Tag: Grace

Burnt Toast

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 1 Comment

Nearly 25 years in
I decide to ask for burnt toast
Villa D’Este can wait
Napa can ripen longer
On the vine, time sweetens
And Blackberry Farm ,well
The longing after this place and that
Over the Blue RIdge Mountains and beyond
Can’t match
The burnt toast, smell it, love is in the air
Behind it there is a love story
Of trying and failing
Trying and succeeding
Routine and change
Marmalade mornings
Love  wafts in the air, the fan dispersing the stale
Ruined, never
Broken, neither
Saved by grace, always
Love lingering somewhere
Cut and scrape
The black crumbs down the drain
Make it new and lovely
Paris is perfect for lovers
And no greater Francophile lives
Than I
But for me, on my anniversary
Champagne and burnt toast
Please
Living the dream while
Going nowhere
Love carries us everywhere.

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Words Replace The Boot

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

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Words Replace The Boot

I could kick myself
Literally, not figuratively, no
If I could figure out how
To put a swift quick to the rear
A boot in the hind quarters

A kick in the pants
Would remind me
When I hurt
That I have hurt
And a tangible ache
May move into action
A sedentary bum.

I have widows as neighbors
And poor in my midst
And letters to write to Peru,
To my girl.
But sin visits me
And stays awhile
Inaction is omission
I blame Eve
It is easier that way.

The last time I checked
It stings
It stung
And it stinks.

Preachers preach
And teachers teach
And poets, wax

And weave words that go places
Visiting the sick and shut-in
Takes legs and guts and heart
A body in motion.

Oh I have words, ones that rise up
And hang
Like a cartoon-ish figure
I am a  caricature of one who cares and acts
My thought bubble floats above me
Invisible to all
Seen by no one
The hazy desire to act
Stick a pin in it and pop it
I am done

Faith without works
Is settling in.

It is time for the words that hang in the air
To walk the road that leads to the widow

And mail the note that goes to Peru

And nothing is happening
While I am figuring out
How to kick myself

There is a foul odor
And it smells like guilt

Love is a verb
And a noun
And the greatest of these

Time
To love the all of these
And float the bubble of hope

Love gets off the couch
Ouch.

Words
Replace the boot
But Grace
Replaces guilt.

A Circuitous Route (At Burnside Writer’s Collective)

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 1 Comment

bicycle wheel

I would be honored if you’d join me today over at Burnside Writer’s Collective. A poem of mine is featured there today. Wishing you a blessed and peaceful Sabbath rest. Today and always.

A Circuitous Route. Click here to read a poem which explores change, adjustment, shifts in paradigms, and finding joy in the right where we live. In and with Faith.

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Holes

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

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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