Below The Surface

dolphin duo show offsHalf hidden
Half seen



Tombstone gray, wet at play
Or is it work

And  I  believe I now know why

We launch our boat

Set out to see
The sleek and slippery
mammals  born
unto the sea

At edge of night
return home and anchor

Now knowing more of you
And more of me

The need to dive
And hide
below what’s seen
Exploring hidden
Memory buried things
Of life and passion
Stored  in stories
floating under foamy white crest waves
Of past and present
Needing to resurface
In desperate need of light and air

before we go back down again.

And why their dance below
And then above
the rocking waves
Is more than child’s play
Mirroring  our human ways

Of dodging, hiding, running scared
Then diving deep into the depths
Before returning
To the surface
Desperately in need of  light and air

And connection with another
Where we should be living
Freed and
Free from

Shame set free
We are  featherless and floating
on the
Water once the

Hiding ends
And we all dance and dip and dive above the black blue horizontal line
Sleek and slippery
More like they
You  and I
Break through the surface, free to play
Where there is light
Where there is air.

I know now
Why we launch our boat
And float out on the sea
To find ourselves

Below the surface.


Joining Jennifer and Emily




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
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
Among moments  stretched out into a sun drenched
Of discovery
As a child, on the hunt for sandy glory
We know the beauty lies beneath
A tip or piece gives clues
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


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

Love, Lent, And Letters From The Village (Day One)

After an unplanned sabbatical from writing, I am beginning  anew today  with a series dovetailing the Lenten season. I hope you will walk with me through these days leading up to Easter as I write in the form of letters. Both poetry and prose. But each day a letter expressing prayers, deep searching, mediations of the heart, wonderings, wanderings and an exploration of grace. Grace in the everyday. 


I have become increasingly drawn to the beauty of the art of letter writing. Its intimacy, its romantic vehicle for reaching the soul of another calls me to seek and know more.  The beauty found in writing tender thoughts from one to another intrigues me. And so I want to explore the art form here in a series entitled “Letters From The Village.”  Happily, I am spending some time in a small shrimping village. This is a place I have known and loved for a long season of my life. Hidden here are memories of marriage, raising three children and celebration upon celebration with friends. Tucked away. Folded in. Wrapped in the salty soil of this place. And so there is deep meaning and significance in beginning these letters to you from “the village.”  That you will open and read, break the wax seal on each is gift. The first is penned on Valentines Day and  is being written from the heart of this place. 

It is my hope and prayer that the art of grace will set the tone as we walk through the holy days of Lent, preparing for Easter and the sacred days waiting for celebration in Holy Week.

There is a thinness, sparseness woven in these days. A dignified seriousness to the pulse and cadence of these moments. The beat is sacred. The breathing measured. Breathe deep the grace of Lent.


Dear Patient One,

I write to you on Valentines Day, a poem, the first in a series entitled “Letters From The Village.”

May others discover more of their story in reading some of ours.



Waves of Grace

We washed up here years ago
Its been years since we first
Drove up and saw that Hugo water marked wall
And fell in love
It was potential we saw
And knew a life could be built

We came back here after tears before them too
And fell for it and each other
We kept coming back
Wave on wave of worry
Left at the entrance
We rocked under the moon and stars

You drove a nail and held that hammer
And we drove kids down
We packed a bag
And fled the mundane
To discover the extraordinary in this ordinary
Life has a way of repeating

Like the scavenger gulls that cry
We have 
And laughed and lost our way
On that sea
A time or two
And now only
A year or so remains they grew




























Joining Emily and my community at Imperfect Prose on Thursday’s for today’s word prompt LOVE