Category: Poetry

Wrap Up A Word in A Poem, Wrap up A Word In Love

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

(Today’s post dedicated to my mother Maggie on this, her birthday.  She has taught me to love and hold on to Words.)

Moments like pebbles jet- skim over water, thrown out hard,  fast from child’s hand, speed along, bump, skip along. Ripple space, dent, ripple path. Fall hard.

Speedy jump all bullet shot out of angled hand to delight.   Race on. 

And words thrown out, caught in heart nets. Tossed,  captured,   pondered. We grab, wrestle with these letters all clustered up, woven in wonder.  Knitted for warmth, encouragement, teaching, healing. Put forth for comfort and hope.

 Grab hold of time, wrap it in words with love. Cherish its beauty, its singular lightening fast, quick flash, steamy quick rising temporariness. Hold hard to words telling story of moment.

Put a word on a wound.  Place a word on pain , wrap it in God-breathed, God-given hope. Send it out in a prayer built of words, fragile and sweet.

Put a word on joy, put a word on wonder.  Cinch it in silver shiny wrapping with bow of beauty.  Deliver it in Mercy, signed with signatures of Grace.

 Speak them, write them,  sing them, show them , shout them, whisper them,
sling  them– those grace-notes, love-notes, words dredged from deep heart places.

Watch it , this word chosen in care, delivered in love. Watch it skim across the hearts of one in need. Leave a little love dent, a kind ripple, and fall hard on the soft places of the inside place.

See hope take root.  And healing take place.

Words skipped all tippy toed school girl happy hopping poetic on the spaces of need. Choose them with care, toss them in love, your words, this Sabbath,  this day and every one given by Him.

Poetry most often communicates emotions, not directly, but by creating imaginatively the grounds for those emotions.  It therefore communicates something more than the emotion; only by means of that something does it communicate the emotion at all “–C.S. Lewis, “Studies in Words





Why Seeking The Silent And Simple Soothe The Soul

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

simple soothes with her less and her love

quietly providing the just enough

she raises up the now and crowns her as glorious

all the eye needs to see is framed by her sweet fingers

all the ear needs to hear is spoken by her soft breathe

all fragrance rests in the still and the calm and lingers for inhale

grace and gratitude flow  in her presence

and the present is just as it should be

a restful place for the soul


blur of beauty

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

Wrapped in covering, wrapped in warmth, weary.

So weary with Day all spent,  little left, like lent covered coin in pocket corner.

The all thats left, all that remains is worn and small.

So fragile with fatigue.  Fragile with the blur of day.

We sit at headboard posts like guards to the castle, like judge to his court.

Needing wisdom of Solomon. For him.

Moments for teaching arrive at going on the midnight hour.

So pressing, so looming so in need of Creator God. For him.

We speak what we know, we temper and cool the emotions that cry out.

And we hear blurs of beauty, faint whispers of beauty. From him.

Parent ears know the sound.

Count the small victory in the heat of battle.

The rest we now take, not on laurels but on His Grace.

And sweet sleep comes and restores a bit, but not in full.

So much life pours into parenting bedside at night. Battle weary we.

Talk of charachter and patience and the right thing and all such.

Morning comes with fresh beauty, freshly brewed grace.

Always the surprise, the element of, no plot designer can out design His hand on lives.

She texts her JOY from school.  It megaphone screams restoration and awesome wonder.

I tell her my spirit cries with happiness and shared joy.  I have no tears, fatigue has

stolen my happy tears for now.  Sapped and drained from late night chapters on life,

studied and crammed and tested.  Weary student, weary teacher.

I am the student.  Learning, still learning.

Approaching mid night, she asks please steam the wrinkles.

Heat and steam press out on cloth.

This love symbol, this love language for us, the pressing out of the wrinkles. Weary gift.

The making beautiful and crisp.

Wobbly-legged me and steamer give what there is.

Heat and steam blur.  Eyes blur.  Heart cries out for horizontal rest.

These seventeenth and eighteenth years of life cross paths, intersect.

One becoming woman.

One becoming man.

And I am student.

 

Hallelujah

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

The trumpeter outside my window.

Small feathered praise giver.

Ounces of feathers and flesh.

His worship, a sacrifice.

Loud so loud, his song of praise.

His love offering, his bending the knee to his creator is strong and bold.

For him, the rain has stopped the sun is out.

For him, I imagine he simply sings, belts it out because God created him to.

He punctuates my days with his song.

Window open to his world, in the morning he blows out his praise from beak.

Mid-day he sings with volume that astounds my heart.

The accoustics of his song are beautiful , clear and full of love.

And when I think he’s weary or offered up all that he is and all that he has, he belts out another chorus of praise.

So small, so powerful.

His love offering back to the one who made him.

His bird heart and bird worship an inspiration to the one on the otherside of window.

He limb must  tremble with his praise.

His heart must flutter with devotion.

His wings must shake with his offering.

His joyful noise, music to the ears of both God and man.

Seeking to find a song of worship worthy for the one who made me.

Click on the link below and enjoy Hallelujah on this Second Sunday in Lent. Turn up the Praise (and the volume ) And grab a cup of coffee for this lengthy praise song. And to Him be all Praise and Glory.  Amen

Hallelujah

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