On Wading

evening plovers

 

Life laps, waves on shore

Which dare the brave to enter;

Cold feet are coaxed in

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.

If We Only

If we only counted sunshine,

left behind the darkest hours,

we would only live in snatches,

in the bits between the showers.

We would never know the power

of the sun without the dark;

we would never know a flower

if we’d never seen soil stark.

*

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

Beauty’s Neverland

Waves innumerable, crashing

Surf interminable, dashing

Pebbles ad infinitum

Wild in mashed delirium,

Perpetual friction,

Agitation’s diction,

Grinding rock to sand,

Beauty’s Neverland.

*

The processes which created the tranquility of this beach were far from tranquil.  Let the lesson of the beach give your heart hope!

Topsy Turvy

Her heart is a little skewed –

a few degrees removed from the level,

a few fruits short of plumb.

She has viewed her world

from lopsided stance

for long enough

she is tempted to name it Normal.

But

Normal is just a word

on the dial of her dishwasher;

she is learning to

allow it to wash her dishes

and not define her parameters,

 dictate her actions

or set her policies.

Then, she wished on every shooting star

and every birthday candle

for Normal to arrive –

today she knows

Normal is best left to the appliances.

If it dropped in her lap,

she wouldn’t really know what to do with it, anyway.

She grins crookedly at Life

and blooms with the tenacity

only bestowed

on those who embrace

Topsy-Turvy.