A Child’s Transformation… a new kind of birth


The last of the seeds has caught on the wind’s edge
and scent of autumn lingers thick in fallen leaf.
Under this body of foliage I have found a deep peace,
one I’ve not known, without man-made clatter.

It is here, under the dying season, unblemished
I lie wondering how big the world actually is.
Can I hear, see, or taste the Almighty over sands of time
or will I just marvel at the miracle of a fallen leave?

For me, it has become my earliest memory of change;
greater than I, it is a paramount moment.
For I’ve seen through eyes grandeur than myself
and with gladness I rest my head on His shoulders.

I sense the elements of birth, new birth…
The scent of baby, sweeter than the flower
and softer than its petal, with finger prints
of the Master’s hand; as I hear the wind moan.

Linking up at dVerse… where we are talking about birth.

Tragedy of Man… and some difficult questions

What makes a tragedy so great;
the searing pain or event so dire?
Does God shed tears at man’s fate?
35,472 acres in California wildfires;
could it have been caused by sins of liars?
Who’s mate walked through the suffering gate?
The cries of 2500 buried in Badakhshan mudslides
or the disappearing of 227 on Malaysian flight.
Who decides the ride of death tide,
as the living holds onto life with might?
Nothing rivals such a great loss
with the hearts of one suffers many.
I’m told with gold comes the dross.
How deadly and disastrous is the pain?
Yet in time of trial seek life’s plenty
with those who stand in tears of rain
and remember who once bared a cross.

I’ve been reading through Job for the past few months. How great a personal loss it was for him; everything went. Was it his sin or just a time of testing? Then I needed to ask, “Why would God send His only Son, that first Christmas Day, to live and die for the sin of men? Some tough questions of tragedy here to answer and over at the place of the Toads.

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Casting of Bread… Rise to the Occasion

In this season of celebration;
the occasion has come for the
casting of bread down waters.
The perky child who pours time
into many handmade treasures;
the granny, weak of eyes, who
tenderly knits orphan’s mittens;

stocked soup kitchens lined with
silver spoons to serve unfortunate;
bulky coats for cold kids, gifts for
little ones with jail time fathers;
some glad to pay another’s debt…
In these ways we cast our bread upon
sweeter waters and ask for no return.

Out west they rejoice a long drought;
for fullness of clouds have come.
While out east they pray on mounds
of snow for storehouses to close.
As manna had fallen from above,
but turned moldy in sands of time,
when shall we cast our bread?

Can we cast our rich rooted bread
past the celebration of holiday season?
Where does compassion and love fall;
toward the frosty north or tepid south?
Are we like dead trees in empty forests
felled to the frozen earth where no one
lingers or flourishing as the rising bread?

Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days. Give a serving to seven, and also to eight, for you do not know what evil will be on the earth. If the clouds are full of rain, they empty themselves upon the earth; and if a tree falls to the south or the north, in the place where the tree falls, there it shall lie. Ecclesiastes 11:1-3

There’s rising of bread going on at dVerse today!

Down my Chimney


He came in his elfish manner; also
outfitted in plenty of fur and fluff.
No ash or soot upon his crimson coat;
truly thankful for an electric hearth.

The corn stalk pipe pocketed;
given up years ago for little ones.
Yet, his rolling chuckle remained
much clearer now… no chest pain.

His suit (two sizes down) for many
of cookie, oatmeal a darling, had
been bundled to feed the human race.
Now he had more energy in his pace.

The sack carried less; knowing
more isn’t always incredibly best.
Greed had been a hazard to his job;
he hoped his giving was showing.

He stood about staring; seeing this
family was caring. Pictures on the frig
of a boy who survived in Africa, cards of
missionaries, a photo at great-grandma…

Glazing at the shining star atop the tree
he recalled why he began this grand feat.
For so very long ago… the greatest gift
had arrived, before his time, in a humble

manger bed so mild; where cows did
low, angles came, and hoary shepherd’s
knelt before this Child so meek and mild.
His smallish frame took a knee before

the tree, the stockings hung, and manger
scene. It’s there he prayed a prayer
that all would recollect this special day;
the birth of Christ on Christmas Day!

Who isn’t reading the Night Before Christmas or the birth of the Christ Child this time of the year. Here’s a bit of a new twist on What’s Coming Down my Chimney; over at dVerse we’re making stories come alive in our homes. “Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night!”

A Girl from the City

I cannot write of the city; this country girl
raised in a block of salt box homes where
one could hear the hum from the neighbor
shaving or arguments rumbling as thunder

I cannot write of the city; as the moon dangling
over plowed corn field scattered with snow dust.
Instead of the cement passageways dark with
shadows stirring fear in trotting home too late.

I cannot write of the city’s potpourri smells,
of foods, from restaurant visited by little beings
with no voice in clanging, greasy kitchens
or scuffles which boiled in empty parking lots.

Or of puffs of diesel smoke down littered streets,
crowded with bus, and car, and truck, and such
all in scuttle; scurry to ultimate destination
not always knowing where they’d end up.

I cannot write of city’s glam; for a quiet country
mouse resides inside of me. It’s there the owl’s
serenades my slumber instead of moaning sirens.
And wind howls in the route of woody trees.

I cannot remember a time, as city sleeker girl,
in which I did not dream a dream of lingering
in the country woods where unnamed critters
go unseen till eyes are trained of their ways.

Or what would the world be if both did
not exist; perhaps a lack of harmony?
To each one does need to decide the life fit
best for them and then enjoy until the end.

Having been raise in on the busy streets of Milwaukee, I longed for more serenity. Over at dVerse we are going urban. So are you a country or city mouse?


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