Four Poems Written Past My Bedtime

Hopscotch

Spring

April

Second wind

Nala, bouncing

Deer ate the tulips

Morning walk by the beach

Reading a book on the porch

Sunshine everywhere blinding me

Daffodils, brown thrasher, buttercups

Sturdy fawn looks at me through the window

Gentle stars, mild breeze soft on my cheek

Gardeners  waking steadily

Interesting smells in the air

Big beautiful robin

Breathe the breath of life

Rocks, bricks, and sand

Rise again

Lovely

Joy 

Split Pea Soup

I made split pea soup

With the leftover ham broth.

It was too salty.

Blueberry Pancakes

Out of blueberries.

Ginger, cardamom, allspice

For pancakes instead.

Painting the Beach

I painted the beach

Wrong, because it was from my

Imagination.

Three Thoughts

The Mirror at 64

Maybe God gave old people big ears

Because the world needs more listeners.

And, we're not in a big hurry, which also helps.

Maybe we have thick middles

For deeper, stronger, and softer hugs

That we love to give, because we can.

Maybe our wrinkly necks and spotty faces

Help us to be humble, approachable, nicer,

Because we have to. And we want to.

Skewed

I know how that bird feels

that slammed into the picture window

he didn't see.

I did the same thing once

at a party, broke my nose,

and have never been the same.

It was a sliding glass door.

I was there, but didn't know anybody.

It hurt so bad, but no one knew.

Local News

A bunch of rogue old ladies are growing their hair out. 

I thought I was being eccentric, but apparently not.

I see them everywhere, long gray locks flowing

over their shoulders and down their backs.

Shiny, fuzzy, silver, white, gathered, loose, curly, straight..

I'd like to collect the various reasons why, if there are any.

House to Myself

I have the house to myself, oh what luxury. I do love a house full, or even a bit of company, but for today it is indulgence. 

Kids

Kids are the messiest blessing,

the funnest trouble,

the sweetest pain.

Boys are brawlers.

Girls are strange and wonderful creatures.

Both are beautiful.

Their smooth freckled faces reflect the sunlight

soft-brightly, pulling a smile out of

serious grown-ups 

like expert fishermen,

without even trying.

 

The Beach

The beach is cold and stormy

in winter, powerful in a different way.

Strong and gray.

It matches my feelings

as friends get older and struggle

with problems relentless like waves.

These are exciting, though, and radiant--

amazing saints I get to to walk with, 

just by noticing them and following along.

Trees

Trees are a comfort,

like lights from a passing car at night

that track around the dark walls of my bedroom,

telling me I'm not alone.

Trees are a fortress,

a secret world under the evergreens,

where in my imagination 

I could live quietly on soft pine needles.

Trees are a home

for hiding squirrels and flapping birds.

Their scurrying and singing

perform much music of perfection.

2026

I can think of no better way to spend the first day of 2026 than the way I have so far. Good quiet time, cleaning out flower beds with my husband, playing piano, listening to music, talking with my sons, writing a poem for my dog...

Nala

It's not because 

You have a pretty nose

Or shining eyes,

Leather lips,

Whiskers that make you 

Look wise.

Not that you're sleek

And black and white with

Lanky legs

That fold up

So cutely, or that

You're mostly good--

It's just you.

You that I love, 

For no other reason.

Haikus

 

 My Backyard

Flitting yellow finch

Weaving round our Russian sage,

Bowing softly purple.

Lakeside

Octopus swimsuit.

Bare feet paddle shifting sand,

Plastic pail and spade.

Brown hair whips her face--

Rushing waves beneath gray sky,

Sand sticks to her legs.

Green monster seaweed

Clinging, grasping small ankles,

Chases her ashore.

The Gardener

Long straight skinny legs

Slowly widely stride across

The yard in three steps.

Tan straw wide-brim hat,

Brown hands crumbling clumping dirt

Squinting at the sky.

Cows approach, wide-eyed

Looking for a gift of kale

They receive from him.

Arrr

 In the movie Pirates of the Caribbean there is a scene where the Pirate Captain Barbossa hosts his captive, Elizabeth, for dinner. A sumptuous feast is set before her and he encourages her to eat. 

Ravenous, she stuffs food in her mouth hungrily until she notices he is not eating. She then assumes the food is poisoned, but it is not. Barbossa watches her eating, perhaps hoping for some vicarious satisfaction. But for Barbossa and the other cursed pirates, there is no satisfaction, because they are undead.

When moonlight reveals the pirates' true condition as animate rotting corpses, Barbossa laments, "For too long I've been parched of thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died. I feel nothing. Not the wind on my face nor the spray of the sea..." Hearing his anguish, you actually feel pity for this horrible man. But lately, I've realized that I actually know exactly what he's talking about. 

In Ecclesiastes 1:8, Solomon, not a pirate--rather one of the richest, most powerful, most honored men in the world at the time proclaims: 

All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. (ESV)

When I have a delicious bowl of ice cream I really enjoy it, until it's gone. Then I just want another one. The same is true when I finish a great movie or book, get a back rub, hear a favorite song, etc. 

I enjoy working. When the work is done, I can stand back and enjoy the accomplishment. I might even get a compliment. But in the end it doesn't really mean anything in itself, unless it involves helping someone.

Relationships are the only thing that matter. Jesus told us to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; and to love our neighbor as ourselves. It seems so simple, so obvious. But, like Barbossa, I've had to try it my way until I really learned it.

And I never could have learned it without Jesus, because he turned my heart of stone into a heart of flesh, so that I am even capable of love at all. 

Primary Colors

Primary Colors

 

I see a flash of red through the trees,

And squint, hoping it's a male cardinal.

No, it's a far away barn.

I wanted it to be a cardinal because

I imagine that's a message from You that

My dad really is in Heaven.

Yellow daffodils were his favorite.

I hate to see them.

He just missed them those last days of his life,

The days he settled on I don't know what,

Jesus or not.

I hate not knowing.

I own the loveliest handmade ceramic mug.

Blues and browns dripping in perfect beauty,

A true artwork worthy of highest display,

A treasured possession I love to look at

And to touch. However, I cannot

Drink from it, because it scratches my lips.