Transformation

frosty spruce

Just as frost makes pearls from pain and covers plain with glory,

So your faith can glean the grain within your painful story;

When you feel the pinch of frost, the sting of cold rejection,

Know one day when it has lost, you’ll be a grace confection.

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One Small Seed

baby lettuce

Not much to look at,

Not much to eat,

Nothing to brag of

When sharing a feat.

No tow’ring forest

With branches to show –

But she’s planting a Now

So her Future can grow.

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

We all start somewhere. We all start small.

If we sow a little kindness,

It could feed us all….

 

 

Prison Break

shinyicicles.jpg

 

One day sun will melt the bars,

Open doors and mend the scars,

Free your spirit from your chains –

Winter’s just the labour pains.

She Dug

Dig

It wasn’t her mess.

She never asked

to be buried alive.

She didn’t even own a shovel.

But her desire to see sunlight

grew strong,

flexed hope like muscles

rippling, horses straining

at the foreign taste of metal

on tender tongues

with dreams of churning hooves,

tasting island sun

like Freedom

coursing through wild veins.

She dug

until bare fingers

left rivulets of red

on bunkers of blue steel.

She dug

until she ached with cold,

fatigue festering like ulcers,

disillusionment stalking

in blizzard’s cloak.

She digs still –

for, having seen a glimpse

of sapphire sky,

her soul will not

consent to being

buried.

Counterpoint

fallen leaves

 

There’s nothing remarkable

about giving Gravity

his way, nothing noteworthy

about this free-fall; no great

burden of excellence hangs

about the necks of the damned

as they rot in earthen graves.

.

Falling is too natural

to draw comments from the stands,

stumbling too easy to raise

an eyebrow or stir surprise.

So when she rose from the dead,

walked away from the compost

in her burnt orange platform

heels, she really stepped it up.

Visionary

Catherine Woodbury twins

 

Delicate, yes.

Weak, no –

veins that bleed

for the world to see

hold volumes, streams,

encompass galaxies

and implode with atoms,

redefine strength

by tracing survival

by heart

in colours too true

to be seen

unless by naked eyes.

 

Ignition

sunlitstella.jpg

 

When she saw the light,

something in her cells

got charged. Turned on.

Illuminated. And she

knows now that fragility

and brilliance hold hands

in dark places,  a

collision course with

gloom that can eclipse

even her pain, obscure even

the Shadowlands. Her

smile says it all; I am

alive, I am conqueror,

I am free. Somewhere

in the darkness, a match

strikes against a flint

as black as pitch –

ignition.