Garden Guidance

foggy-gardenscape

Fog obscures the path

Danger lurks around the bend

Your love points me home

Advertisements

For Hymn, the Bell Tolls

Rovinj

 

Toll, ancient bell,

Ring home my wayward heart;

Sing to my soul,

Lest from the truth I part.

Chime, ancient notes,

To strum my wand’ring strings;

Peal forth your hymn,

To give my spirit wings.

Keyhole To Heaven

appleblossomkeyhole.jpg

I stand on childhood’s

tiptoes and the oxygen

in my lungs is stillborn

in its stall as I peer through

.

the keyhole to heaven;

all is angels’ wings

and perfume and

brightness and I squirm

.

to reach just a sliver higher.

I strain with broken grip

and limping spirit and

if I shift too much the

.

vision fades and the scent

eludes, wisp snatched by

wayward breeze. So I

peer through the keyhole

.

and feel the brush of angels

in flight and linger to

catch the smell of home

before I lower myself

.

to my side of the door,

waiting, ever waiting

for someone to turn

the key.

.

The Breath of Spring

birdhouse

If home is where heart-aches hang their hats,

what shovel can make the mat welcome?

Only Chinook winds of forgiveness,

mercy,

repentance,

wafting on Spirit wings,

can melt Denial

and soften Stubbornness

with the breath of Spring.

You Could Be Home

frozen planter

Are you a nevermore,

or a not yet?

A foreign shore,

or a safe bet?

Who you could be

is not written in stone;

shovel the snow,

and you could be home.