I Can't Seem to Stop

 

Light

I need more light

If I'm going to paint

In the basement.

Red Wagon

Red wagon in the yard,

Carrying sacks of dirt and pots

Bumping across the lawn.

It's not really red, as 

The sides are taken off

The plain wooden base.

Only small circles

In the center of the wheels

Are red anymore.

Still, I see it as red

Even when I look at it.

I like to see it that way.

Courage

I was brave once.

I had to snatch a gas can

Out of a fire.

I didn't know if I would.

But I had to and I did.

That's how you find out

These things.

Three Short Poems

 Plants in the Window

Plants in the window

Waiting for spring.

Will it ever come?

We, as adults,

Know that it will,

We tell ourselves.

But our flowers

Like children repeat,

"Are we there yet?"

The Trouble with Lampshades

Something there is

That doesn't love a lampshade,

That makes them so expensive,

So difficult to match to a lamp,

That makes them mold and decay

In a previous style

No longer findable in any store.

Used to be Henry's Lampshades,

But it's long gone now.

Even if it were still there,

Would they really have that

Exact quirky lampshade--

Small and red with dangling 

Plastic gems, or large and 

Square and tan?

Special Breakfast

God is crazy good.

He has time to have 

Breakfast with me.

I could have

Breakfast with God

Every morning

If I wanted to.

MicroThoughts

 Too Tired Not to Fight

I have too many candlestick holders

Because I am impatient.

I buy them all at once.

I want to learn

To wait to discover

Subtle surprises

Instead of grasping

And grabbing

Everything greedily.

The Stuff of Life

Teddy bears, dolls,

Yoyos, crayons, paper,

Elmer's glue.

Glossy paged books

With full-color illustrations

And happy stories.

Cold clear water,

Checkers on the porch,

Hopscotch.

Skipping, singing, twirling,

Lying in the grass

Looking up at the clouds.

 

A Partridge in a Pear Tree

A Christmas card I

Shellacked to a block of wood

That hung on her wall.

Bonnie and me

Walking to the Howard Johnson's

For a grilled cheese.

Michael, dirt on his nose,

Robert in a baseball cap, squinting,

Linda like a little movie star.

Two by two,

My precious sons--

Spring, winter, fall, summer.

Microcosm 1 - A Short Testimony

    

Maybe it's because God is outside of time--

I feel like I've always known Him.

I also feel like I'm only just now getting to know Him.

He was there when I was little.

Not in Sunday school but,

Outside. I wasn't conscious of Him,

But I wasn't afraid.

I knew I was being watched over,

At least until the bullies came.

That's when He really did show me

That He was watching over me,

But I didn't see it.

Walking home from school,

As the bullies had me surrounded,

There was no escape—just then

The woman on the second floor 

Of that big house across the street

Opened the window 

She lifted her voice for me

And told them to leave me alone!

They, stunned

Left a gap in the circle

And I made my escape,

Running for my life.

But no one was chasing me.

Every other day

I had made elaborate plans

Schemes to avoid the trouble--

Different routes, 

Following other kids home

I had told my parents

About the bullies and they said

To kick them in the shins

But my legs were too short.

No human inventions saved me

From the bullies.

God sent his angel 

To the window that day,

And I know it was Him.

It took me years to know it.

All the while He waited patiently

For me to say, "Thank you."

                                                                                                                                                                          

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 brushes 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--

Spice 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.