in the presence of elders
a bench awaits me
small among survivors
of what I cannot see
silent they surround me
bear scars made beautiful
newly touched by pure
wool of soft winter snow
steady they line the way
ahead through crystal mists
calm healing presence
towers above me far
from places long called home
My Mom died in 1999. During the last year of her life she showed me a photo of a childhood friend, a write-up about her, and an obituary.
Sybil was a few years younger than I. Her mother kept the outdoor hog pen I describe in my poem, 1951. To me, Sybil was a friend in name only. I was put off by Read the rest of this entry »
“Living upon thy air.” The air God gives me with each breath. Air that binds me to you by way of Christ, the Lord of life. Not with ropes, chains, locks, or any number of good deeds to prove I deserve special treatment.
MacDonald’s last two sonnets for July are Read the rest of this entry »
In 1973 I arrived at seminary with an empty bucket. Indeed, when I married D I was already lugging it around. I thought marrying D would more than fill my empty bucket. I needed to be cherished. Read the rest of this entry »
I, Elouise, take you, D….
To love, honor and cherish….
Cherish is the word I use
To complain as in
You don’t have a clue
How to cherish me Read the rest of this entry »
When I think about ties that bind me to the largest number of other people, PTSD wins hands down. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder affects every human being in this world, directly or indirectly, Read the rest of this entry »
~~Unchained Women! Unrecognized, under-rated power to change the subject
I’m on a public street. I’ve just witnessed brutality against two young women, not in real time but in my dream. Now, out of my dream, what to do next? I pull out my cell phone and call 911. Will anyone respond? This isn’t an upscale area.
I kneel beside the sobbing woman Read the rest of this entry »
I want life to follow my way, truth, my notions about how things are or should be. I’m not alone. My comments follow George MacDonald’s sonnets. Read the rest of this entry »
I
elders
cling close
old age
unseen
kindly eyes
drill deep
tap light
unseen
by youth
or passersby
II
Sweet Jesus
Could I not wave
A magic wand
But once? Read the rest of this entry »
My family legacy
If not my inheritance
deposited in me a great Gift
The kind that kept on giving
Long after I drained the last drop
And tried to transform it
into a candlestick holder
now coated with hardened
layers of waxy tears
trickling down the
curve of my face Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 