Mixing It Up With Some Oldies

I hope your New Year is going well. I am jump-starting mine today by looking back at some of my older poems---ones I really like. I think it is wonderful the way looking back on good moments can fill us with energy and sometimes inspire new projects.

He Helps Me

Kneeling now before You
Surrounded yet by color, with closed eyes,
I offer up to You---by spoken word, by silent thought
What small portion You have given to be mine.
Conscious now of You---and then the color 'round,
Some memory, some shame,
Then again to You with speed and gravity and hope---
You will surely meet me with Your wholeness
And with Your Word, forgiving,
Present my portion full.


Watch the Comet

Watch the Comet
Burning through the dark, it seems,
Passing by her friends, the stars,
As seen by man, Romantic.
Still she is an icey one,
Covering her core with a coat of light
She borrows from the sun.

Watch the woman
Moving only for the day light,
Too cool and too composed for nites,
Un seen by man, Romantic.
Still she is a burning fire
Covering her core with a cloak of modesty
Which was a gift to her.


Passages

Blue porc'lain and tea,
Author's bridge of blackened leaves;
Far away at home.
Magic silk screen images,
Never real, nor ever fade.

In the beginning, there was a very inexperienced poet/blogger...

I don't really know where to start, but I thought you might like to know how this blog came by the name One More Voice. Those three words are from lines I wrote, contained in the piece below. I climbed out of bed at midnight to write this down, in early Feb. 2008.


Silent Conversation
(With Christ)


In this age 
Today
So many voices
Toss words on to the page
And through the air
It seems so nearly futile
To join the clamor
Just one more voice
In so much noise
Lost


Why write
Why isolate
Why wake
Why add my voice 
To the clatter,
I breath


Then You whisper,
So I can hear
At my feet
It is a privilege
To be one more voice
To join the throng


I created you
Sing my song




Back in late 2001, my sister, Joyce, challenged me to start "writing all the poems from this time in my life." I'm afraid I had pretty much stopped writing poetry. To please Joyce, my mother (who also thought I ought to be writing,) and as a challenge to myself, I decided to spend the year doing just that. At the end of 2002, I was able to put together a slim volume of poems for family and friends; there were only ever 15 copies . The following are some of those poems.



Right Now


I have Christmas to clean up after,
An anniversary party to plan,
Grocery shopping to do,
And laundry waiting in piles,
But right now
I am holding my son,
Warm, weighty, and soft.
Right now,
His blondish hair stands straight up from his head.
His lashes are long, darker and curving.
His cheeks are full and flushed rosy from nursing.
His lips are neither thin, nor wide, but pink always.
His chin is pronounced and round.
His dimpled hand rests on my breast
And there, too, I feel the gentle touch of his even, sleepy breathing.
Right now,
I am holding my son,
He is all that matters.




Sunday Praise


Sunday is your day, Oh Lord
And we should be in your house
But instead, You are in ours
With us.
Thank You for this house, Lord.
For its sheltering.
For clean and dry
And warm and fed.
For its past and its present.
For Your presence.
Praise to You from whom our blessing Flow.