June

Shortening shadows.
Lengthening days.
Solstice.

Waking to life,
an arboreal yawn.
Truest colored tendrils —
freshly born.
Joyfully rooted.

An ornithological chorus,
pitch-perfect in cacophonous harmony.
Serene undulations of oratory pleasure,
Nature’s soft call to a new day’s dawn.
Miraculous feathered levity.

Bladed soldiers —
a chlorophyll platoon.
Cut-to-length obsession.
An ever-cool
barefoot temptation.

Coating chins and noses,
a sticky tributary.
Spread-legged postures and seed-sorting tongues.
Striped, watery sweetness.
O happy, heavy fruit!

Sun brewed leaves,
cubed with ice,
captive to moisture wrapped vessels.
Humidity’s antidote —
sweet or not.

Straw hat lady,
smiling at the sun.
Resting in reclined absorption,
relinquishing winter’s pale coat
for human color.

Waves on feet —
a delightful rhythmic torment.
Squawking sand-steps and angry Gull croons.
Gritty snacking.
Crowded solitude.

Warm.
Green.
Alive — again.

June.

Sweet Mary

In the dark of my desk drawer is a birthday card.

On the cover, in black and white, is the photo of a crinkle-faced, toothless old man. 
Inside is this salutation: “You had better pray that you are as young as you feel and not as old as you look! – Love, Mary 🙂

Funny Mary.

Mary’s gone.
At least from here.
That void aches.

I think of her. And cry.
Separation hurts.
Death’s old cuts are bleeding fresh.

I’m pondering pain and justice.
Coaxing hope from the chaos of grief.
Cultivating joy in the seedbed of faith.

Still, I long for more of that beautiful life.
For more of Mary.

More of her laughter and jokes.
Her pranks and her pizza.
Her finely-feathered costume halo and mischievous smile.

I’ll miss her sipping coffee from a Victorian teacup.
Perching tiptoed on a step stool to fetch reams of paper.
Sprinting through the hall to answer a ringing phone.

Hard-working Mary.

I have books on my shelf.
Books from Mary.
Old books. Wonderful books.
Her husband’s books.
Thumbing through their pages, I glean Mary’s love.
I am humbled. Honored. Unworthy. Grateful.
Wonderful gifts.

Thank you, Mary.

Death is a robber.
A felonious creep that steals our best treasures.
He took our Mary – and not very nicely.

Jerk.

But Mary’s just fine.
Better than ever, really.
Rested. Satisfied. Complete.

Alive!

Her earthly song reverberates.
It is lovely.
And we sing for her, as she renews her precious marital grip.
Basks in faith’s realization.
And meets the gaze of her greatest love.

Well done, Sweet Mary.

Mary’s life verse: “I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.” (Philippians 3:10–11, NIV)

Humble Earth Dweller

Our Lord Jesus~

Creation’s Conductor.
Master of Angels.
Heaven’s sweet Prince.

A servant of boundless perfection.
Obedient and kind, you gave for our gain.

A glorious submission.
Immaculate incarnation.
Salvation’s hero.

Uncompromised humanity and full-dosed divinity.
Oh, mysterious oneness!

You shared our air and toiled in our thorns.
Wrestled frustrations and fought disappointment.
Knew hunger and need.
Tasted betrayal.

You wept.

For us and with us as one of us.
A humble earth dweller.

Pioneer of grace. Embodiment of Truth.
Our wounded healer.
Our champion of love.

Love unbroken. Unqualified. Undeserved.
Abundant in application.
A merciful draught for withering souls.

We drink deep.

We remember your advent.
We yearn for your justice.
We exist by your goodness.

And we celebrate.

You.

Long expected, our only hope in life and death.
Once humble babe now ruler and King.
Our Savior. Our Lord.

Our Emmanuel.

We Wait

~A Meditative Poem for Good Friday~

Holy seed.
Divine conception.
Incarnated promise.

Escape and sequester.
A home-going.
Boyhood.

Brother to siblings.
A father’s apprentice.
Temple dweller.

Coming of age.
Baptism.
A Father’s pleasure.

Wedding.
Water.
Wine.

Storyteller.
Rebel teacher.
Traveling celebrity.

Water-walker.
Storm-tamer.
Death-beater.

Compassionate healer.
Feeder of mouths.
Tender of souls.

Who is He?

Mary’s son.
Mad man.
Messiah.

A sacred feast.
A faithful few.
A traitor.

He prayed. He pleaded.
He wept. He listened.
He obeyed.

A kiss.

Accused. Abused. Abandoned.
Beaten and punished.
Mocked. Ridiculed. Cursed.
Kicked and whipped.
Bludgeoned.
Flesh and sweat.
Blood and bits.
Tremors.
Convulsions.
Exhaustion and agony.

Again.

And again.

Spare him.
Walk him.
To ‘The Skull.’

Hammer and nails.
Tendon and bone.
Execution.

Suspended spectacle.
Naked. Humiliated.
Alone.

Grief. Wailing. Mourning.
Disdain. Laughter. Self-satisfaction.
Together.

Guiltless for the guilty.
Justice through injustice.

Love.

Death.

Silence.

It is finished.
The grave is full.

We wait.