Psalm Sunday – Psalm 5

I love form poetry. I love the discipline of restricting my words to a set meter and rhyme, and so I rarely write free verse.  I was hoping to write a rondeau for Psalm 5, but everything seemed too forced.  I started writing in other forms too,  but nothing seemed to come together (hence why I didn’t post anything last Sunday).  The fact that nothing would come together caused me to believe that God wanted me to meditate more on this particular Psalm.  So I ended up going in the free verse direction so you can see some of what came to me in my reading and rereading of these words of David’s.


Was David speaking of himself
when he spoke of his enemies?
Was he, himself, the wicked one
that God must surely hate?
Were arrogance,deceit and malice
vices that he struggled with?

I wonder, Lord, for when he asks
to be led down straight paths
he says to you that it’s because
of enemies he faces

And I, oh Lord, like David know
that you detest all forms of sin
and sin abounds within me Lord, and yet…

Because, oh Lord, of your great love
I can come bow before your throne
and though my sin is as a grave,
yet still Lord, I can come to you
and sing for joy…
…for you give me new life

Seven Words from the Cross – Part VII

Today is Good Friday…and so I thought it a fitting day to post the final sonnet of my “Seven Words from the Cross” series.  This sonnet ties together a few different scripture passages, but the two passages that I am focusing on are John 19:30 (from which the seventh statement is recorded), and Luke 23:45b which speaks of what happened to the curtain that closed off the Holy of Holies in the temple.


A curtain blocked God’s earthly dwelling place
none but the priest, and he but once a year
could enter into this Most Holy space
for any other, death if they came near

The Life, the Truth, the Way he claimed to be
the one who’d lead us to the throne of God
But now the Christ was hanging on a tree
it seemed for all his claims he was a fraud

The ways of God, though, aren’t the ways of man
The path to life would come only through death
Christ was no fraud! He had a different plan:
one which he’d follow til his final breath

“It is finished” Jesus said: the price was paid
The curtain ripped in two: a way was made


In my Seven Words from the Cross series, I have attempted to show glimpses of what happened at the crucifixion, but there is far too much to fit it all into 7 poems of 14 lines each. Please read the crucifixion accounts from the Gospels to get the whole story…and speaking of the whole story…Christ’s death is certainly not the end of His story!  (It may be Friday now…but Sunday’s on the way!)

Song of Fire – Part XII

It’s been a long time since my last installment of my Fire Cycle. If you click on the “Elements” tab above and select “Fire”, you can read the rest of the work thus far.


We’re richer for the time we’ve spent with friends.
Indeed, the true value of life is less
about monetary wealth, and depends
more on what we invest in friendship. Bless

a friend and see if blessings don’t come your
way tenfold. Give freely without wanting
a return and you’ll find that you gain more
than you could ever want. The more you bring

the more you’ll attain – and when those days
of trouble come you’ll find the darkness lift,
for friends will be there to help you in ways
that will prove: friendship is a wondrous gift.

With laughter, songs, and a few stories told
Somehow now, the night seems less dark, less cold

This Poet’s Pen

one day this poet’s pen will cease to write
the well of ink within it will run dry
no more black ink upon this page of white
that day I’ll lay this pen down with a sigh

one day this pen won’t have the strength to rhyme
it won’t write metaphors or metric feet
I do not know the day nor know the time
its ink will cease to flow upon this sheet

I simply know that this is what will be:
the day will come to lay aside this pen
what lies beyond that moment, who can see?
but somehow I am sure I’ll write again

for then a pen of endless ink I’ll hold
to write my poems upon the streets of gold


Some say life is parenthesis between
Two states of non-existence. That before
Birth there is nothing — and after we’ve been
Buried, there’s infinitely nothing more

If time eternal were an endless book
The small bit we play would barely amount
To a word or two. Would it really look
Like anything we’ve done could really count?

But then the Infinite God himself came
Into this world as infant who was born,
Boy who grew, man who died…yet not for fame
But to conquer death and bring a new Morn.

And so parenthesis has become death
Between last — but then first Eternal Breath


I originally posted this a week or so back, but decided to link it up to dVerse for Bjorn’s prompt on silence in poetry.  I tend to write poems that, while they often do have form, I prefer to read them out-loud without emphasizing the rhymes, but pausing only at the end of sentences or at other punctuation (commas, etc.)  (Sorry…I have yet to figure out adding audio tracks, so you’ll just have to do your best!)

In the above poem, if you read it out loud, you will see that there are 2 points in the poem where I have separated lines with a “–” within the middle of the line.  If reading this out loud, a good long pause (2 to 3 seconds) will help to emphasize the “nothingness” of the first usage, and then the pause of death between life and eternal life…in this case, resuming should be almost like gasping fresh breath after being submerged in water for a period of time.

The Ship Will Come

The ship will come, to take her away
To her brand new home across the sea
The schedule is secret, she knows not the day
And so she waits, expectantly

“I hope it’s soon,” she says to me,
“I’d like to board, be on my way”
And though I’ll miss her thoroughly,
The ship will come, to take her away

Compared to there, this land is grey
And filled with pain and misery
“I’m ready to go,” is what she’ll say,
To her brand new home across the sea

When the call to board comes, there she’ll be
For from the docks, she does not stray
And though she waits most eagerly
The schedule is secret, she knows not the day

No cost to board will she have to pay
The price has been covered, and so she’ll sail free
To the Land of Joy where she’ll go to stay
And so she waits, expectantly

The price was Jesus’ blood, you see
And Heaven is not so far away
It’s where her heart now wants to be
And though she may not know the day,
The ship will come.


Rondeau Redoublé for OLN at dVerse.  Written for a friend who loves life fully (as can be seen by the sparkle in her eyes), but knows that she will love the next life so much more.

Sharing this also to the Daily Post on Feb.14, 2017 (the word of the day is “expectation”, so I figured this fit.


Notes on form:  Opening stanza is A1,B1,A2,B2, each line takes its turn as the closing line of the following 4 stanzas (babA1, abaB1, babA2, abaB2).  The closing stanza is 5 lines – baba(R), where R is the rentrement, or a repetition of the first half of the poem’s first line (usually does not rhyme).

Winter Wind

The air shrieks its way over the land like
some mythic beast in search of vengeance. She
bears her fangs, not in mere show, but to strike
and draw blood from whomever she might see

who dare to cross her path. No pity will
she show, for she has neither heart nor
ears to hear the cries of her victims. Ill
intent is all that she ever bears for

the living, for she herself has no life
but howls in a ceaseless, sentient death.
She would destroy all warmth with the sharp knife
of her icy, incompassionate breath.


Sharing with dVerse for Open Link Night


Does smoke smell different
if it’s your home aflame?
Does justice seem different
when you are to blame
Does the volume seem louder
when you are the one trying to sleep?
Does gossip seem worse
when it’s your secret no one will keep?
Is everything the same
whether you’re hurting or fine
Or does life seem more precious
when it’s your neck on the line?


NaBloPoMo Day 28

I’ve been thinking a lot about social justice of late. It’s easy to turn a blind eye to the hurts and needs of others, but somehow, it’s not so easy to accept the blind eye of another when we are the ones in need.

I Don’t Believe in Death

I don’t believe in death.
I do believe that my organs
will eventually fail –
my heart will stop, or
my liver or kidneys
or lungs will cease to function.
I do believe that my body will fail
my skin will decay
and given enough time, even
my bones will be reduced to dust
Oh yes, I believe that my body will die
but I do not believe in death.
I cannot fathom the idea
that my essence, my being,
my soul will ever be extinguished
I cannot fathom that this body
is anything more than a pot
and that when that pot finally breaks,
the contents – the soul will still be alive
and will be transplanted
into something more beautiful
more glorious
more real
more eternal
and so
I do not believe in death.


Today is OLN at dVerse.

Clicks and Whirring

Life is so much more
than the clicks and whirring
of some machine
It is a melody
hidden within
an eggshell


I have absolutely no idea what my poem means. The words came to me and seemed right somehow…so I wrote them down.