Category Archives: Poetry

The Stairs

Is it the same
the traveling up
as the journey down?
The burden’s heavy either way.

The load seems weighty
as I march up.
But with sudden lumbering
the burden shifts
and the path once clear
is now unseen,
This step in faith
as I descend
from glory heights
to furnace room.

This path’s dug deep
the tread worn thin
so familiar this routine
of go between.
To take one load and then return…
what consequence would fare
to never use the stair?

 

My friends, Beth and her husband, were doing some remodeling and redid the staircase to their basement.  She sent me pictures of the progress and some of the old steps that had become very deeply worn through the years of use.  It made me think of my grandmother who always did her wash in her basement.  I thought about the loads of laundry she must have done in her many years and began to think about carrying laundry up and down stairs.  For some reason this made me think about the ups and downs in our  journey through life.  I wonder if we can live mature lives if we live only within our mountaintop experiences?  It seems we have to be able to appreciate it all, the upper floors and the basements.  What would it cost us to live without one or the other?  Who would we really be without our basements or without our upper floors?

(Above photo from my friend, Elizabeth Degallier.  Thank you, Beth.)

The Winter Crow

No soul can bear
the cold for length
So fly you crow
of winter.
The howling north wind
changing south
to bring the whispered
spring.
We ache to hear
the silenced song
of brook and bird
and bee,
So fly you
crow of winter
with your bracken
and your bones

April 13, 2018 and we are due for another snow storm?  I am so lonely for spring.  I want get out in the sunshine and dig in dirt.  My eyes need to see some green and tulip colors, and my ears could use a few bird songs.

And I the Words

From night’s repose
I steal awake
To words unspoken
Simply read.
Questions, answers.
Life ever circling,
With eyes shut
And prayer’s unsaid.
At morning’s whisper,
I rise and find
The author
Is present
And I the words.

This season of life has been so full of life. To simplify it down to just one emotion, would be unfair to the others. But Lent, I think, needs to be a season of emotion. To contemplate the sorrow, the pain, the joy without embracing those same identities within myself, well, it feels hypocritical.

Many days, it appears as though God is so far away. But one evening as I was reading my devotion, I was introduced to the Examen. It is a reflective prayer style where one looks back on the day and looks for where they experienced the presence of Jesus. This has been a life changing way I look at my own spirituality as it is so easy to look only at right now and exclaim, “God! Where are you?” And while that is completely acceptable, if I but take the time to look… he is here. And he was there.

The next morning as we rushed to church, late as usual, I was holding one child on my hip as the other walked ahead of me and it was completely silent. Not just my children, which is a miracle in and of itself, but the wind, the birds, the leafless trees, the neighborhood dogs. All quiet. And in that moment, I simply said, “You are here, aren’t you?”

The Gentle East Wind

When the gentle east wind blows

heavy with dew

on the remnants of fall

creating the crystals

left from the fog.

The seed pods

the acorns and pinecones,

the cedar berries

and timothy grass

the leaves and pine bows

are tatted with ice.

Edging the land, so

we wake to a wonder

of a world that is silent.

A symphony so lucent

that was built in the night.

IMG_4785.JPG
Morning Frost Photo by Katie Faul

Sometimes all we need is a good night’s sleep for a thought to crystalize and become complete.  We just need that space and quiet, for our mind to rest, so things can sort themselves out.  That pause for a gentle breath, in the midst of life.

When I shared this poem with my daughter, Katie, she noted that this “was built in the night”.  So many things of beauty are created or can only be seen in the darkness of night.  Certainly the moon, the milky way, the fireflies, and moonflowers, to name a few.  Thinking of these things of beauty makes me wonder what is going on inside me during “dark nights”.  Maybe we could be gentler with ourselves if we think of the hoar frost.  Maybe the quietness and silence during those times wouldn’t be so fear-filled if we trusted that something beautiful and sacred is being created.