Swallow Dance

They sweep, a-dance, a trio
Swooping wildly o’er the water,
Darting wingtips washed by wavelets
In the swerving, swirling chase.

They soar, they dive, they rise,
Gliding up above the shoreline
Showing black against a skyline
Soft with opal-gleam pastels.

They hover over color –
Pink and purple, greenish-blue
In a fragment-mix of motion
As the wavelets chase the sheen.

Then again, against the cloud-light –
Coral, blue-green, lilac-gray;
They trace a tie between the two
While weaving lace-paths with their ways.

Of Spiderwebs

Shimmering silken strands
Shivering, shining in a sunbeam
That slips through shaded boughs
And streams to spot the grass below –

A thousand quivering strings of glimmering
Catching, stretching out the glitterings,
Tracing rough and darkened branches
White with lacy lengths of glow –

What are these but plain and ugly things,
So many spiderwebs ‘mong branchings
Of a single, simple pine tree
That weeps sap-tears to the ground?

Yet they become much more than just themselves:
When o’re-washed with bright cascading,
Clothed a-new with light’s remaking
They’re transformed and glorified.

The Signpost

I traveled through a windswept waste

Wide weary, dreary-hued and beauty-bare,

When in that bitter, lonely place

A form arrested, held my stare.

It rose to just above my height –

A pole with battered board atop

That shivered in the biting wind

But bade me, even still, to stop

And gaze in hunger at its face:

Wood scarred with etchings deep and old

That spoke in silence of that place…

Drove out its harsh and empty cold.

At last I turned back to the waste

But knew now that I tread upon

A path another soul had faced

And passed. I could continue on.

Fantasy Realm

New-green, the hills,

All speckle-swirled with white,

Stretch ‘round to bask

In glowing sun’s delight

And duck through woods

Of shadow tossed by trees

That tow’r aloft

To catch the laughing breeze

Which dives to whirl

Through flower-galaxies

A-drape, lace-white,

O’er swells of grass-space green

And, twirling, sets

The starlet flowers a-dance

To toss the world

Their wonder-blushing glance.


White of clouds in day-blue sky
O’er-traced with criss-crossed, branching lace,
Set wav’ring on the water’s streaming rush
To yet another place –

Sand and rocks all browned with moss
And tiny pebbles littered ‘round,
Sealed in by mirk-fogged liquid that
Slips ever past without a sound –

Oh, which to see?  Could the world within
This wet, thin-layered atmosphere
Negate the glimmer-hinted realm
That far beyond its depths appears?

Dear Baby

~ To Ashley and Hannah, who gave me this picture of trust*

I held you, Little One, today,

And you watched the world from my arms.
As so many unknowns
Passed you by on their way
To and fro, you looked on unalarmed.

And I walked and I rocked you,
And you, dearest child,
Slowly settled your weight against me,
Laid your head on my shoulder,
And for the first time
In my arms let yourself drift to sleep.

There you lay, and there I,
In a quiet and deep-settled calm,
Stood and treasured the moments
I found in the trust
Of your rest to give shelter and hold.

And I saw as I held you
That the gladness I felt
Welling up just in giving you care
Could not ever come close
To the joy that God finds
When I trust and let Him hold me near.

Ghost Leaves

‘Midst branches bare and brown,

With twigs a-tangle in the mist

They float – frail bits of parchment

Traced with wettened water twists

That track to where drips drop themselves

From faded tips to seek the ground

Where all the other autumn leaves

Adorn the dirt, now layer-gowned.

And still the air-borne pale ones cling;

The branch-bound deck their trees with rows

Of whitened gold that sun’s return

Will catch inside and set a-glow.

Changing Hands

~ for Mom and Dad

Mark half-turned toward the house, reached back to grasp the door handle, and pulled it shut.  Tracy waited at the bottom of the porch steps.  He joined her, and the two set off down the sidewalk.  She caught his hand.

“It’s a beautiful evening,” she said as they began to walk.  He glanced at her face – her slight, relaxed smile, the brown, silver threaded curls bobbing about her forehead.  He followed her gaze to the quiet street and the trees in their late-summer green.  He looked up at the blue, cloud-wisped sky and the lowering sun.  He nodded. Continue reading

Seeing More

We entered.

“Come see the artwork,” they said,

So I looked, and I saw it –

there, up ahead,

And above, and below, and indeed,

all around,

In wall, floor and ceiling,

easily found.

They pointed,

“Look: collages, etchings, drawings, and paintings.”

But I really preferred the

subtle swirlings

Of the slate floor’s grain lines as they

whirled and twirled

And crashed against the edges of their

stone-block world.

They claimed,

“These collages profoundly express social awareness and deep feeling.”

But in truth, I thought more of the


Where the gaps and the cracks in the rough


Told me vague tales of time sealed behind

the past’s doors.

They stated,

“This artist portrayed life in candid and bold etchings and sketches.”

But my interest was all in another floor’s


Of marbled molasses set in wood


Sealed smooth so I saw my own face when

I looked down.

They spoke,

“These paintings…” but I still didn’t hear.

I was too busy looking up, down, far

and near,

Completely wrapped up in all that

I saw.

This was pure beauty


What more did I need?

But did I

see all there was to see?

Could I

have looked beyond (and how far?) what I saw easily?

Could I

have tried to comprehend something unnatural to me?

Could I

have reached out to grasp a different kind of beauty?