Poetry is powerful because

opened book and black pen

To write a poem

is to voice

the stirrings of your soul,


to picture someone else reading it

and relating

to the rhythm of life below

the surface, sensing

the vital as


When we choose to create, we express something that is worth saying, worth sharing, worth putting ‘out there’ in a way that honours and speaks to the soulful side of who we are. This is not a part of us we need explain, or even put into words. It is simply the outflow of what’s going on inside, which is exactly where we are shaped through the process known as spiritual formation. And so, in one way, writing a poem or painting a picture, composing music, etc., is how we live into the truth of who we are, of how God made us to be. And so, we express.



close up shot of shards of a broken ceramic plate on a wooden surface

CONTEMPT does untold damage to otherwise great relationships, cutting off their future potential, sharpening all the edges, making people feel ill at ease, less than themselves and simply NOT who they are meant to be.

Holding contempt is at odds with extending grace.

Relationships require compassion, respect, and sometimes, more than a little mending. But as long as contempt is part of the picture, there is little hope of either party being able to fix things on their own.

May this find you in a place of willingness to pick up the pieces and take a closer look at what might be the true source of the pain, the problem, the misunderstanding…

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Focus, Focus

arrow feather stock selective focus

Is the pressure we feel a distraction

from what the Lord would have us see?

Are we afraid to say what we’re afraid of—

tired of people making fun

of what is not fun—

needing the root to loosen, break free?

Do we long to stomp on pure and holy ground,

let the arrows fly—claim back the lost

that means so much and, no matter what has come

                           to pass, will always mean

                           so much?

Sometimes we can feel so much has been lost, even taken from us; somehow slipped from our hands when we cared so much and didn’t want to see it go. And we can give up. Despair. Settle for less. But this is not the warrior’s cry. The warrior says, “No. I will fight, on my knees. I will declare what is mine and what I have been given. I will not surrender the fight for what is lost, but might yet be gained.”

For more on the dynamics of the spiritual life, visit my BOOKSTALL.


a tugboat sailing on sea

The scent of white lilacs

on the lip of a tugboat still on the waves

catches me off-guard, reduces

the lines between

now and                          then

                           when love was too thinly

              defined, and I never knew

how the romance of wild things hung

on standing still.

There are memories that come back to us when we travel between Point A and Point B and we realize life compounds, works together, takes us forward on our own steam, and the steam of itself. We are travelers making choices, but also passengers learning lessons, people pausing to breathe in the air; the scented air that resolves the things we fear by reminding us of all we hold dear; whispering – love is always near.

For more great poems, check out my Bookstall

What Can Be Shaken

starry night sky over starry night

Ideologies scatter

like pixie dust in the face of a cold North wind—

as faith grows bold, moves into a house cleansed,

reduced through sorrow that came to visit,

but could not

did not stay forever

given the power of God

and his eternal, loving nature.

There’s so much shaking going on these days. Yikes. It’s hard to know how to respond, but respond we must, even in the quiet of our own homes. As we bow down, and choose to let the Lord lead, there’s this sense that things are happening that we can’t possibly explain and why would we try, in the moment, when the greater need is probably to be still. To take stock. To hold firm. And to release the failed ideologies that have proved less than solid; to build our lives instead on the Rock; the One that cannot be shaken.

For more poetry, check out my Bookstall.