the truth

I would love to get it,
to capture it with this pencil,
cage it on this paper,
but it is elusive,
and I will keep hunting...

a wood pile

To Write A Poem

To write a poem,
I must first sing.
I must sing with the rising sun,
The first light of day,
And sing with the morning breezes,
Sing with the birds,
And the busyness of my neighbors.
I must sing with children playing,
And with the barking dogs,
With the world as it rotates,
Through the day,
With the hopes and dreams of humanity.
I must sing as families,
Come home together and eat dinner,
And sing with the setting sun,
And sing with the stars and moon,
And with the sleeping.
I must sing,
To find a poem.

after the Christmas storm

The Child Has Grown

The child has grown,
The man has traveled on,
The suffering God,
   has been taken down from the cross,
The dead has risen,
   and the tomb is empty.

The grove is silent,
The temple still.

He is not standing still,
He moves faster than light,
Comprehending the universe,
Hearing a child's prayer.

He bids us to follow.

We Understand

We want to be home for Christmas,
By the tree drinking wassail and eggnog,
Eating candy canes and fruitcake
Laughing with our family.

We want to be children again,
Waiting for Santa Claus
Immersed in magic again.

And there is magic still,
The kind we'll never outgrow,
Because now we understand,
So much more.

We understand the innkeeper,
Because we've been busy,
And overwhelmed before.

I understand Joseph,
Because I am a father,
And have watched the miracle of birth.

Jean understands Mary,
Because she has been great with child,
to be born of covenant and promise.

We understand the shepherds,
Because we have seen miracles,
And we want to run and see.

We understand the angels,
Because we too want to sing:
"Peace on earth, good will to men."

We understand the magi,
As we seek the King,
Carrying a sacred gift.

Tonight, this Christmas Eve,
We understand,
Loved and loving,
Blessed and blessing.

Merry Christmas.

Letting Go

Letting go,
I hold more.
My open hands
Hold more,
My open eyes
See more,
My open ears
Hear more,
My open mind
Knows more,
My open heart
Loves more
Of this day,
Loves life,
Loves you.

winter flowers

solstice in horizontal

A Christmas Prayer

Father,
I put down the string of lights
That I hope will work,
To thank thee.

Thou hast already decorated our home
With sun, moon, and  stars,
With flowers and leaves.

Thou hast sent birds singing
Simple, wild carols,
A joy to our hearts.

Thou hast provided a feast,
Our daily bread,
And enough to share.

And thous hast given
The greatest gift
Wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Father,
Wilt thou receive my gift,
Humbly wrapped, already broken?
My heart, as taught thy Son,
My Savior, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

laden

a tree of life

A Winter Wonderland (in Sage and Cedar)

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

It's all here, isn't it?

a bit of garland

Open the Door

Open the door,
Let the air in,
Let the sunlight in,
Let the visitor in.

Or, open the door,
And step out,
Into the open air,
Into the sunlight,
Into the community.

Open the door.

A Promise Waiting for Spring

It's Not Perfect

It's not perfect,
this patchwork of dreams,
and regrets sewn together,
with years of work,
and forgetting,
family and friends,
beneath the sky...
with dirt on my hands,
and seeds in the dirt,
waiting for water,
and a little care.
It's not perfect
this patchwork of faith,
and doubts stitched together,
with sleepless nights,
howling at the moon,
waiting for angels,
and the rising sun...
as our kids go to school,
and then into the world,
we created for them,
where are our pillows,
as we wait for leaves to change?
It's not perfect,
this patchwork of life
and hopes sewn together,
holding hands as we walk,
slowly on the pathway,
waiting for another day,
beneath this sky,
upon this Earth...
mud on our shoes.

for the season

a memory of a glass bottomed boat

colonies

just a memory of poppies in Eureka

lights of the season

creativity vrs skill

My 4 year old grandson and I were playing with Playdough this morning.  We each did the same thing.  My creations were in blue, his were orange.  You will note that I may have more skill, but not more creativity.