Through a Glass Darkly


When you look through my window, what do you see?

Does your own reflection distort,

distract from my own?

Or do those dark eyes

perceive my frantic efforts to achieve meaning,

see through the fragile skin

to bones as stark as grave?

Can you see past the crumbs,

past the messiness of life in the living,

to the heart beating love

and fear

and sons and daughters,

meetings and givings,

turmoil and rest?

And I wonder –

Have you mastered

the mystery of your own survival,

do you know where

hope hides

when the discomfort of the stretch


Can you tell tales

to keep nightmares away

during unending Arabian nights?

Do you wonder

about me,

the way I wonder

about you?


this glass between us

distorts how I see you,

how you perceive me.


there is only

this film of silica

keeping us


knowing the other.

If this glass were cut,

would we bleed


Puffed Up


It’s more than pride that puffs her up.

Layers build buffers

between soul and the cold;

in the places where

denial runs up against reality,

stripping down

is decidedly counter-intuitive.


may make good neighbours,

but they block the very life-giving rays

that her soul most seeks.

It will take all of her courage

to face the cold without feathers,

but only in nakedness can

sun make love to skin;

 intimate connectivity with the Light

will dress her more beautifully

than her puffed up profile

ever could…

Seeking Specks


All this work seeking specks on snow is chicken scratch,

for here I am,

grasping for crumbs under the table,

coveting the hem of Your garment

when I am an invited guest at Your banquet table.

I’m sewing a new patch on an old wine-skin;

rather than the patch,

I will put on my new robe,

garment of praise

more fitting for a Daughter of the King.

So dressed, I will rise up,

approach Your throne room with confidence,

and claim my prize –


and more,

and more

of You

double portion,

spilling over,


glory following glory.

This seeking specks

is for

the birds…

Sing a Song of Winter

Winter Sparrow

Sing a song of winter,

a sparrow with a chill;

Sing about the way he flits

while filling up his bill.

Croon for him a song of old,

to sing the cold away;

Harmonize with frost and ice,

and winsome-warm his day.

The Call of the Wild…

Image courtesy of Photo Nature Blog

Arthur, I’ve had it, you good-for-naught brute!

You sit there and listen – I’ve something to say!

The kids are eating us out of home and nest,

Their incessant chatter drives me insane !

I know times are lean with the factory closed –

But this cheap housing complex you chose is the pits!

How’s a girl supposed to raise her young

When hooligan neighbours scare her out of her wits?

I’m run off my wings catching bugs for our brood

While you go off with the boys for your fun;

The roof has sprung leaks and the doorway’s a mess,

I tell you, I’ve had it!  It’s over, I’m done!