mountaintop moments

white icing drizzled on jagged stone,
western mounts, our rocky home

swishing, slicing slipperly slopes
fleeing fears, hastening hopes

fresh spring air on rosy cheeks
mint-green pines, snow-capped peaks

we stop, lie down in perfect powder
sing to God, in voices louder

than ever before, his name adored
we bow in silence, prayers are poured

in humbled heavenly wonder

bruised beauty

i like to be beaten
she whispered into the phone
on an extension cord from yellowknife

i like when he hits me
probably most of our fights could have been avoided
if i hadn't egged him on
(he enters the room, she giggles, he flirts, leaves again)

he's the only one taking care of me now
i love him
but some days he nearly kills me

(i cover the phone and sob)
you're but 16;
what do you know of love sweetie?

he enters again, she hurriedly lies about who i am,
returns to the phone, keeps talking
and i crawl deeper and depper inside the hole that is my heart
trying to dig up wisdom for this
bruised and beautiful begger

roots and wings

seep my shadows of their sorrow
give me hope for my tomorrows

turn my head and feed me truth
plant my faith and give it roots

help me sing without a voice
learn to laugh despite the choice

to cry, i'll die and learn to live
in you my Lord i'll love, forgive

be free

the skinny santa

pipes in hand, chain smoking / reacting
the girls
startle me
with moments of mercy
downtown calgary: paved, expensive, modern
a middle-aged man with a beard and no belly wanders the bridge
lonesome, lost
the girls stop, turn to me eyes wide
"oh the poor man! he looks like Jesus,
no,
a skinny Santa. he has no food, the poor man,
what happened to him?"
then he
turns the corner and they
return to their pipes and i'm left
stunned
silenced by youthful
sympathy

korea's call

as we prepare to unwravel the next scroll of our lives the excitement is building. korea's sweet call is ringing in our ears and we're overwhelmed by offers. do you want a dog? let us pay for your airfare, your housing... a city enfolded in mountains? coming right up! four weeks of paid vacation so you can visit the cultured corners of the Orient? don't let us stop you!

praise the Lord my soul is singing, what an adventure lies before us! last night trent asked me if i had to choose between a place where God could use us, a place that would be best for our marriage, or a place with ideal amenities, which would i choose? i opted for our marriage, as only then can God use us.

the fire in my bones is fierce and once again i'm digging my heels into today, trying to hold myself back from hurtling headlong into tomorrow.

lunar litany

life pokes its weary head up over the horizon
a single moonbeam in the blackest of nights
i'm reminded
i have to dance to be happy
joy won't find me on its own
and so i twirl in time with my tears
mourning till morning
begging you God to make my spirit
rise with the sun

overboard

afraid to step out of the
boat
i stare at my reflection in the
water
ashen white
skin
butterfly
hands
i see his footprints on the
waves
the back of his head as he walks
away
suddenly i'm
overboard
skimming the
surface
chasing the man i claim to
follow
so desperate to see his
face
i forget my own
fears

spring storms

sunlight trickling
new blades of grass
songbirds serenading
bare feet in rich black soil
apple blossom fragrance

...

yet outside curtained minds
the stone-faced snow still blows
and spring storms sadly close
this misfit month of march

daily devotion

angry words meaningless drivel enfolding of the arms forgiven? stepping back observing the one we fell in love with conjuring up new meaning for old feelings finding room to welcome them back in to start over, again. daily devotion walking in step with an ever-flourishing love that sometimes trips us sends us sprawling seeking shelter finding none? except in each other, another embrace, reminiscing days of easy loving.

mosaic of miracles

strangers made friendly
by red strings of pain
we're gripping -- brown black white hands
bleeding hearts beating seamlessly
enwrapped by yellow threads of grace
mosaic of miracles
patchwork picture of pain
we walk the earth
carefully -- so as not to cut the cords

fruit balad

drained of poetic juices
shriveled on the shelf
pitted, left to dry in the sun
waiting to be planted, to flourish
again

bed sheets

don't move, my love. you might jostle the
moment and then it will be gone. cling to the
bed sheets, don't look outside. the sunlight bathes us in
lemon custard; we are warm, in love. outside it's cold. outside are
strangers who do horrible things to Jesus' little children.
outside are people who kill to live, who steal to eat,
who hate in order to feel loved. if i step out that door i'll become
someone i don't like. so stay here with me. love me for the judgmental coward i am.

zion girl

rise up within my mortal mind
rise up despite my self despise
rise up, make me a zion girl
rise up sweet God as i lay still

rise up and make me yours today
rise up, defy this broken clay
rise up i crawl i beg i fall
you raise me up, you give the call

i stand - forever - risen

forgiven

flesh to dirt
i crawl face down to your
throne
scarred feet are all i see
i kiss them with dirty lips you
lift me off the ground
i cannot raise my eyes
you dust my garb wipe my tears
kiss my cheek
beautiful man-God
your eyes are flaming jewels
your arms strong
you carry me back down to earth
embrace me tight
curse my fears
'forgiven'
you whisper
and slip into the darkness
until all i see is one eye
shining like a star

cheers

a place where everybody knows names
a judgment-free zone
a spot in the metropolis where people got excited
because others existed
feeding tears, draining fears
toasting to the heart of 'cheers'

today a throng of nameless nobodies
cheers is gone
Love strolls the streets like a lonely man
in pursuit of that dumpy old bar
that friendly joint
where they made a point to care,
to pull up a chair and ask for your name

my bird flies away

i am holy ... so you be holy.
(snow crunching underfoot, heart palpating)
but i'm an artist, i want to express myself
to create as you do to join in the whole beautiful process.
(wind in ears, cars whizzing by, God's breath on my neck)
i am the Creator; you are the creation.
(creation nearly collapses, collects herself, keeps running)
What about everyone whom I told I was getting a tattoo?
who are you serving; me or them?
(jagged branches catch my hair i scramble away from this voice of conviction)
i am the only one who's equipped to make the
permanent decisions in your life.
(God plants his foot before me, makes me trip, shudder, stop)

and the tattoo bird i've clung to struggles free in the morning air, flies back

to its Creator

wrapped up in words

whirling weathered
winds
wrap my weary woes
in white whisps
wiping away woolen worries
whispering
whimsical wonderings
wooing this wide-eyed
wanderer
into a winter
wonderland

beaten for being

they're calling it the teen beat.

he was a long-haired artist with a tattoo on his wrist. a shy man who always looked for beauty in spite of ugliness. quiet customs like sitting on the bus with his walkman, watching the scenery, imagining the world on fire. reviving the earth because anyone knows true art means rebirth. he'd scribble and study and forget about the pain of his childhood.

until it all came rushing back upon his scull with their fists and their bats. an angry mob of teens from the back of the bus too hard-up to notice his scars, to see his artwork to look into eyes of eternal youth. too hung up on something someone said or did which meant more than sparing a life.

there was nothing beautiful about that night.
but today the long-haired man is watching himself become art incarnate. Jesus has given him rebirth. and now he sits, quietly scribbling the earth below, his tears falling on those four forgiven teens.
http://edmsun.canoe.ca/News/Edmonton/2006/03/08/1477924-sun.html

substance

as the yellow moon curls its fingers around the black hole of stars
i too curl into a fetus
and scroll back over my day
jam-packed with jelly filling
powdered with sugar
energy-driven
leaving one ... empty
and i hunger for substance

as the scarlett sun rips open letting heaven shine through
i too rip open my soul and beg
God to make this a day
of food most fulfilling
thoughts most drilling
people most enthrilling
that i might go to bed
sufficiently fed

clay pot

rod-straight
hips poised
like an african woman balancing her pot
i wait
for the world to tumble around me
crumbling clay
so i can calmly step over the pieces
and keep on walking

why then am i the only one
shaking?

banana pancakes

flurried days of busied loneliness

awaiting your return

splattered paint on my nose i listen for the knock

saying you're home

tomorrow let's pretend it's the weekend

make banana pancakes and

listen to the rain drizzle outside

jack johnson says we should

em's friday night flick pick

elizabethtown...

oh to know the freedom

he discovers on the roadway to failure

the love he finds waiting at the end of the path

and the philosophies gained along the way

woman of the earth

if i could paint my mother
she'd be a humble queen of her flowers
an english vine stretching, winding
around her visitors like warm embrace
aromatic beauty
dirt on her nose watering can in hand
she'd stand for hours pruning roses turning soil
woman of the earth
soft silk soil smooth soothing to the sole
i'd paint it large
canvas plastered from one end of the room to the other
still -- illequipped to capture her
garden love affair.
carnation in hand
smiling she's pullng me close the paint is smudging and suddenly
i'm in the picture
digging dirt with my mom
canvassing the art of bonding

(praying no one notices the abandoned brushes and dirty footprints)

matter

sometimes all we do is drive
careening corners crashing cursing
& i wonder,
how does this matter?
sometimes all i do is strive
staring at myself, doing 'important' things
& i wonder,
how do i matter?
sometimes all He does is cry
watching us wander around, worrying
stumbling into ourselves
& He wonders
do they know that i matter?

a winter whim

large white doilies
(falling flakes)
black sky
lungs pumping from a slip and slide run
head pounding from grown-up mistakes
i spread my arms wide
(wings like an angel)
and fall
back into powder heaven
swishing back and forth
my childlike mark
on a perfect morning