harvest moon

it's coming up yonder
up slow through the pine
it's glowing and beaming
i wish it were mine
it's shining its light
over lovers and liars
it's steady and peaceful
whatever transpires
it's big and it's solid
though so far up high
my insides go soft
as i gaze to the sky
it's wrapping the world
in its blanket of glow
as it reflects sun's glory
i'm reminded i know
it's certain as tides
coming in going out
all bowing to One
in control beyond doubt
it's coming up yonder
bringing hope in its wake
as i lay my head down
such comfort i take

telescoping

down the lane
the tree-lined lane
the future comes
at varying speeds
if i run it comes
quickly as a fox
if i stroll it comes
quickly as a fox
i cannot stop it
as the trees whiz by
it comes regardless
qué será será
and i
i
lonely little i
i must choose
if my steps are slow
or if i run to meet it
sometimes i look left
but i cannot leave
sometimes i glimpse
the sun shining through
i must look straight
face my fears
with hope
down the lane
the tree-lined lane

twilight in the park

the light grows dim
it's almost dark
the people all
have left the park

so i am left
alone at last
to face the truth
my time has past

you did not come
your seat is cold
my youthful dreams
have now grown old

i've loved and lost
and hoped in vain
that you would come
around again

the eleventh hour
is drawing nigh
perhaps it's time
to say goodbye

these human eyes
but see in part
perhaps those words
confused my heart

if you're still there
beyond my sight
come quickly love
before the night

then teach me how
to trust anew
that all He said
will yet come true

sarah

it's no use i'm afraid
the time is long past
those dreams deep inside
won't come true at last

i laugh yes i know
it may also be wrong
but you haven't been
in my shoes for this long

that day still burns bright
He promised yes He did
that these dried-up arms
would soon bear a kid

at first i thought maybe
a miracle would come
but days turned to years
and still not a son

i'm not proud of the time
i took over control
that plan b still taunts me
and eats at my soul

i don't know how he does it
that's a man i suppose
his eyes still light up
the faith in him glows

how can You still use me
this shriveled-up wreck
to end in such failure
is this worth my trek?

if You are who You say
here's my last bleeding cry
make good on Your promise
before my last breath i sigh

the monster behind door number 3

is there a moment in every life when they
face the monster that sucks the blood that
pumps through their veins and they realize
that this is it this is what will finally do me
in and if there is a moment is it fleeting or
subconscious or do some lives see the end
in all its gory monstrousness and wake up
sweating to the realization that my days are
numbered
and so what do i do now do i bury my head
back in the sand and hope this epiphany was
merely indigestion or do i run pack my bags
and really live for the few years months hours
that remain and how do i tally up the past so
it makes sense in light of how close this thing
lurks
does He give other options when the person
opens door number 3 and finds the monster
can they choose door number 1 or maybe 10
and does it really matter anyway since all
will come to the monster's door someday but
what is really frightening is how i am feeling so
cowardly

existential crisis?

i'm too young to die
i'm too old to live
the wheels are still turning
i've naught left to give

my heart is so full
as i sit here alone
my friends have been many
i'm still on my own

i've built such great castles
but none that are seen
dreamt dreams beyond counting
not sure what they mean

what's left as i ponder
how fleeting life is
isn't held in a hand
or won through a quiz

i may not have mattered
in the grand scheme of things
still this one truth i know
He's worth all life brings

adrift

i rise and walk through dusty days
the heat shimmers off the streets
i lay down my head when day is done
but find no rest between the sheets
days slip by like grains of sand
in an hourglass grown obscure
once i thought a hope was coming
now i think i'm not so sure
i used to tell my wandering feet
faerie tales of a home to come
now my steps seem automated
on a path that's troublesome
i believed i could face anything
because He asked it of me
how little i knew back then
how debilitating nothing can be
i'm still learning how to bear it
this cross like Éowyn a cage
but some nights the glassy expanse
seems too great for courage
don't give in to the emptiness
i whisper as the boat rocks slow
His love never failed me yet
keep waiting for the wind to blow

borrowed time

it's relentless the march that bows to no man
that stops for no woman no matter how she
pleads and as the Pleiades fall on yet another
year gone by i think of how near we sometimes
come to the hourglass running out perhaps
daily the possibility passes us by and we
oblivious to death's soft breath keep laughing
and weeping and arguing until we can no
longer unless sometimes the nearness is
thrust upon us through a moment a cut cord
a machine part that should have failed sending
us hurtling into forever and we pause and i
pause
realize i'm living on borrowed time that i
do not own and as with anything borrowed
i must take good care for i must return it
give an answer for its use even if i can't
quite seem to figure out the purpose in this
hour day year life i must still live knowing
each breath well each breath could be my
last and i don't decide when so i must take
care trust that He who does know has a plan
beyond my railings wanderings longings
this too shall pass but i shall never pass
out of His sovereign relentless arms of love

a jade's trick

he, a friend, once said, perhaps
implored, "don't get jaded," and
i, though far away, have never
forgotten, for long anyway, those
simple words, heartfelt petitions,
since as an idealist, God knows
i've tried not to be, i'm always
swinging, with a rope but tenuous,
at the edge of clarion call, hopeful,
and catastrophe, a run into the
night, but that swinging, taut and
expectant, is far from jaded, coming
from the old word jade, a bitter woman
or a worn-out horse, both, incidentally,
ill-used, and that swinging, that's hope,
but jaded is lost, and i thank that
friend for his words, faithful wounds,
that left a mark, a memory scar,
to remind me, who he knew better
than i knew myself at that time,
so long ago, that this world eats,
devours, the dreamers, romantics,
passionate visionaries, not by dark
dungeons, cages of disuse, but by
apathy, disillusionment, the dearth
left when despair, that persuasive
fiend, stops hope from swinging,
from pauses, commas leading on,
to ends, full stops with nothing after.

when we wake up

dear world going crazy,
i'm standing on a street corner watching
you run by and i'm starting to get a
little dizzy as i see the flashes of guns
in malls and pearly whites that spew
lies and sometimes i'm not sure who
to believe and honestly it's closer
than the dead lying on a french
street it's the friends who choose
ignorance and hate or just simply
fear and turning away from love
and don't i know about running
because i am an expert after all
when the night closes in i find it
easier to just slip away but i'm
learning that when it's all going
crazy you need to know where
to turn and that means standing
my ground for the love i believe
in and the Hope that never changes
so as you are spinning faster and
faster please see me standing by
and know i'm not going anywhere
even if i'm all alone on this spot
i believe that in the end the Truth
will still win and when you've
come to the end of your insanity
give up and give in to Him.
love, the wandering gypsy

the long river

i'm batting at some shadows
these mites before my eye
a glimpse comes here and there
not clear although i try

my words are calm and level
i dance carefully away
from the memories that haunt
success: the world at bay

when the sun is at its zenith
i congratulate myself
believing things unspoken
are safely on the shelf

my feeling's dead and buried
rest in peace i tell the past
those words that hung between us
were never meant to last

i casually brush at nothing
that's bothering my cheek
naturally in denial
of those things we do not speak

the One and Only

see there's this story in the Good Book you know
maybe you've even heard how it goes when this
prophet well he'd just challenged these bad dudes
to a sacrifice duel the one where if your gods are real
then you don't need a match and the dudes cried
and cried but no fire came then the prophet poured
it on and on and on and the wet sacrifice went up
like a barbecue on the fourth so he should be feeling
pretty high and then the wicked queen not the faerie
tale one but even worse because she was real and
nasty she sends the prophet a text telling him it's
over and she's gunning for him and he flips and
runs to the desert yep same prophet that just saw a
bull en flambe he runs like a scared doggy and he
says to the Big Guy yep same Guy that roasted the
offering he says it's over i'm stuck and You might
as well take me Home because after all she's coming
for me and i guess he kinda forgot as we all do Who
he was talking to 'cause it's easy in our world to see
the bad guys and forget and so the prophet sleeps and
gets angel dinners twice and then super strength to
hike to a meeting at a desert mountain and first comes
hurricane then comes earthquake then comes fire but
the Big Guy is silent until a quiet breeze and the
prophet knows this is it and he hears the question by
the One and Only who already knows the answer
and so he's honest about how sucky life is and how
he's pretty sure no one can get him out and it's all
just not fair and then he hears what he needs to hear
about what to do and how he's not alone but really
what all that 40+ days and the breeze coming up
tenderly has been is a reminder that even when i'm
a forgetful wimp He cares and hears and the only safe
place is trusting in the One and Only no matter what

homecoming

like an old song sweetly sung
with a melancholy air
i remember each worn note
yet the tune seems changed
finding loved ones have grown
though their voices are familiar
dearly missed i trace the faces
aware that now i miss others too
same roads same desk same stores
lives running every direction
same bright blue sky and blazing sun
but my world has expanded
home is comforting and comfortable
i should not think of what it lacks
distant streets colored houses lining canals
silent northern forests whispering of winter
home is friendly and familiar
though some friends are far away
i'll bow and count my blessings
with joy and a tear in my eye

once in a strawberry moon

a strawberry moon
in a midsommar sky
watching the world
as it slowly speeds by

o'er sand dunes in Cairo
down quaint Danish streets
it's always exciting
the people one meets

from old friends to new ones
i pass through the crowd
and find now the whispers
are not quite as loud

the places are many
my poor feet have been
but many more wait
by my wide eyes unseen

yet under this moon
while the wide world i roam
my heart can't seem to find
that one place they call home

mine eyes have seen

here's hope for sale
in a bucket of lost dreams
no expiration date
costs but a song
worth your lifeblood
and it never gets old or worn out

here's hope for sale
when your way's lost again
the night grows darker
hope shines bright as day
batteries included no wires
and they never burn out

here's hope for sale
though eyes dim and feet falter
its strength renews with the dawn
when all ends and you give your last breath
cash in on your purchase
it's guaranteed gold

down to the dregs

i sip
the aroma
filling my senses
i'm walking
down sleepy
sunbaked streets
white houses
beside a lazy
blue sea
sidewalk cafes
hola guapa
and siestas
i'm wandering
down trails
dappled with sunlight
up hills above
medieval towns
trams and vines
busy crowded streets
i'm laughing
at a table
with friends
talking of things
here and far away
sipping together
as lives are joined
i close my eyes
i sip again
so many memories
one sweet drink

along the way

when the skies clear i'll see
where i'm going
what i'll be
perhaps along the way i'll find
something different
than in my mind
i've tread enough varied trails
to know His will
is what prevails
sometimes the end i'm longing for
isn't what He
has in store
so i'm learning once again to be still
open my eyes
let Him fill
i've cried out a million times for my heart
He moves again
grace to impart
when my eyes dry and i look up
the lives around
fill my cup
my heart to Him is an open book
i'll bow again
let Him look
when the skies clear i'll see
who it is
i will be

that spot (heb 12)

when i come to the end of myself i hope to find a
place like this where peace is reigning and i can
rest safe in the knowledge that i am not the end but
He who promised will discipline burn out the dross
and someday bring forth the gold reminding me that
i chose this yes i chose i the gypsy He knew He
knows that deep down i long for the place of peace
the place of rest where He alone matters so as the
song goes here i am again in that spot take me back
tonight i am the prodigal wandering in my heart as
if i could find a way to run from the pain run from
the very fire that purifies me when He calls me back
oh so patiently and i am down on my knees crying
for the only touch that restores though i am not there
yet i hope i find that place the spot where i am in
His perfect peace and i know that this world has no
hold on me and i give up holding out and hold up
my hands and the end of my story is in glory...

burying the dead

the field looks like an old blonde man's head
broken brown grasses mixed with unrelenting frost
except where the blood colors it crimson
sometimes the jobs we must do
suck our soul's joys
like burying the dead
someone must do it
no matter how unpleasant
i don't suppose as he walks that field of heartache
his heart finds no joy as another lifeless face
a face that used to laugh and love
stares up at him and he thinks of loss
how do i walk through the valley
the valley of the shadow of death
creative roles lying lifeless in the dust
loneliness my dear friend
while i put shovel to hard ground
how to lay down it being about me at all
serve another's legacy
there may come a day when the burial is done
when my poor attitude is finally laid to rest
and He makes a way where there seems none
so today i cry again and shoulder my burden
the view ahead is hoary
Thank God i do not walk alone

on windy plains

"storm's coming," he said
to the dark western sky
and saw her head nod
from the corner of his eye
"might be a big one,
though i've seen them all.
one never can tell
on the eve of each fall."
he thought how her hair
danced in the wind
he thought of its feel
and quietly grinned.
"remember that one time,"
he mused out aloud,
"when we heard the thunder
and saw that one cloud?
how the funnel formed fast
right down to the ground
and you looked at me
with nothing around?
we cowered in that ditch
arms clasped round and tight
until the storm cleared,
my what a fright!"
he paused for a moment
then finally turned
to the red rocking chair
as the setting sun burned.
half-expecting a speech
she never lacked words
but the chair just rocked on
all he heard were the birds.
"storm's coming," he whispered
as a tears stained his cheek
"you're not here to hold
and i'm growing weak."

on nights like this

it's time to sleep the morning comes
the moon is full and day is done
but i'm awake and not afraid
yet sad and joyful all the same
the lives we intertwine arrest
my thoughts and dreams and cares
i long to walk in peaceful steps
i long for you to bear me no ill
to forgive is but a word away
and yet perhaps i'll never hear
the words to bring us home
through many days down many paths
we walk and part and join
sometimes the strength to meet again
cannot be found inside our hearts
the scent of charcoal fills the night
acrid hungry smell of death
in this world caving in to the end
what kills can bring us life again
if you would meet me at the door
i'd meet you with no swords
starting over we could rise up new
like the day that dawns in hours

it's time to sleep and so i'll go
perhaps your slight is apathy
but should you long to stem the dark
i'd join you in that fight
i'm here we'll hold the light
and never say goodnight

reno'd rust buckets

one by one they line the buildings
bonnets turned out and boots in
between their timeless frames
fragile humans walking, laughing
talking, smoking, careless unaware
a turn of the key
a push of the lever
potential danger is close by
the street is their domain
for now they bide their time
tribute to a time when fossil fuels reigned
near enough to touch they sit
built to outlast the hands that take pictures
built to survive wind and rain
built to be restored by loving hands
yet they are not the immortals
these classic cars gloriously restored
cannot hold a candle to the weak humans
all is not as it seems

shards of glory

shard, a noun, related to the word shear, to cut off when a verb or, when
shear, a noun, a strain in the structure of a substance produced by pressure,
when its layers are laterally shifted in relation to each another
shifted, broken, many pieces jumbled
on this the eve of remembering my first breath
i'm awed
amazed by glory
some memories in the mosaic
stained glass of my life
sparkle, undimmed
others cut, leave me breathless
still bleeding
yet i step back, take a walk in the Son's light
see that without Him it's senseless
but with glory the shards
coming together
catching His light
are beautiful because
He is beauty
so i can laugh in the midst of pain
i can rejoice in my Maker tomorrow
He holds my hopes in His hands
one day these shards, produced by pressures
will melt together in transparent loveliness and
glory, a noun, high renown or honor won, a halo worn in heaven
magnificence humbly received now offered back to the Author if it all

on the familiar road

where have you been?
don't you understand?
we thought
see, he was unlike anyone
we mean, there have been teachers before
but he was special
we thought
miracles
not just those but also his words
burning inside
we thought
as if every dream in our hearts
were finally coming true
our day had come
we thought
all those broken places would be
worth it somehow
all would be made new
we thought
but we were wrong
in one tragic moment
everything
we thought
changed
and he died
our hopes died
what we thought
died
but now
the whispers say something new
we don't know what to think
what are you saying
could that all be true
that all is made new
we don't know what to think
but our hearts are burning
stay
break the bread
we think we need you
can you be here yet gone?
can You just be?

weary days

one less hour of my life
sucked away,
      as the count said to Westley
so how is that saving me anything?
the sand's already running through
my clenched fists
      the hourglass beyond repair
the faces around me behind windshields
lined with smiles that don't quite reach
from lash to lash
and i wonder what i'm saving
      less, rest, less, dreams
the sun rises regardless of the race
regardless of the hands that try to grasp it
i measure time but is it really measuring me?
it marches relentlessly
days stuffed full of doing, busy
     are those hours i want back?
"my heart is aging i can tell,"
as Rich sings my heartstrings
let these burdened days become wings
let me learn again how to sing
though hard pressed on every side
let me find a way to say
    "as You wish"

baby steps again

what's the lesson you're learning today
what's the part that you're given to play
when everyone's gone
and you're standing alone
what are you going to say?

how do you stay on your feet
how do you make each end meet
when all the balls fall
and there's no one to call
can you keep off of the street?

maybe it's blessed that you see
when your strength isn't all it need be
you come to the end
all you need is a friend
who can come to your rescue quickly.

His grace is sufficient today
is the one thing i'm learning to pray
when stress fills my cup
and i want to give up
i'm finding the strength to obey.

what's the end to this story i'm writing
what's the end to this battle i'm fighting
if i know Who wins
and He's conquered my sins
then my dreams of the future are bright'ning. 

Valentine's Part 2

theme: breakup

i woke up this morning with you
in my head and thought to
call to hear your voice and
in the delicious warmth then
came the icy thought
that stopped my heart
no more
you will not call nor will i
for we are no longer
in a moment the small word
three letters
fell
and carried with it
all the hopes and
dreams of our future so it is
no more
and painfully true comes this
thought that you
who i loved
chose to walk away
so i will stay alone
in this sunny room while the
chill grips my heart
until i think of you
no more

Valentine's Part 1

(this 14 February i decided to pull some poems from the archives. the first was written over 5 years ago and the 2nd as part of an assignment--not related to anything i was going through at the time. i thought as i re-read them they both fit on this day to celebrate romantic love. enjoy)

if this is love
the smiles the laughs
the way you talk about your past
the memories i never shared

if this is love
the way you spin me close
your words weaving spells
those eyes that sparkle

if this is love
comfortably near you
a mind that reads mine
dreams trembling on my tongue

if this is love
it's harder than i dreamed
more amazing than a sunrise
a high price worth it all

spring thoughts

spring has come
again
another year has turned
tender flowers slowly open
surrounded by green grasses
drinking in cool showers
the scent of daphne on the breeze
the valley blooms
beneath frosted mountains
the brown drought a memory
held only by dead trees
i marvel at transformation
such beauty makes me giddy
its fragility
only enhances
poured out with abandon
for the joy to come
though love be crushed
rejected and denied
the reminder of spring comes
new life awaits
though forsaken
though buried
love will triumph

Quilting Bee

In a small town in the Central Valley of California careful hands piece together beautiful quilts. Many are sewn on machines but the art of piecing and sewing by hand is still alive and well. Hours and hours of intricate, patient work produce unique masterpieces of colors. Having not the patience nor skill I marvel at such creations yet find myself looking for a different quilt among the showroom treasures. No such quilt exists, though I've heard stories of how it's made. Piece by piece, old clothing--worn from years of loving use--is woven into a tapestry. The maker points to each square and tells a story: "this is from Granpa's old jacket. I still remember how it smelled of wood smoke as he pulled me up on his knee to show me the latest figuring he had whittled as he waited for the trash to burn." "This is from a baby blanket we had for my sister who only lived a few days." "This is from my favorite trousers that I wore hiking through the Andes mountains." As the owner of the quilt lies down to sleep each night, he wraps himself in memories, pieces of a life lived well. Though I have not such skill to lay down the squares that tell my stories, I ponder as I walk the small street of this quilting town how I too am piecing together memories to make a tapestry, a desire to have a life that is well done, good and faithful. 

at the end of nowhere

the rain is steady as my pulse
i'm here again out of step
even though my feet keep moving
laying my head on the rock
at the end of a weary day of running
from the mess i made myself
leaving friends i cannot face
pushing everyone else on ahead
while i lay down one last night
before i face my fears
loneliness a comfortable pain
in light of being known
hoping against hope it's not over
will this night hold glory
will i wrestle until He blesses
or see a ladder into heaven
or is it just another night
with another day of deception
that rolls one after the other
until it overwhelms me
why was i given two?
longing for a new story
for a new name
for a new hope
longing for rest from memories
what might have been
it's still raining
my heart's still beating
give me strength to lay down
at the end of nowhere
maybe find joy someday

hope chest

i have a treasure chest
gets bigger every year
so full of odds and ends
and things i once held dear

the times He bid me stay
the times He told me go
all that i've left behind
all those i used to know

i rarely lift the lid
afraid of what i'll find
the moth and rust's effect
what's buried in my mind

sometimes i stop to think
beyond my selfish woes
that something greater waits
if i trust the One who knows

and so i wrap with care
each loss, each gain, each scar
and turn my face towards morning
He's brought me safe thus far

after golden hour

i love the world
after the rain
vibrant hues refreshed
the setting sun renewed
keeping his tryst with night
all will be well
disfiguring dirt
washed away
like pretense in the face of truth
i love the look of joy
on the face of a child
seeing a friend walk in
such clean innocence
before the build-up
distrust obscures honest love
before they learn to hide
behind the fine
what if i laid down my mask
would you still choose to love
such high marks we set
for fellow souls at Calvary
when all i got was free
the price was paid
so i can forgive these scars
as He forgave His
and find each step
goes higher
unto glory

2016: tomorrow comes

there's those moments
cool water to thirsty lips
summiting on weary legs
embracing love at journey's end
when the world goes right side up
feeling with knees bent and arms high
maybe, just maybe, i will make it
my lungs still fill with praise
my heart still knows His whisper
all i have to do is trust
if He's not good i'm done
though the night grows long
i'm grateful for these stars
pinpricks of brilliance
moments i'm reminded to press on
i don't have to know my story
the Author knows my name
so thankful that He chose me
so joyful that He holds me
my face is set toward morning
as this new year is dawning
i am not who i was yesterday
by His grace glory's coming