Trinity

burnside

A poem of mine, Trinity, is featured today  at Burnside Writer’s Collective. Will you continue reading over there. Come explore the poetry and prose which is this fascinating collective featuring words routed in the Christian Faith.

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Trinity

Math is not my friend
We buck heads over answers
That must be right or wrong
Gray does not exist in the minds of the
Mathematically-minded

There is a narrowing, whittling to the n’th degree
The theology of numbers
Has no room for interpretation
Or personal history
But I know this to be True
Three is holy

And three is my friend
But who’s counting
My three children
One watched Count Dracula
With me, on Sesame Street
Math served up with sugar coated ease………

Continue reading the poem, Trinity, where it appears in its entirity at Burnside Writer’s Collective. Click here for the link to follow Trinity and poetry. Thanks for joining me on this poetic adventure.

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Holes

wpid-IMG_20130814_180820.jpgOne day
We will look back on all of this
Holy mackerel
Every dog
Has his
One at a time
Daily grind
Deep breathes
In and out
One day soon, in glory
We’ll sing and shout
Without
Worry or fear
We’ll live
Around the corner
Holds a new beginning
Healing souls
Holes in the walls of my heart
Had you known then
What you did not
Know, now
How could you have
Hindsight
It’s easy for you to say
Sheltered by ignorance
Blissfully guarded
Armchair quarterbacking
You could have would have
Bought and sold stock in
Kleenex
What’s next, you
Cried you a river
Stayed way ahead of the pain curve
And in the end you
Start all over again
Mercifully
Saved by grace
Laugh lines
Replacing
Worry lines
And a  softer shade
Of grays
Holes in the knees of my jeans.

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Dear Henry – “Letters From The Village” – Day Two

provider two mcclellanville

A letter for my future grandchild calls him to see, calling him to be, aware, alive and grateful for the beauty in his grace-filled days.

Dearest Henry,

The squid ink squirts across the night
Sky, a canvas
Blackening, a blanket for sleepy day’s cover
And you will look up while holding my hand
To soak in a heavenly sea of delight
The pin pricked sky over Jeremy Creek
Twinkles its twinkling radiant stars
Flashing and blinking and winking at you

Cast your eyes, your chin tilted skyward
Throw out your vision as shrimpers their nets
Connect the dots with your gaze make big dipper
Then squeeze tight my hand while we gaze
At the moon,together
The man in the moon is smiling at you
Sweet Henry, sweet child
He’s smiling at me, he’s grinning at us

And one night its cuticle thin like a sliver
Cut with precision, smooth as french silk
Capture the glory now in your memory
Maker
Capture it now for tomorrow brings change
Somewhere so briefly between the waxing and waning
A thin sliver hangs graceful over our dreams
Blink and it changes, sleep and its gone.

Tomorrow when sleepy day goes down for the night
You and I will walk out to the edge of the world
The edge of the water its lapping and flapping
Bobbing the shrimper’s boats like toys in the bath
And the sky will become radiant with color
We’ll stare at the pinks, the hot and the cool ones
Right before orange blazes her brush through the sky.

And off to the heavenlies the day will retreat
To sleep beside dipper and man in the moon
The day will rest up for her glorious tomorrow
And you dear Henry will sleep awhile too
For tomorrow there are treasures and glorious discoveries
To make and unwrap, to claim and collect
Tomorrow the sea will deliver her beauties right at the feet of sleepy-head you.

Tell Me A Story

grafting trees

Tell Me A Story

tell me a story all covered and cloacked in miracle and love

hope and wonder, the starring roles

tell me a story all colored in bright, shaded in laughter loud and so long

start near the end where things are closed, grafted in love and tender delight

each stands alone and each one merges in love with the others

no open unendings, no unfinished business

no, add the happily everafters all day long

or even everafters will do, they’ll do

tell me a story all knitted and sewn by hand in love

stitches of  tender mercies  mixed with intimate whispered i love yous

and tell me a story

i won’t miss a word

of family present bound by blood, tears and  love

the one where they are joined together so very tight

all wrapped in bright shiny, like packages with bows

gifts from Good Giver, presents of love

stop at the good parts, rest there awhile, turn your page slowly

rush not, don’t hurry

please tell it slow and steady in every detail

rest and pause often, stop at the good parts

savoring the best places and times

tell me a story of love and forgiveness

tell me a story of family redemptive

tell me a story, uniquely mine