A garden Glory

A garden Glory,

Harvested with my husband –

Sweet sundown silence.

A Prayer for Tebow

Bless him

Strengthen him

Love him

Lead him

Help him

Protect him

Prosper him

Prove him

Train him

Sustain him

Motivate him

Move him

Panther, Gator,

Bronco, Jet –

Whatever he is,

Use him yet.

Continue his story –

Get yourself Glory!

Put him in, Lord –

You’re the Coach.

Some poems that make "sense"

Tradition is black

It smells like roses

It sounds like Sousa

It tastes like oatmeal

It feels like rock

________________

Driving is gray and white

It smells like pine trees

It sounds like a tiger

It tastes like french fries

It feels like sledding

________________

“Overwhelmed” is orange

It smells like the sewer

It sounds like buzzers

It tastes like lemons

It feels like ice

________________

Worship is gold

It smells like perfume

It sounds like wrapping paper

It tastes like sweet tea

It feels like clouds

________________

Waiting is yellow

It smells like alcohol

It sounds like TV

It tastes like water

It feels like concrete

________________

Cancer is chartreuse

It smells like smoke

It sounds like a slamming door

It tastes like paregoric

It feels like gravel

Enough, already!

Is there enough granite for all the kitchens of America?

Enough stainless steel?

Enough hardwood floors?

Are there enough I-phones for our daily multi-tasking?

Enough accessories?

Enough trendy apps?

Are there enough big screens for our constant entertainment?

Enough cable?  Enough dishes?

Enough media rooms?

Are there enough brand-name clothes to always be in fashion?

Enough walk-in closets?

Enough designer shoes?

Are there enough sleek, new cars for our separate directions?

Enough monster trucks?

Enough SUVs?

Enough, already!

Is there enough Real Concern for a billion starving stomachs?

Enough fresh-clean water?

Enough grains of rice?

Enough Love through trials,

Enough Extra Miles,

Enough Self-Denial –

How much is enough?

Flint Ridge Trail

We trekked straight up a mountain,

We walked on the skinny singletrack,

Brushing back flowing weeds on a

Trail meant mostly for bikes.
 

We saw
 

Thin-stalked purple blossoms,

Myriad, crazy leaf-offerings,

Mysterious pink-green berries and a

Lovely white log-fungus.

We ate

Homemade bread and granola bars
On a mid-trail molded rock,

Praying no hapless bikers

Would scatter our snacky picnic.

We watched

A perfectly hidden frog,

Spied a cautious, brownish lizard,

God’s creatures, both, and Miracles -

Creator reminders.

We filled

The woods with our curious eyes,

The path with our careful chatter;

We listened to the silence and

Inhaled the quiet air.

We gained

No waterfalls, no breathless views,

No hefty rewards for the toils of the hike,

Just simple jaw-dropping Glories, the

Joys of coming alongside.

                          







Flint Ridge Trail near Nantahala Outdoor Center in Bryson City, NC

Moving Artistry

Brilliant blue backdrop,

Puffs of white, always changing –

Moving Artistry.

The Good Stuff

I always add more of the good stuff:

Coconut, chocolate, nuts, honey,

Onions, peppers, garlic, cheese,

Books, chapters, pages, words,

Flowers, pictures, paint, thread,

Smiles, prayers, love, time.

Take Another Picture

Fall Creek Falls –

We always love it best.

Memories resurrected, the

Mountaineer Folk Festival.

Men in overalls

Toting big bass fiddles.

Banjos tuning, always tuning.

Shade tree rehearsals.

The Boardwalk, the Wood Stage,

Tents and hard benches,

Homemade fiddle, washtub bass,

Toe-tapping music.

Old children, young children,

Dancing with abandon.

Never danced?  Who cares?

Here, all can try.

Barbry Allen, Old Bangham –

Stories dusted off and aired.

Music from memory,

Old ballads, new ears.

The shock of the cannon

Every hour on the hour,

Soldier clothes, (mostly gray),

Tatted lace, long dresses.

Cookies, sweet and chewy,

Made from molasses.

Kettle corn, wood-stove plates.

Too many choices!

Art from its makers –

Woven, painted, stitched, carved,

Bent, burned, melted, imagined –

Offered for sale.

The whistle-cued sheep dog

Driving his flock,

And sheep sheared in public,

First woolly, then nude.

Mules crushing sugar cane,

Making sweet sorghum.

Plodding lonely circles

All the day long.

We love animal calling, wood splitting,

Story telling, square dancing,

Auction bidding, marble shooting –

Hands-on fun for free.

Wagon rides, shuttle rides, bike rides a-plenty –

Long lakeshore trail, steep forest curves,

That one place where, long ago,

A helmet was tested.

We love the Inn, stately, steady, with

Ramps, piers, rooms sparse, sufficient,

And the gently worn cabins –

A place made for families.

We love the mornings, misty lake views,

Bustling lobby, crispy biscuits,

French toast sticks, sticky syrup,

Friendly service, real bacon.

The Visitor Center, swinging bridge,

Bees behind glass – Can you find the queen?

Questions answered, maps, books, placards –

Quotes from the big guys:  Thoreau and Emerson.

We love, of course, the Falls –

Spectacular as always.

Take another picture.

Do we want to do the trail?

Fall Creek Falls –

Take another picture.

Memories resurrected –

We always love it best.

Same air as yesterday

Same air as yesterday

Minus hot humidity
Equals new energy,

Fresh, sweet sighing,

Glorious breath of Fall.

Heartier than the weeds

So, I picked lima beans today with

Dirty hands, sweaty brow and

Immense satisfaction.

The sun beating down, my

Muscles cramping up,

I kept on picking.

It was hard work and a

Huge harvest –

Being Heartier than the weeds.

Family albums

Family albums -

Little sips of yesterday,

So sweet to savor.

I know the garden

I know the garden:

Rich, brown dirt

Craving

Rain, dew, humid air

And sun,

Lots of sun –

Radiant rays of steamy heat.

Then

Growing greenness –

Everywhere,

All the time,

Faster and faster –

Vines, bushes, stalks, pods

And

Red/orange/yellow prizes

(Of all shapes and Infinite sizes)

Plus weeds,

The inevitable undesirable.

Then

Death, decay

And

Rotting leaves

Becoming

Rich, brown dirt.

It knows its season.

It takes what it’s given.

It makes more.

I know CAFFEINE

I know CAFFEINE:

It’s the

Evening-extender,

Sleep-stealer,

Rest-rebuker,

REM-robber,

Nerve-knocker,

Dream-disrupter,

Motion-maker,

Sound-saturator,

Mattress-masher, Pillow-puncher, Quilt-quaker, Sheet-shaker

- Inventor of insomnia –

!!!CAFFEINE!!!

I know thoughts

I know thoughts

Struggling to surface, to breathe, to escape

Still heart-true and head-real,

Whole, honest –

Unscathed, uncopied, new –

To be examined –

Held this way and that –

Tested, embraced/abandoned,

Stretched, leapt from,

Connected-grouped-filed,

To become past-present-future –

New waves on the rolling sea.

Pins and Needles

Pins and Needles

I’m on pins and needles,

Instant ouches of excitement,

Pricks of possibility.

What’s next, God?

Instant ouches of excitement,

Quiet joy at the prospects,

What’s next, God?

Can’t wait to see the outcome.

Quiet joy at the prospects.

Welcome, creative uncertainty -
Can’t wait to see the outcome.

Good morning, new morning!

Welcome, creative uncertainty -
Pricks of possibility.

Good morning, new morning!

I’m on pins and needles.

Meteors at Night

Meteors at night

Mute, shiny God-Glory

How could I sleep through???

Don’t want to miss You,

God, the Living Beautiful.

Where’s the complex next?

Where is Paradise?

How do I go where You are?

Instant eternity.

*See Romans 11:33-36  (The Message)