Saturday, November 19, 2016

About a Girl

Her poem is called
"Magpie at the roadside"
and I think of you
ever attracted to surface & sparkle.

How I tried when you were 
young to pull you towards
the earth, solid & wet
nourishing something deep inside
and with sick trembling
watched as it seemed you were
one of those girls I could never
like, one who never understood
the intrinsic worth of the spark.

But I just didn't want you to be 

Then you emerged - this girl
who saw through and still
stayed close
who put up with the drooling
& gaping... 

Even perhaps
embraced it.

Now you dive in
eager to learn
the hills & valleys
the ups & downs.

All the time holding
tenuously to your
own lifeline
close to the bone
exposed & raw
and beautiful
same - despite what you might feel.

Morning Prayer

Lord, I take moments now
to still in the fury
to know you are here
on this journey, in this process,
in this place
May I listen and know
the heart of you
the purity of you
so that I may be like you

Oh, that I be transformed 
to the image of Christ
that I may abide in your
Holy Spirit
that you be well pleased.

May you redeem me
my time
my errors
my transgressions
that others may see
redemption is possible

Salvation is what we
do when we give over
control to all that is

May I remain 
but not crushed
a beloved child
but not immature
a co-labourer
how else can we
be salt and light


I Beseech You

Tired of the back and forth
to’ing and fro’ing
wishing you could all
just get it together.

This has to fit
If what we believe is
then it must, therefore fit 
with that which is revealed.

Reveal yourself, Lord
in all your glory and splendor
too wonderful to even consider
so mind blowing you must
stay hidden.

Revealed in the smoke
Hidden in the fire, eternally burning.

Are you the spark
Pure energy of the universe?

Will you continue to
only reveal yourself
in story
and narrative
in a rustle,
a blowing wind
in tongues of fire
in messy flesh and blood?

Perhaps there is more
before the beginning
and even more after
The End.

Tyndale Chapel


I have to write now
before it slips away
before you slip away

Dark wet night
the gray month of November
made black
by your impending departure

How to distill your eighty
your unique joi de vivre
your je ne sais quoi

Celebrating your love of words
and language and life
and how those french words helped you hang on
a few days longer

Your strong thick hands I still
want to hold - even though
they've wasted these 6 weeks
of your rapid slow fall off that cliff.

You continue to speak truth
even if it's difficult...
"it'll be over soon"
"I gotta get out of here"
as you try so hard to connect
to communicate, to really see
each one, names, places, roots, the whole, us.

Now you've gone
left us
the sun refuses to not shine
even as the last dried leaves
fall and blow.

It is supposed to be bleak
but all your gifts and care shine bright
undulled by your (and our)

Something endurable
safe for eternity.