In the Grip of Hope

frosty willow sunset

Frost’s bony fingers

Beckon us toward the light,

Remind us of warmth.

Flames of Freedom



Pressure and heat and

the presence of flames

(that deadly hellish

Trinity) made her

kindling temperature

an inevitability. And oh!

the pain,

the raw ooze as fire

tattooed skin; but as she

surrendered, her fear

went up in smoke. Her

selfishness and pride

burned away, searing

suffering soul, until only

true silver remained. Now,

her light is a beacon –

infinity’s fire – a

path of illumination for

others to follow the

Flames of Freedom.


It’s pretty cool what you can do with a burning stick at a campfire…

Her Tears



Her tears have drenched her soul,

burying the hatchet in rivulets

running red, bloody gouges

brimming with magna-cum-laude


(degree earned in the school of

hard knocks, awarded posthumously to

the candidate least alive). Only

genuine, soul-stirring mourning could


wash away such agony; only

marianas trench could hold

such fathomless suffering –

and yet, forgiveness dyes


her bandages as surely as

the sun continues to rise

and set on the just and the

unjust alike. God only knows


what it has cost her to forgive.

God only knows what it cost Him

to give her the choice. Tears

cauterise the gashes



and rise, wave upon wave

as pure as air, a mighty flood

(pregnant with undercurrent)

to wash her to Freedom.


Going for Gold


Slammed in the deep-freeze,

put on ice and left to dry;

sapless, hopeless, helpless –

until she encounters

the Lord of the Wood.

All winter,

roots have dug in desperation

and found vein.

Hands and heart have swayed in wind

and leaves have leaked,

discarded rainbow offering,


cast aside

for something more precious.


finds Ore

and as hope oozes,

she’s going for gold…

She Had No Idea


She had no idea she had it in her.

There was no way to measure



quality of light


she had been frozen,





on shivering legs,

she takes her first tentative steps

into a newly forged reality.

She will fall, yes.

She will fail

and hurt

and fumble


she will be falling on her own terms,

failing and hurting and fumbling

on turf of her own choosing.

The knowledge

draws hues from

secret source within –

an iridescent radiance,

a glow glazed in the suffering place,

a fountain tapping into

the Deep,

and she oozes