Tag: Hope

The Vigil

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 7 Comments

come unto me

She swears the color yellow soothes a soul
So you will  find her staring at the garden
Fixed gaze on the yellowest flower there
In the yard
She guards
Her heart
Holding vigil over one who gives her labor pains
Though eighteen years have passed since birth
Holding hope for one
Who birthed her too
Traumatized by screams of pain
She is ripped in two
She finds the field of yellow calms her nerves
Between her shifting gaze she lays it down
And takes it up again, her sinful self desires to stir the pot
She rakes the coals, red hot
Searing
Bloody
Mad when stirred
Hotter when  she pokes the fire
Fear finds fuel in oxygen of snuffed out hope
So she’ll return to yellow on her color wheel
Where quiet and calm soothe her aching soul
Now she knows how He must feel
Father of a million times a million times a million, no more
And lover of as many souls
She will pick a single yellow stem
And give it all to Him
The Perfecter of Her Faith
The One Who Never Sleeps Nor Rests
She lays the flower down
She’ll rest
Reciting: Goldfinch, Monarch, Black-eyed Susans
Over in her dreams
Calmed by yellow memories and hum
It is well with my soul
For He has got her back, cradled in His arms
She wears the title
Mother, Daughter, but
No longer
Tender of a  flame that burns
Her heart consumed by fear.

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Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory

The Royal We

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

trio in nature

The Royal We

We held a meeting
Called a quorum
Banged the gavel

Called to order
Read the minutes
Decided that we

Would try to do some
Things a little different
Around here

Thoreau was right
You know
Those words of his

On vanity and writing
Sitting down before you
Stand

Stand up and do some living
And we decided more than that
Life has had its share of fear

And when you meet it, stare it square
Fear  is  lost
A mystery not lost on us

We banged the gavel rung the bell
And called it short
This meeting of the minds

Released us, we dive into life
The three, we conquers now of fear
That while the meek may inherit the earth

Joy comes in the morning
And in the afternoon
Right after you stand up

To fear
Tell  it to take a hike
And took a stand

To do your living standing up
Before you vainly
Sat to write

Of all the weight of glory
We felt bearing down
Upon the three of us

The business of a life well lived
Thoreau
He knows

And now
So do we
The brave and  royal we.

Heaven’s Rock, And Roll

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

rain hammock chainEvery window
Wet with tears
Weeping
Won’t stop
The rain
Running down the cheeks

Of window
Pane
Every single
Sash and dash
Rim and Ledge
Wears a rain stained
Dripping
Heavy countenance
Tinged with melancholy
Rolling down the tracks of rain
Dropping rain
Drops like rocks
On top of every rooftop

The sappy sentiment
Soaks the shell of man

But oh
The hope that lies within
Even while
The heavens crack
The rumble rolls
Like stampeding wild horses
Cross
The sky, heavy hooves
Sound the charge
The storms arrive

Her tear-soaked faith
Will not swim in pools
Of pain
But rather

She will choose

To walk in
Fields of grace
Swim
In oceans too
Stroke by stroke,
Listening to Van Morrison’s
Songs that drown
The pain

Torrential sheets of water flood
Breaking forth
Released onto
Faithful
Man below without an arc
Onto
Every crown of head
And top of roof

Hope
Born from every ounce of  grace

She
Simply turns the music up
A notch, reaches for the highest decibals
Blaring triumphant brass and strings
And steel guitar with rocking beats
A chorus of foreshadowing
Of

joy that sees
Beyond
Wet casements
Windows will reflect
Again
The countenance of praise
And wipe the running raindrops
Racing down,
Smearing foggy glass will
Glisten, cleaned
With rags of vinegar
To cleanse a soaked and soggy
Soul

Of  man

By the very  hand of
The Man of Hope
The Son of God

The Washer  of
The dirt and pain
Rolling every rock and stone
Away revealing
Triumphant
Melody of Joy

That rocks and rolls us
Whole and healed
Dried by cloths of healing grace

Yet
Once again
Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
You’re heaven’s
Rock and roll
And lullaby

Bye and Bye
Sweet bye and bye

Unseen

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall

image

Unseen

There are clues to the things unseen
They peek and poke and barely
Raise up
A sign that they exist.

The heart can see what the eyes cannot
As readily
As earnestly
It seeks the hiden things
Just below the surface
Hidden from full view.

There is a story brewing
Warm
Simmering and incubating
Safe under the sand,
Tucked away and  buried.
Joys lay waiting
They lie in wait
Hoping to tell the truth
For their day
Of celebration and exhilaration
And a bursting forth
Is yet to come.
Waiting for the ripening
The just right time
To move from place of hiding
Into the land of seen.

You don’t hear what I don’t say
But you can know
If you but lean into my whispers
Quiet, steady bend your ear,
Your heart.
You may hear me say
The quiet things, unspoken words of
Story hidden from the world
Not ready to be told.

We watched the dolphin in the creek
Dip and dive, then hide
A wet and glassy eye peeking up at  us
Playing around
Their slippery  game of hide and seek
Each click of camera missed the mark
Their story is safe will me
I have so little to show
For  all the beauty swimming round
My little boat that day.

Up and down
I know this game
Below the surface they are still there
I believe the hidden things
Though I cannot see.

He sits, braced and glaring
Cold look, staring
In the chapel
Facing toward the cross
Facing toward the creek
And I can’t judge what penetrated
His heart that day
All those words packed in an hour or so
Every parent wants every child to know
And tuck down in a heart
Trust believes he heard more than a blank stare
Would belie
I believe
In things unseen.

We combed that beach
Zig zagged back and forth
Stepping here and there
Our years total more than a century
Marrieds walk in tandem on the shore
Then separate
Choose different paths of searching.

But in those moments on warm sand
We are children once again
Searching
Among moments  stretched out into a sun drenched
Day
Of discovery
Playing
As a child, on the hunt for sandy glory
We know the beauty lies beneath
A tip or piece gives clues
Miniscule
Of whole wonderfuls
Buried in the underneath.

We keep on searching
For the  hidden things
Impossible to see
Unless you look
And until you decide
To believe in things
Unseen.

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Joining Laura at Laura Boggess dot com and Jennifer for SDG and Heather for Just Write.