The Garden (Early 2010)

The stone pieces in the middle of this calming place have bits of weeds growing round them.

Though the owner thinks them not weeds, but growth, she lets them blossom

Vibrant colors. Crazy shapes. Curly vines, it all surrounds the trees and cottage.

A ceramic fairy sits on a small wooden bench, watching the scene change with the seasons.

An unmoving frog-king crouches proudly on his organic rocking chair throne.

The foliage over takes one another, out to claim a place for its branches

                                                The sturdy oxygen making, leaf growing, tree stands proud in its corner.

The forever unused watering tin sits forever in the same spot. The owner lets nature care for her plants, except in the scorching sun.

                   The wooden bird house sways with the branch it hangs from.

                                                          A bird chirps, the sun glares.

The writer stops.

The poem is done.

The Rainbow in the Valley (Early 2010)

The Rainbow in the Valley

The storm has come…

One rainbow stays out while the

Rains pour, the thunder roars.

Havoc is brought to the rainbow’s valley.

The place she loves is destroyed, but instead of hiding she weathers the storm.

Fighting it out for her home

The storm has passed.

The other rainbows appear,

But because of her stand in the floods she is the brightest one in the pack,

The Maker is pleased. The storm has come, that rainbow stands…

That rainbow is me…

Home (early 2010)

Home

The pot boils, the pan sizzles. A dog barks

   This house is not my house, but it is my home.

      Lounging on the couch I breathe. My chest surges up and down.

The dogs’ paws clip on the hard wood, the rhythm matches my own beat.

        Children scream, the adults chatter, the TV blares.

   I can’t think above the noise, but even in this chaos it’s still a memory. It is still a time to store inside the box labeled: Good Times.

The children and animals are shooed outside.

                       The TV clicks off.

   The pot boils, the pan sizzles, a child screams

This house is not my house, but I am home.

Empty Wells (March 2011)

Empty Wells

Opening your eyes, you see that you are surrounded by a forest.

Glancing to the skies, trees tower above your human size. These trees seem to be growing past the sun, their branches intertwine with each other’s, a natural umbrella.

Grazing the forest floor with your eyes, you notice no bugs or animals reside here.

There is no wind, no birds chirping. Just the sound of running water.

All of a sudden, a well appears. It has a stone barrier preventing you from falling.

Walking to it, you draw a cup full using the bucket already there.

The taste is sweet, like honey. After swallowing some more, a bitter aftertaste over powers your mouth.

Suddenly, a new well appears. This one several yards away. You taste its waters. It is sweeter than the last! But… the bitter aftertaste is more sour than before.

With the blink of an eye, hundreds of wells appear, calling you. They are scattered throughout the trees.

Each one you try is worse than the last. Nothing satisfies you for long,

Nothing

A lamb’s coo whispers by. Following this new sound you see another well at the center of a meadow.

This well is not the prettiest looking one, but still you are drawn to it.

Peering over the edge with your hands grasping the top, your reflection stares back. A ripple in the water breaks the perfect image of your face. Replacing it is two ragged beams crossed over each other.

Dare you try its waters? Will it wash away the bitterness in your mouth? Or add to it, like all the others?

Taking the plunge, you cup your hands and reach down. Bringing a palm full of icy cool water tp your lips, you timidly swallow.

A voice is heard through the trees, a still wind,

“You are forgiven”

Now you can forgive yourself as he has, or hold it against yourself.

He has covered your mistakes with the blood of the Lamb.

Let it go