Little to Say

brown and red wooden human face print decor

I am like a Russian Doll,

not the big one on the outside

with the glossy red and gold painted

designs hands love to rub—but one of the smaller ones

nested inside, hidden away, sheltered by those

more able to handle the handling:

I am more compact, take up

less room, able

to hold my breath

longer

a virtue, perhaps, in other lands.

This poem appears in my latest book of poems called Roses in Winter and has nothing to do with the current political situation, only the interior battle we all wage to be heard and seen in life-giving ways, although perhaps this kernel is not unrelated to larger conflicts that cost real lives, although I am loathe to comment.

Partly it’s my accent

My language is in exile here,

hard to decode, appreciate the nuances of,

the idioms

of where I come from—

I get that.

Yet on some level I still want to build a bridge,

even though I see (everyday) I can only

do half.

grayscale photo of computer laptop near white notebook and ceramic mug on table
Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

Whatever language or idiom we speak, through our words or actions, our work or our pain, we share a desire to be heard, decoded, employed on a meaningful level.

This poem appears in my new book of poetry called Roses in Winter.

in my opinion

photo of person riding kayak during dawn

if we live our lives afraid of people’s opinions,

we will live our lives

afraid

1,000X better to be yourself; which often requires a measure of solitude, to learn how to be who we are, when we’re alone and more often than not face-to-face with God. This is when and where we find the courage to respond to people whose opinions might have told us we were something other than the Beloved. This poem appears in my latest book of poetry – Roses in Winter.

Without Lyricism

wood typography business design

Divorce is this word a lot of us wish

did not exist, and yet many of us have found

it not only persists, but is like gods (drunk and sober)

in a forest felling trees (young and old)

too close to home, to children, to the stuff

of our dreams, when there’s nowhere

we’d rather be

than somewhere this word

was never uttered.

This poem appears in my new book Roses in Winter. It’s meant to speak to pain points that the rest of our lives often try and smooth over. But really, for most people who are married, this is where we live. In the good and loving centre of our relationship, OR on the fringes of something that has unraveled, fallen apart, cost us everything.

That marriage takes work is a truism. That its fail-point, divorce, is a multi-billion dollar industry is not worth mentioning. But in here somewhere is the incredible, underlying truth that marriage is meant to shelter us. To make our dreams come true. To bless the world and people around us. To comfort us and bring us hope.

In other words, it’s a powerful, unchanged sacramental vow between a man and woman to stick it out. To trust that tomorrow is a new day. That God’s mercies are available to us; that change is real. Here’s to that!

Of course, any word on this tender topic lends itself to a series of books and sermons and greeting cards. But! The point is, that unless safety is an issue, then be encouraged: no one gets married to get divorced. The question becomes: why did you get married? And what might it take to heal and grow from where you are now: married or (un)married?

grinding

a car stuck on a snow covered ground

in danger of getting stuck,

my wheels bed down

between icy ruts, deny traction,

refuse to budge, I need

someone to push,

stop

spinning wheels from making

it worse

but it’s hard to ask for help

when you’re trying

hard to prove you can drive

a big truck

a poem about the need for a push when we get stuck, feel like we’re grinding our wheels, giving our all but going nowhere; often it’s impossible to see our way out without a little help from the Lord or a friend, someone who is FOR US and who will truly 100% rejoice in our MOVING FORWARD

this poem appears in my new book Roses in Winter