you sleep so sweetly
in the warm afternoon sun
what do you dream of?
NaPoWriMo Day 22! I guess I’m in haiku mode. I wrote this and then realized it was a haiku afterwards. Now I’m afraid I must wake the sleeping beauty or she will not want to go to bed at the appropriate bedtime.
this morning we climbed
inside a cloud, mist rising
from the chasm below
though the mermaids’ song is sweet and enchanting,
we must not follow, our hands must be bound tight
to the ship, and the rope burns round our wrists
and there may come a time when we must visit
the dark underworld to find wisdom
we must cross the river Styx,
but we must not stay
we must blind the fearsome Cyclops
in our path, and face down
the six-headed serpent
we’re all just trying to navigate
the long journey home.
i’ve heard it said
refusing to forgive
is like swallowing poison
for the other person to die
and yet, if we’re honest
isn’t something we feel like doing
i mean, i remember
all the ways people have failed me
and when, and i’m ready
to bring it up
at just the right moment
i don’t think corrie ten boom
felt like forgiving either
after years in a nazi death camp
when she met her captor face-to-face
and he asked
sister, can you forgive me?
but she reached out,
grasped his hand in hers
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/bamboo-adventure/3530133273/”>Richard.Asia</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>
did you know
your first birthday
marked my one year anniversary
as a superhero?
that’s right, i’m now a mother
and though i’d always wished
for a superpower like flight
or better yet
the ability to move things with my mind
i’ll take the powers of pregnancy and birth
the ability to wipe away your tears
and hold you for hours
the power to love you
with all i am
am yet to be
April in Portland
rain, wind, sun, hail, sun, more rain
you are such a tease
lost in the deep dark
of this forest, the children wander
cold, hungry, scared
their cell phones don’t work here
they search their memories
is it the north, or the south
side of trees that moss grows on
they know, from watching man vs. wild
that they should try to find water
but all they hear are the chirps of birds
a black-tailed deer darts across their path
they chase after it, hoping
and then they see the cottage
her cottage, the one
made of candy.
photo credit: VinothChandar via photopin cc
I remember the sun
setting over the deep blue Pacific,
burnt orange and red hues
illuminating the palm-tree-lined sky.
I remember the feeling
of sand between my toes,
the humid tropical air,
the weightlessness of my body
floating in salt water,
and the sharp coral cutting
I remember us together
watching turtles bob back and forth
amidst the waves, as if time
did not exist.
When God lights you up,
pray big prayers.
Imagine what God can do,
as He illuminates the darkness
through your life.
God and His kingdom are here
and they’re breaking in.
This is a found poem, based on my notes from a sermon podcast I listened to this morning by Imago Dei’s Rick McKinley. I opened my journal to start working on today’s poem, and then I saw these notes and it seemed that the poem had written itself!
Who is the me that writes? (A Noir-ish Poem for Day 9)
The rain is falling oh so fast
and it feels like time is slipping past
‘cuz my reflection in the looking glass
who is the me that writes these words?
a mother, daughter, wife
& are you friend or foe?
i never know
who to trust on the roads of life
beware the ides of march, they say
but what of april late?
who knows what chaos will ensue
when we’re driven to create