life needs fresh outlook

 


I wrote this on Jan. 1 and it seems to fit with Bjorn’s “beginning(again)” haibun challenge at dVerse poets pub.

 

 

 

a time to shine

 

As angels illuminated this holy night,
we light a wreath of candles flickering bright.

Winter moon in velvet sky sheds softer glow
and white lights twinkle on pine branches in snow

Carolers, who sing under lamp post’s glare,
will gather near fire’s hearth with stories to share.

Joyful tears in sinners’ eyes shine when we hear
that peace with God is possible, conscience clear

Each window reflects a star pointing the way,
let us celebrate the Light of the World today!

 

 

Image result for free images of advent candle

(I’ve updated this poem to recite for our church service of Lessons & Carols)

NOEL!

tasteful gift

 

what’s in this package? why do you ask me?
i can’t give it away ’til you open and see!
it’s something you’ll like, a favorite sweet
the taste of summer in this fair-time treat
so push, pull or twist it until you are daffy
jaw-open surprise…chewy salt-water _ _ _ _ _!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


A riddle rhyme in the Swedish gift-giving tradition for Bjorn’s prompt at dVerse!

urbane

 

hey man, whatsup?
’tis the season to glow

hustlers glitter under streetlight
like shards of broken window
neon sign blinks cheap hotel

alley cats’ eyes flicker between
garbage dumpsters in row
yowling fight over dead fish

it’s Christmas eve, yeah
sell me some snow!

 

 


Linking with dVerse poets where Lillian hosts a “glowing” quadrille…

dark dreams

American sentence for Merril’s “echo” prompt at dVerse poets pub

 

Nightmares repeat as echoes (echoes) of our

repressed fears (fears) reverberating.

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slide_357634_3955640_free

photo by Arthur Tress

shwooshing

Joining in Frank Tassone‘s “Cold Moon” challenge…


 

cross country skiers
under december’s cold moon
track on virgin snow

night’s romantic trek ends with
hot wassail by yule log fire

 

Kinderpunsch-4

image: the daring gourmet

 

 

the baptist

 

by wind and camel’s hair caressed
a loud voice cries in wilderness
to homeless hearts

what did you come out to see?
crowded with expectancy
in restless desert

wonder how honey-dipped locusts taste?
wonder how to survive in this place?
ask shameless questions

watch and wait on wet line in sand
listen to ranting of wild man
young fearless prophet

the word calls hearers to repent
prepare the way by spirit sent
for helpless sinners

stand on brink of riverbank steep
wade out to where the water’s deep
hold breathless moment

messiah is here! raise your eyes
in holy sandals (yet untied)
steps our boundless hope

 

 

 


Linking to Laura Bloombury’s poetics on “less is more” at dVerse poets pub

 

 

 

 

 

suspended in time

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai’s tan renga challenge to add 2 lines to this classic haiku…

 

old pond
a frog jumps in
sound of water

© Basho (Tr. Chèvrefeuille)

 

hear ker-ploosh of Basho’s frog

… haiku kai ripples outward

© lynn__

frog

 

 

 

a mother’s love

A memorial haibun on theme of gratitude for dVerse poets pub


I keep precious photos and letters. They were in love. Mommy, a happy socialite, married handsome Navy pilot. Small town girl found fun living in big city. We shared a Valentine birthday. She doted on me, her firstborn. Our bond was tight but unraveled when asthma flared with another pregnancy and took her life’s breath. I wore her lace wedding dress and ring.

I hold dear memories and momentos. We needed love. Mom, a quiet beauty, married indebted widower. Farm girl (from same small town) found work in big city. We shared Daddy’s heart. She accepted me as her first child. Nightmares and tantrums threatened to unravel us but she patiently parented until we grew into love’s tight bond. She gave me the best brother and education.

My heart swells with gratitude for each mother’s unique and vital influence on my life. I carry both of them in my heart and thank God for graciously gifting me (twice) with a mother’s love!

 

lone tree uprooted

memories of former days

wood warms us by fire

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