Currently Browsing: poems

Beach Stripes

the blue and yellow lines around our umbrella   the sparkling stripes laid wide and long across the ocean, alternating with the darkness of water   the glossy emerald stripe just off the shore between lines of frothy white waves   and that one cherished silver stripe around your finger gleaming gold against the hot sand
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Today

Today
Today is my wedding day, and my father will read this poem during my ceremony.     Today is like the new wine flowing from the hands of Christ at the late hour during the wedding of Cana It is like the first blooms of spring and the brilliance of sunrise after the sunset before a long winter: Today is a tree of life. Today is the wonder of divine redemption after the death of dreams, like Isaac’s ram on the mountain It is like a feast at harvest, the evidence of seeds unseen cultivated by Sovereign hands: Today is a promise received. Today is a reflection of God who is faithful in covenant love,...
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Hometown

brown oak leaves finger the slender grass, deep with memory   poplar leaves in varying shades of ochre pile calf- and ankle- deep over the terraced deck   the pointed red stars of Japanese maples plaster the sidewalks like confetti after a parade   old trees—sycamore, maple, cherry and apple—   arching over creeks and country roads, marching up and down the hills, strip in the breeze, holding onto both gold and pennies, sifting their treasure in measured sums   my hometown in autumn counts the years one leaf at a time— meted memories, dropped tokens of every forgotten summer...
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New Year’s Day

I miss the glass stars we hung in the kitchen window at Christmas time,   blue, orange, red, the big one in the middle with the candle.   Light of the old year gone, candlewick spent. Decorations and ornaments put away the last few days of December   stripping the old year bare, back to its unadorned state. The holidays are like dresses, fancy, glamorous, long and covering. Fireworks that illumine what—the year going or the one coming?   We won’t know until this December 31, when the same window stars have come and gone once more   and this year’s white wax is spent.  ...
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Spring

It is a quiet overcast Sunday. Daffodils roll up their sleeves. Grass makes room for the dandelions. A silent green and yellow parade of acknowledgement. Look closer if you don’t believe in redemption. White blooms on the pear trees die for young leaves. The blossoms are new every year, no matter how old the branches are. Daffodils reveal their orange smiles, periscopes of life.    
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