Signs and wonders

For those who like to say
the world is made
of two kinds of people,
I would propose
a new division --
those who are superstitious,
and those who choose to ignore
the signs and wonders that abound
(and can you tell
by the way I put this
which side of this divide
I occupy?)


For why else --
at a time when, unbeknownst to me
(so far had I fallen)
I was longing for a lift of spirits --
would such an image
catch my thirsty eye,
demand I notice, grab my camera,
and then, acting on the information,
head up the stairs
(however much I need a lift,
I prefer to rise on my own steam);
finding (to my great joy) a friend,
thereby renewing that sense of connection
that restores my sense of unity
with mankind,
that sense which, when lost,
leaves each of us
aliens in a universe
not of our own choosing.

Late-blooming moon

Rising
sometime after midnight
to face the late night demons
I stumble toward the bathroom door
(left open just a crack)
and cast a near-sighted glance
through the curtained window.
What light is this
that peers between
the dark shapes
I know to be trees?
And if it is the moon,
why rising now, and here?
Shouldn't it be off to the left
and higher,
or not there at all?


I shake my head,
return to bed;
doze fitfully,
to rise again at dawn and find
the half-moon, high and glowing now
as if to say, "Like you, I started late,
and yet, you see what height I've reached:
don't give up hope --
you, too, could still ascend...

I shake my head again,
shake out all thoughts
of anything but now;
shake out the was, the could, the should,
and all the might becomes
creating space for is;
watch out the window, waiting
as presence slowly fills
this space beneath the trees,
wrapped in promise,
glowing like the moon.

Don't worry.
I haven't abandoned this blog.
I am only temporarily absent,
having embarked upon
a Lenten discipline
that focuses on prayer
and imagery in response
to the readings
in Rachel Hackenberg's
Writing to God: 40 days 
of Praying With my Pen.
You can see the results
of my labors by clicking
on the image at right.
See you after Easter!
D

Perhaps Mediterranean

They say that over time
a husband and a wife
grow to look like each other --
breathing the same air,
eating the same foods --
And we know dog owners
often resemble their dogs.
So looking at the bottom
of this glorious boat,
I have to assume
she must have loved the sea
(perhaps the Mediterranean?)
very much...

There is a door

There is a door
behind the thorns
and bounded by the clouds
of doubt,
despair,
and grief.
Do you dare
to lift the bar,
slide it back
and grab the handle;
open up
and set the demons free?
Whatever courage
you can muster
for that last step
will bless you
all your days.

Cold feet

It's hard not to get cold feet
in the gray,
in the waiting,
when the fire of creation
dims and chills
and tears of frustration
muddy the paint
and wash out all the color.
Sometimes all you can do
is hunker down and wait:
fluff out your feathers
against the cold
squint your eyes
against the wet
tuck your wings in close
and brace against the wind.

Not eagles

Our mothers did not raise us
to be eagles,
you and I;
to sharpen beaks and talons,
to soar above the sea
and dive -- full focus,
perfect aim,
effortless grasp --
for what we want,
to know we're meant to have it,
not to question,
but to watch,
and simply to respond:
seeing the silver flash
beneath the waves,
to take it for our own.