Of Words and Water

Jan Lake duck2

Freedom forms feathers –

Rows and rows standing at attention,

Roman Legionnaires linked with their brothers,

Trained to repel any onslaught;

For,

Knowing my true worth,

Your words

Drip,

Bead,

Drop,

Puddle around me.

And I, like the duck,

Am not wet.

 

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Flight

baby grebe

Flesh of my flesh, in essence your own;

I nurtured and loved what God gave on loan;

Our time in the water has quickly slipped by;

I gave you your wings – child, take to the sky.

Great Expectations

foliage

 

The seeds of Great Expectations rooted deep,

but she tasted their fruits not in the fair soil of trinkets

fashioned from sturdy stems,

cabinetry of beauty and elegance

displaying the wares of Kings,

nor in the expression of the printed page,

pouring forth speech from pulpy loins.

Less still the warmth of a billion fires,

songs of a billion kettles

as her fuel gave Man comfort from the endless darkness.

It came, not in the power and might

of the straight-rimmed arrow’s shaft

or the machinations of the torture room,

but in the beautiful irony of Life –

the abandonment of her burdens,

 bouquet of ultimate surrender.

Here, where she came to terms with her brokenness,

her truest beauty harvested

Great Expectations.

The Road Not Taken

road less taken

 

I stopped today beside the road

that I had never taken;

I gazed along those verdant slopes

at what I had forsaken.

My broken spots pulled hard toward

‘what ifs’ and ‘might have beens’ –

My heart was caught and hung upon

the fence where doubt begins.

I cannot walk along that path,

my choices barred its entry;

I’ll never know its final trail,

so Grace will be its sentry.

The Icicle Project

ice.jpg

 

If I were

an icicle

I would melt

into your love

letting go

of the past

like tears

rolling down

cheeks

of glass