Tender Heart

Tender heart,

you bleed all over

this broken, hardened world,

holding the shards

of yet another hope,

shattered beyond repair. 

Aching heart,

drawing so tightly 

within your paper-thin walls—

an illusion of shelter

between a cruel world

and your lifeblood.

Courage, dear heart,

your spirit bears

within this gift of pain

a gentleness so strong

to die a thousand deaths

and still know how to cry.

Beautiful (for D.S. and all the others)

My friend,

You’re beautiful. 

Your smile,

The way that laughter bursts out of you,

The light in your eyes

When you talk about the things you love. 

You’re beautiful. 

I am so sorry

For a world that judges you

At a glance,

A world that rejects you

For a different image,

A world that is blind

And selfish

And deeply broken. 

I am so sorry. 

I think you’re beautiful. 

The shade of your skin,

The colour of your eyes,

Your hair, and size, and shape,

It’s perfect. 

Who you are—

Inside and outside

You are worth so much more

Than they have told you. 

My voice may not mean much,

But I know

The Master Artist thinks so too. 

Have you seen it?

Can you dare to believe just how precious you are?

You are precious,

Just the way you are. 

Every part of you

Wonderfully made. 

A masterpiece.

Beautiful. 

Angel

Angel with the broken wing,
Was the radiance of heaven itself
Merely the flickering of a fluorescent bulb,
A tarnished halo dimly reflected
In some long forgotten dream?

I loved a mirage.

A room of mirrors - is this the truth
Or another twisted image
Unknowable
Somehow beyond my reach
And fading further away.

Lost in the dark
With faded photographs
And crumbling memories

I want my angel back.

Be Still, Little One

Be still, little one.

Let the busyness wash past you

Like the breeze that caresses your skin.

The world may be rushing onward;

Little one, be still.

Look down - did you notice

The weed poking up through the ground,

Its delicate leaves unfurled

Toward the early morning light.

Did you forget

To hold a dewdrop on your finger

And see the world a little better

In its crystalline reflection,

To feel each breath rush inside you

And disperse with a prayer.

Look up - did you notice

How each leaf dances,

The sunlight refracting

Through a thousand glittering emeralds.

Did you forget

To hear the humming bees

And know yourself a little better,

To close your eyes and listen

To the heartbeat all around you

And the silence.

Be still, little one.

Let the busyness wash past you

Like the gentle water flowing.

The world may be rushing onward;

Little one, be still.

On Grief

i.
and suddenly, gone.

ii.
disorientation, dissolving
into a vague impression
of exhaustion.

iii.
what is this world
where mothers die.

Sometimes the Silence

Sometimes the silence is deafening.

Oppressive weight crushing my chest

Of words that can’t be said

And tears that can’t be cried

The ache of all that should not be

The thieving tide, unpredictable,

Turning, seeping away

Beyond my reach. 

Sometimes the silence is deafening. 

Sometimes the silence is holy. 

Seeping into every corner of my being,

Sacred and undefinable,

Gently bidding me to linger still

Where presence is a gift,

And all that is required.

Sometimes the ache is right and good

And eternity bends close. 

Sometimes the silence is holy. 

30, Like Me

Dusty feet
Tramping eagerly along
Ancient roads
To the river where his
Cousin waits
When it was time to begin
He was 30
Like me.

Long days
Reaching out to hurting
Broken lives
So rarely having just one
Quiet moment
When he healed and taught them
He was 30
Like me.

Reach out your hand
Pharisees start grumbling
Name calling
Try to trap him, stop him
Brood of vipers
When he defied the system
He was 30
Like me.

Burning bright
Just a few short years till he would
Pay the price
Giving everything he had
For our life
When he started on that road
He was 30
Like me.

Eternal
God himself incarnate
Beyond me
But somehow he was like me
He knew
This many days on this old planet
He was 30
Like me.

Goodbye Abbotsford

Goodbye Abbotsford,

Your sprawling suburbs and dirty streets

where business is the name of the game

and the poor and homeless are the losers. 

Goodbye Abbotsford,

A church on every street corner

yet violence and gangs increase

and it’s dangerous to walk at night. 

Goodbye Abbotsford,

I will not miss

your fake smiles and insubstantiated promises 

that “we will hang out someday”.

You liked that I was of use to you

then turned your shoulder 

during the darkest days of my life.

I was invisible. 

Goodbye Abbotsford,

There was a tiny patch of garden 

I loved 

A friend

or two

whose smiles were real. 

I’ll miss them. 

I pray to God

This is goodbye to those who hurt me

Goodbye 

to dysfunctional ways of thinking

and living

Goodbye 

to being a hollow shell

in the busy, apathetic chaos. 

Goodbye Abbotsford,

I am so very ready to go. 

I’m done. 

It is time

For a new chapter. 

But for some reason

I’m still crying.  

Moment

Hold the moment precious in your hand,
then drop it like a grain of sand
into the vast ocean of time.

Inside My Mind

Inside my mind it's raining.
Storm winds mocking sight
That says the sun is shining.
Chaos reaches out
To stain the flowers,
Blot the colours from the sky.
An all-consuming blight,
Constrained by Handel's symmetry
And rhythmic footsteps on the road.
I hold the darkness tight inside,
Afraid to poison all
That's left of good.

Children of the Wind and Sky

Children of the wind and sky,
Dancing across the fields,
Hair blowing in the breeze,
Swept back from shining eyes
And dazzling smiles.

Children of the water and waves,
Laughter bubbling, brimming over,
Flinging recklessly into my arms,
Giggling, wriggling, fleeing,
Returning with arms open wide.

Children of the sea and sky,
Wild, chaotic beauty
Uncontainable within my arms;
Infectious delight of life itself
Frees my heart to soar with theirs.

Brutus

Dark eyes look in mine for the last time
As the knife slices between my ribs.

Pain explodes.
Lifeblood oozes out of me
Staining everything red.
I can't look away.

Where was Laocoon's warning?
I accepted your gift without question,
Heedless of Cassandra's cries
Until—too late—
The charade was over
And Troy began to burn.

You got what you wanted,
And you're finished with me;
Thrown to the floor with Tamar.
What you called love was only a delusion.

There was no kiss
When you sold me for thirty pieces of silver;

Instead, you said your farewell
With a twist of the blade
And a kick in the gut.

Invisible

As a young mother I confess that I'm
Finding that it's a very lonely time
I always kept saying that I would be fine
But actually I feel
Invisible.

There are lots of great people I see day by day
Who live in our home, though they're sometimes away
There are chances to chat or stay up playing games
So why do I feel
Invisible?

I still have friends, I know that I do
But they're busy, and many live far away too
And my chances to get out of the house are so few
So I just feel
Invisible.

I keep going online as the internet gave
Social media "likes" for the attention I crave
But the high is illusive and soon fades away
In the end I feel
Invisible.

And the worst of it is that I don't understand
Why each passing smile, complement, helping hand
Are just swallowed up in an instant and
Once again I feel
Invisible.

Do You Mind?

We've been trained and been drilled,
learned our lesson so well:
the tenets upon which our culture stands—
keep your hands off.
Every person's an island,
so mind your own business.

But if our own business is all we mind,
everyone else is left behind.
How can we be so blind
to the lonely and hurting,
averting our eyes
from each sight that implies
we may not be quite as self-sufficient
as we want to believe.
We deceive ourselves,
ignoring those who don't have a voice,
who can't make the choice
to cry for help.

When we're so busy with our own business
we don't even notice
when people disappear right from under our noses.
And they're gone,
and they know they were right all along
because nothing really changes.
Relationship was just an illusion.
A delusion
that someone might actually care
if I'm even there.

But they care.
At least, they think they do—
they're trying to,
but how can someone really know it's true
when all you're given are post-it notes
slipped from prison cell to prison cell
with meaningless platitudes
and out of context Bible verses.

We know there should be so much more
than our poor attempts
at reaching beyond the wall we've built
to hide ourselves from discomfort.
While handshakes are nice and all
they tend to fall
a little short
when you are drowning.

How can we even show that we care more
when we're trained to ignore
those we pass on the street
all the strangers we meet
that we greet
and forget.

Good wishes without substance are not very appealing,
and caring isn't just a feeling.
But no one will ever know its there
if we won't dare
to step out of our little box
into the mess of others' lives.

So would you mind
if we could mind
just a little more than we do,
and find
perhaps
we are the lonely and hurting ones
too.

Sacrament

Cheerio off the nursery floor.
Holy sacrament.
Placed into cupped hands—
Take.
Eat.
His body given for you.

And the wine now turned to water
Poured out
From the sippy cup that leaks.
Drink it, mommy.

A sacred moment—
Enshrined in the holy of holies
Behind plexiglas windows.
Has anyone been missed?

Cheerio off the nursery floor.
Holy sacrament.

Reflection

I am a lousy Christian.

I'm supposed to be some sort of new creation, someone who is different,
someone who is being transformed—
but I look in the mirror
and I see
me.

Tired. Dirty. Disgusted.
Knowing that my reflection
is not supposed to be like this.

I am ungrateful.
I complain and complain even though I know
That I am so privileged—to stay home with my children,
to write and play music and have a garden,
that I have family and friends who love me—
but I feel lonely and worn out and—
dare I admit it?
caged.

I am addicted to approval.
I need to be achieving things, need to be accomplishing things
so that people will look at me and be impressed—
that they will praise me and compliment me
and tell me how gifted I am.

I am a liar.
I ignore and fudge the truth
in the name of keeping the peace
and keeping people happy,
bending over backwards
so that I never receive someone's disapproval.

There is unforgiveness in my heart.
I hold it tight—against those who have hurt me—
against those who have hurt my family.
My heart will not accept them—does not want to welcome them—
does not want to be hurt again.

I am a coward.
I hide in myself, ignoring the little voice
that tells me what I should be doing,
because it makes me feel uncomfortable.
I don't speak when I know I should,
Letting unkind words and injustice continue
even though I see it and know it is wrong.

I am a lousy Christian.
I say that I follow Jesus,
but then go about my day—
too lazy to try harder and too proud to surrender,
but still not ready
to resign myself to the reflection
and pull up my chair to the table of the hypocrites.

Marbles

Clacking marbles, that's all we are—
Apathetic, bouncing off each other,
Passing by without a care or even waving.
Isolated, that's what we are—
Tombed in splendid homes with gates and shutters,
All-consumed with our own comfort,
Living in excess with bloody footprints
In our wake from those dehumanized for profit.
Selfishness concealed by friendly smiles and Sunday manners
Making us look good without the inconvenience of caring.

Victims of our fear, our walls become our prisons.
Sanitized to death, we lose our souls.

Could there be hope for more than this?
Our lives could grow together, intertwined
More closely than a twisting vine; our hearts
May choose to love—
Unswerving, wildly, recklessly,
Not bound by fear, but leaping headlong into life
In all its broken, dirty, pain-filled glory as
These grapes are crushed together—can't you see?
You were not made to be a clacking marble.

While It Was Still Dark

She knew what hopelessness was like
But this time somehow it was worse
For she knew love and hope and peace
Then watched as senseless violence burned
Her hope and future into ash
The one she loved, teacher and friend
Tortured and murdered ruthlessly
The eyes that saw her see no more
The hands that touched and healed the sick
Now bloodied, mutilated, dead
Despair and fear now fill her heart
As friends disperse, flee for their lives
And yet she cannot stay away
Her heart still yearns for what is lost
She slips away, out of the city
While it was still dark.

With heavy heart she seeks the tomb
No hopes or plans in mind except
To be close to the one she loved
To care for him one final time
She weeps and walks her lonely road
Believing that this is the end
But soon she'll find the tomb unbarred
Her fear and sorrow overwhelmed
Engulfed by wonder beyond hope
Before her eyes he stands alive—
But she is still upon the road
In grief and darkness and despair
Continues faithful step by step
To where her heart at last will know
The miracle already happened
While it was still dark.

Blackout Poetry

I tried my hand at blackout poetry for the first time last night, along with a couple friends. We each started with the same page of text, and it was interesting to see how different each of our finished poems were, both visually and in the words we chose to use.

I've included a photo of my completed poem. If you find it hard to read it in the photo, here is the text:

I remember
I
Might
Pass between
The sadness and the silence
Into the freedom beyond
The moonlight.

Star

There is only one star tonight.
Clouds cover the sky
Heavy and dark
Affording only the smallest glimpses
Into the starlit sky beyond
And then
The pollution of a hundred thousand
Man-made lights
Floods the darkness with an unnatural glow
A haze of obscurity
Bringing neither clarity nor comfort
Drowning out
Any companion that may be found.
Wait
There is a second star
Peering through the haze
And there, another
Or perhaps the clouds
Shifted
Just a little.
There are three stars tonight.