Showing posts from February, 2016

Prayer Plant

I sit myself down in this place close to the light,
darkness at the edges,
the tick, tick, tickingof night-time clocks
echoing in the quiet.
(Too loud.)
The plant's leaves behind me
unfurl towards the lamp's illumination, artificial albeit bright.
I've noticed they're growing
up and out, green with life
stretching for the light.
It may be time for a new home.
(Too small.)
I plant myself here couch-side
to pray, awakened by myFather.
“Tick, tick, tick”, I hear Him say,  "make the most of the time."
so I do,reading theHallel Psalms,
remembering my Saviour,
(too kind)who on the night He was betrayed
left the twelve and moved to the garden
where He plantedhimself and prayed,
ushering in my move
from sin and deathto life and freedom,
securing for both He and I (for we are kin),
our place in God's new home.

What my Grandkids will say about me on Oprah

When my grandkids talk to Oprah
    about their Nana, the famous writer,
they will say words were my oxygen--
    to read, to write, to share,
and that I spent way too much money
    at Thrift Stores on books by dead authors--
Emily Dickinson, George Herbert, LM Montgomery
    and Keats.

They will also tell her I loved to sing--
    another form of breathing--
and how I embarrassed them in public
    by belting out the "Tomorrow" song from Annie
or grabbing their elbows in the mall
    while shouting "We're off to see the Wizard!"

They will announce to the world,
    in front of God and everybody,
that my profession as a teacher was their   
    greatest undoing;
constantly coaching them about penmanship,
the correct formation of the letter "a"
    or while reading, pointing out misread syllables in
    a favorite text.

They will oblige Ms. O's prodding by adding the death 
that I couldn't help myself when it came to learning,
    revealing in hushed tones …

Poetry and the Problem with Pain {Coming Clean}

the poem below is one I did not write.
I was sorting through some old files and found it in a folder marked, "Poetry, Others."
I'm certain the poem was written nearly 35 years ago; the paper 
is yellowed and the print is clearly that of my old manual typewriter.
Seth Haines, an author/blogger disguised as a lawyer, has written a powerful book called "Coming Clean" telling the story of his struggle with alcohol during a near tragedy with his youngest son. Seth's healing began when he faced the pain that threatened to undo him, walking through forgiveness and repentance one day at a time.

Seth's started a Facebook page--'Coming Clean Insiders'--which anyone can join--to discuss the book in the safety of community; Chapter One kicked off last week. 

When I read 'need is our name' the other night, the words resonated with the heart of Seth's book--the ways we mask our brokenness and bury our pain.  And the way God meets us there when we …