Wings

young gull

 

His love was a fledgling –

awkward in its moulting,

a pupation of sorts.

His grasp of her essence

floundered in the reeds

where others moved sure;

progress screeched

and twittered, juvenile

in proportion and quality.

But true love has a way

of making a man;

where finesse was lacking,

perseverance found flight –

I still see them soaring, now and then,

where time and age cannot clip their wings.

 

Shine On

frosty sunflower

 

Shine on, little one,

though your petals crack 

with cold and icy 

shivers lick hungry

at your tender throat.

*

Shine on when Arctic

winds whisper white lies,

slanderous icebergs

distorting your image,

warping your purpose.

*

Shine on when frosty

tentacles deaden

pulse, sluggish sap-drips

creeping in dead-end

veins, maze of the damned.

*

Shine on despite cold

that hounds, ferocious

predator alert 

for signs of weakness,

patient for the kill.

*

For your name is Light.

Your breath blooms as warm 

sunbeams. You were born

to spin straw into

gold; so shine, shine on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

To See, or Not To See

snowy diamonds

Rich

is the soul

whose heart can see

that even life’s coldest path

is sprinkled with

diamonds

The Gleaning

canary seed

When your shoulders, bending low beneath their heavy load,

Bow defeated with the weight of what your day’s bestowed,

Lift your eyes above the waves, set down your raging fears ;

Pregnant with a harvest-hope, your gleaning time appears.

************************************************************

Canary seed soon to be gleaned…

Ascension Dimension

woollywillows3

It’s not in the falling that mettle is made;

stumbling is common, the price to be paid

for walking this earth, where the footing’s unsure –

tectonics keep shifting (and there is no cure!)

It’s found in the rising, the clutching at straws,

the reaching for freedom when clamped in life’s jaws,

the struggle to stand upon feet that are sore,

ascension dimension when strength is no more.

The Light You Seek

trellis detail

The golden glow of better days

hovers there, just out of gaze;

lift one more prayer, raise one more peek,

and you will find the light you seek.

*

For more on this topic, visit Growing With God in my Garden

Up

Turning around will get you impaled by your own thorns.

Bending down will infect you with the rot of age that clings to your peers.

Past, present, future – all hold pain in a rusted challis.

Before, behind, between – all promise prepositional gloom.

Can no one gift you with what you need to survive?

You know the stench of death comes for you.

Inevitable blight, this root-rot, this fungal spot to strip your leaves of anything of value.

Your only hope is to look up…

Up, where rainbows wink from musical mist.

Up, where the sun tracks his path in a chariot of thorough-bred firebrands.

Up, where Grace lives, where mercy rains from silver-lined clouds.

Up, where King and Court convene to bring justice at last.

Little rose, golden child –

Look up.