Friday Poetry

3

You drink water from a seashell while
you perch on the bathroom counter and watch your Dada shave.
You make up words to describe your world.
You argue with us about things that you have no way of knowing.

You mother your bunny: putting him to bed, strolling him around the house.
You share.
You give sweet goodnight kisses to your sister.
You like to Rodeo, riding on your Charley horse.
You had a cowboy birthday.

You are convinced that if you cry louder and longer,
you can get what you want. - Often,
you are right.

You love to read.
You know most of your books by heart and correct me if I skim or abridge.
You are a princess in your fancy dress-up dress.
You have no qualms that there is a freckle on the end of your nose. I kiss it whenever possible.
You demand "Pat me!" every night before bed. Most nights, one of us pats.Sometimes its a joy, sometimes an inconvenience.
You are rambunctious then shy; Loving then a terror; Wise beyond your years, then acting like a child.

You are lovely.
You are loved.

Friday [Saturday] Poetry

Grief

There is a black and white charcoal
On the wall, 'Grief.'
I look at it, arms folded tight but careless.
My casual eye flits around, rests for a moment.
My mind is on the coming day.
Preparing for the day's stresses and petty wars.
Making defenses ready.

I glance at Grief - a 2 by 3 foot
Closeup.
I notice the african nose, pursed lips.
This is not my grief.
My defenses mount.

I notice the deep crease
above the bridge of the nose.
The furrowed brow.
My arms imperceptibly loosen.
I breathe deeply.

I see the eyes.
Closed, downcast.
I feel the tired circles underneath.
Exhaustion.
I put my hands in my lap.
The eyes are compelling -
the vulnerability of pain.
I experience the art.
Defenses down. Arms, shoulders and body
Relaxed.
Fortified for what comes.

Friday Poetry

This is a little dated, but I'm on a deadline here!
Also, I don't want to wait until fall 2006 before I post this.



Fall Haiku

Wind howls through the night
Throwing all color to ground
Winter is here now.

Friday poetry

What I Want for My Girls.

Can it be a poem?
Rather an epic, unending List:
Qualities
Ambitions
Destinations
Mannerisms
Characteristics
Preferences.

Hardly fair.
Do mothers have to be fair?
Yes.
For the sake of future love, future dinners
future phone conversations with a grown child.

What I want for my girls*:
Love God, learn God's ways. Learn God's heart.
Stand tall.
Be you.

*Reserving the right to amend.