Category Archives: Passion

No Shadow of Turning

Morning wakes
From before it sleeps
Perfect Power, Love, and Purity
Hovers over shapeless deeps
With a glistening dream,
A secret to keep,

In His eternality, it is complete
Before it begins.

Morning wakes
Man stretches into the ultimate gift:
His Maker’s image
He hurtles toward the rift
Of rebellion and graffiti
And The Maker sifts

Through the timeline complete
To scour away the sins.

Morning wakes
Unspeakable Light coos
In baby gurgles and gasps
Perfect Power pursues
In powerless flesh
Those who choose

To leave their altars incomplete
Laying themselves before Him.

Morning wakes
From the garden kneeling tender
In blood-soaked perspiration
To the host of jagged timber
Cutting into the fabric of time
All creation to ever remember

The sacrifice required is completed
Restoring the intent of the beginning.

Morning wakes
As a baby grown ascends
Above death, above what remains,
He prepares for our end
Sharing His Dear Spirit
Who teaches us to mend

Until the hour is complete
And we again dwell with Him.

Morning wakes,
Every breath pulls us nearer
To the Hovering God
Whose plans were dearer
Than our sabotages
And I can hear Him

Whose song in the shapeless night
Echoes through every waking morning.

Joy Replete

I love to live where it snows.

Where I tuck my cold toes
Against my husband’s warm legs

And we can stay in bed
Watching the snow, in wispy flurries,

Bury all our reasons to hurry
In graceful drifts and banks of white

Sleeping soundly through the night,
At first light baking bread, scrambling eggs,

Brewing coffee hot and stout, laced with nutmeg,
While some pork crackles in the cast iron pans

Calling forth my offspring better than I can
In peals of giggles and visions of wintry delights

My husband and I drink up the sights
Black coffee kisses by the kitchen stove

He is the fullness of man: an endless trove
Of potent strength and character- his able hands

Built the space wherein I stand
Safe, cherished, with ample provisions:

His life is a million noble decisions
For which I lay a million kisses on his beard

I love living here
In a space none has torn asunder

Where the work itself becomes the wonder.

Of a Monday

Fast, another day breaks new
More tasks await than I can do
Thus I engage, in the historical sense,
Searching for the significance,
Sifting the vital from the inconsequential
Assigning value to inherent potential
By the framework of my worldview

As every human is prompt to do.


Along some rocky bank
Of wave-bleached stone,
Threshed sand, tangled strands
Twisted weeds like strings of
Ransomed pearls
Where brave men stand alone
And weary women glean
With spines like wilted stems
Both holding hands
In the ebb and flow
Salt-licked gusts the
Howling metronome of the
Foamy churning of days-
Along this bank
I broadly face the sea
Echoing the sirens’ call
In soft falsetto tones
Harmless in humility
Helpless in my humanity

And out upon the vast expanse
The Great God hovers
So I send my call,
My love song,
Across the misty-tided
Ocean of evidence

He called for me first.

The Derelict Palace

Pursed Doors,
With disuse,
Become wall hangings

Parsed Stories
From inside
Eventually stop rapping

And the bare knuckles
Of things that have been
Fold across the still lap
Of inert chronos

Wrapping over the lips
The muffled mouth
Of closed doors.

Framed art
Oft passed by
Neglects to capture
The incalcitrant eye
It fades into flat spaces
Of cobwebs and refusals

The day breaking impotent
When the mouth reopens
To finally loose
A foreign tongue.

Evicted Verses

Where shall I keep my secret thoughts?
Scrawled in ink on fallen trees
Whispered to the roving winds
Migrating on the wayward breeze
Folded thrice in covert deposit
In the cupboard hidden beneath the stair
Buried in a vacant coffee can,
Etched in ash against the night air
Swirling upward in funeral dirge
A final surge of flicker and flight
Where might I discover the habitat
To keep these little thoughts aright?

Rising Tide

Toes again
In the virgin soil
All the running,
The years, the misplaced faith
In our irrevocable brokenness
And I return to wade in the waves
Of the great unknown

A great secret
Hidden all these years
In the plainest sight:
Everyone’s broken.
Our existence
Is an inalienable right
And blessed privilege.

And the standard
Is to breathe
Toe the ebb and flow
And fail
And believe
And live on.

Native Tongue

I’ve been the foreigner
In every land I’ve lived
Seeking strangers to give
Alms of recognition
My ambition
To form a family
Bonded by noble desires,
But I’m ever the outlier
And my search is finished;
I return- I am diminished
And as I should be.
Slipping quietly from view
While foreigners run to and fro
Mending all the world’s woes
I will sit in the brokenness
That birthed me,

Because it’s the right thing to do.

A Road Turned In

I used to believe the open road
Healed all wounds
And how it soothed
The standing heat of idle days
Rolled out every which way
But home.

These roads became a vascular web,
A spaghetti junction,
Serving a single function:
Protecting the pocket that
Would not heal

Using these temporary escapes
To instead restore, to expose,
To open the pocket, to close
The distance between two points
And no one untraveled
Knows the pain,

The hope,

The strength it takes
To roll up the pavement.

In The Morning

This is a fraught, complicated,
No-win situation.
I can find no solution
To the dilemma I’m in
Nothing that satisfies
My body often churned
I struggle to distill
All I’ve seen and learned
By act of will,
I force my next steps
Unsure how to deploy
There’s grief, there’s anguish,
But underneath, there’s joy.

You, who sings over my soul
In every changing season
Are God of all, God with us,
Brokenness is no treason
In the Hands of the Great Physician
I regret no sorrow I’ve seen
When You’ve flooded
Every hidden moment between
With joy inexpressible.