doorway

stepping over the great divide
between my world and hers
cigarette ash, broken bottles
mar the way
far away sits the little girl
sockless shoeless fearless tearless
posing pretty
reaching across the gap wrap my arms
'round
her waist pull her out the doorway
into a sun-draped spring
ring the bells she's finally learned
to laugh
no more darkness, no more chaff
daughter of deliverance

mountain mural

snow crystals
red cheeks frozen strands of
hair
suspended o're jagged peak
shrieks of sheer
joy little girl and boy
we are
gliding down hills finding
powder pillows and
lying down
gazing at blue canvas
on which
love is scrawled in
cloud
script

this is wonderland

wednesday nights find us snuggling on our beat-up purple couch ignoring phone calls watching our show. a show about misfit lawyers and rejected criminals everyone craving touch, understanding, acceptance. last wednesday we met a skinny old man who took off his clothes in front of someone hoping they too would strip and they could stand there naked, somehow connecting. when asked why he did that, he turned tearful eyes to the judge and croaked, "because i'm so desperately lonely, and i was trying to feel noticed, connected, just for a moment. everyone just walks past everyone else every day like empty shells." deemed criminally insane, he left the audience in silent ruins, realizing their own hollow insides.

politics

what this country needs is a stern scrubbing with lye soap. the tories have the glory -- what now? who is this harper? is he worthy of the trust we've already given him? politics and Jesus, can they walk hand in hand? do we really have to unwravel the gay issue again when it's hard enough to convince the world Christ is love above the noise of machine guns? bullets of patriotism. satchels of food flung from the sky. lonely old people stumbling in the darkness, angry young people turning out the lights. can any form of government save us now?

tattoos

ink on skin
a sin?
artistic expression
beautiful body
outlet
my heart's
tattooed with
God grafitti
ever a crime to tattoo
the surface?
rather, an
act of worship
decorating the
dust from which
i've come

mother

soft hands flowered apron you
stand in my doorway son-light spilling 'round
you
mother

loud music gentle prayers you
love to laugh hate to stare proper british
woman
mother

big heart bigger worries you
try to release without letting go begging stay! yet i leave
you
mother

tears washing tender face your
big blue eyes are full of grace i love you need you try to be
you
mother

morning dove

soon i will hear it -- the coos of a morning dove disguised in sunrisen traffic. i'm sitting here, it's 3 a.m., frozen in my flannel pajamas too tired to sleep. it's a horrible cunundrem (spelling?). my baby keeps whispering it's okay, snuggle close, breathe deep, clear your thoughts, let me wipe away your fitful paranoia. and i lie perfectly still and try to obey him but soon all i hear is his gentle sleepfilled breathing and i can't. four hours of just lying there drives one into straight jackets so i bundled into my new fur blanket and stumbled to the ever-faithful computer screen. its wakeful eye is lighting up my fatigued face and i'm trying to edit articles coherently. perhaps it was the English Toffee tea to which i'm addicted. perhaps God is trying to tell me something. perhaps i got too much sleep last night. whatever the case, i'm here, doing this, praying somehow my head will drop on the desk and my dreams will take over.

sarah

"introspective
pilgrims
that's what we are" my friend says
(the one working with street kids in bangkok and strumming her guitar softly)
"on a journey to find our souls"
she reminds me of madeleine l'engle
quiet genius voicing my
subconscious thoughts
walking along life's long winding path stopping to
scribble poetry, mend broken wings or kneel down
and pray
stay in my life you make me want to
upgrade my
character

fishing in the dark

fireflies dart in
yellow zig zags
your hand is
warm
in mine
we sit at the end of the dock dip our
feet in the water
stare at the skies and i'm not sure who i am
except for my smile
a million miles of happiness
stretched across my face
as we fish in the
dark for
something stronger
bigger
more beautiful
than we've ever
known

colourful threads

i'm an
unwraveled sweater
torn at the seams
hem me in
sew me tight
that i might be fit
to be worn

in truth

in truth i can't lie
in bed
knowing you're out there freezing and lonely with red rings round your eyes
in truth i wish i could
forget
how you haunt my dreams with your holey shoes and broken spirit
but i can't so i won't
i'll always
remember
in spite of how i feel
in truth
i love you
beautiful stranger

wishing

let the world keep revolving and the people keep on hating we're together deeply loving tucked inside don't come in we'd like to camp out in our bed till our God has come to rid of all the evil no don't make me turn my cheek, lose my mind get no sleep for the sake of the cause put the people's needs on pause and let me find myself in you just this once.

spiritual battle

he's an ugly little man with a pointed little beard
he pounds upon my head until his voice is greatly feared
he shows up uninvited when i'm hungry or fatigued and he
fails to leave until i've lost the will to fight or breathe;

or ... until my guardian angel with his white tuxedo comes
swinging deftly at the bald man's head, he makes his fat legs run
swoops me up in faithful arms and wings me to my King
and lays me gently in His lap till joy the morning brings.

left-handed violinist

driving to work this morning listening to CBC the violin wove sunshine-strings in the air around my ears making beautiful the cold black day. then the announcer told me your hand had been paralyzed, your right hand, the one with which you held the bow. so you simply switched over to your left and kept on playing, letting your soul fly on the wings of your music, refusing to be silenced by despair. this morning you serenaded me, and i listened.

fools' paradise

run away with me to the ends of the earth where no one can find us, where we can find ourselves. you cry into my shoulder late at night, i curl up like a fetus. we're trying to form a paradise out of shattered pieces of hell. you vowed to never forsake me but more than that, let's always drink deep the love we've read about, dreamed about, fought for and almost lost. come, take my hand, and run. don't look back.

again

make me a child again to
twirl in the breeze
laugh at a sneeze and
giggle in your arms

disarm me

make me love again live again like
i did when the moon was cheese and
the only one i cared to please
was you, dear God

amen.

toronto street person

coffee beans, roasting,
homemade bread
lilac perfume

he sat on his bench with his signature hunch
recalling his youth
painted in memory with a scented brush
drinking deep nostalgia

suddenly choked by city smog
a putrid fog
his own alcoholic breath
and the death of childhood dreams

hidden highway

lover and i finding our way on this crowded island called life steppping gingerly, not knowing, praying feeling believing that underneath the snow are crisply cut footprints if only heaven's holy breath would melt away confusion and reveal the path.

mountain retreat

saved by spur-of-the-moments. things like dancing in the rain or chasing a butterfly. trent and i had one last night. it's a typical BC mountain midnight, stars sprung like twinkle lights across tar-paper sky. i was tucked in pjs and freshly showered skin, next to my lover, playing a Balloon Game in our cabin for two. suddenly, hunger. we spring from our bed, pull on our toques and slippedy-slide down the crevice to the night-draped lodge. swinging wide the kitchen doors we find fruit loops, spoons, and devour. then we stumble downstairs where wired youth are playing fooseball and pool, and play a game of ping-pong. it's now morning, wee hours lure us into bed and we lie there, exhausted, happy, spurred on by the moment.

family feud

mothers clad in mini skirts
dads are drunken, in the dirt
kids left crying in their cribs
left to fall, play pick up sticks
with themselves
their lives on shelves
too high to reach
the parents preach
kids turn their eyes and wish
demise
on all who promise 'love'

fly away

blue smudges under her eyes where the man-beast hit her, hands shackled like an animal they set her free in our house late friday night i wrapped her in a warm blanket sat and held her as she sobbed away the pain that would only return like a wounded dog to its owner in the morning. feeding her spoonfuls of love i knew she had to fly from this hell of a place to a land far away. into a new existence where no one knew her and she could start over. from this black and blue nightmare into a rainbow-bright future. God help me be her wings.