Send me a poem

Send me a poem
Write it yourself
Hand scrawled equation
Soul's syllabary

Send me a poem
One that moved you
Taut and unwraught
Scripted fervor

Send me a poem
A line without rhyme
Exhale; living rhythm 
Your heart's vibration

Istanbul / Proverbs 14:10

A day closing, submerged in preciousness beyond reckoning.

The sun is sinking into the Bosphorus,

Goldeness lighting the city, 
This historic, seaside place, a home familiar and ever-changing.

A reel of memories; family.

The sun sets and shadows enlarge: skyscraper, cypress, a cat chasing a halo.

The night comes,

And I rehearse in the last glimmers in the Havas.

Departure feels like dying, dreams deferred and barely surviving.

Love, come overwhelm.

Desire, breath in my lungs and Source of fire.

The river’s coursing,

The rhythm supporting,

The land in between.

And the heart, it knows its own, and this darkened city shares the joy.

Dust Remembered

This Cold, heat rising, 

Flushed cheek advising 

The tenderness of joint and vertebrae

The normally silent quorum holds sway

Involuntary space, 

Fighting the haze 

And head heavy, pillow meeting

In body, but not connecting

Mind lofted, awareness a sensation 

An invitation.

This frame, dust remembered.

With God

is he too weary?
is he unavailable?
is he overwhelmed?
can he not save?

is he confused?
is he anxious?
is he stewing?
can he not move?

if he is too “too”
then he is NOT God
Jesus Christ is a limitless being;
child, stop limiting God.

Is anything impossible with me. -Isaiah 30
Nothing is impossible with God. -Luke 2

Restoring the rosemary

Sick, supposed from roots
Wading in water, shoots
Swelling from over abundance
Would re-potting restore a chance?
We don’t know, the plant could still die
We don’t know, but we’ll choose to try.

Write, Right, In darkness, For light

There is an effortlessness
Of sound and rhyme, sometimes
The fully formed thought appears
Cheers!
The heart is relieved and hears

Other times
It's a wrestling match
It's a unweildy bush and the pruning seems hopeless
Unreachable branches and awkwardness

Why?
Sometimes the flow
Other times the turbulence?
Same plane, new disturbance? 

Still better to write, right?
Then to be perfect.

This is not my righteousness
It's probably just my loneliness
And need
Freed in stanzas
Unhidden agendas

Sometimes after hours of labor its not 'right'
But there is a kernel there
Or a phrase
An so I publish and go on with my days

Sometimes I look back kind of ashamed
Other times proud, "I made that flame!"
Did you feel that, the spark?

Just another dancer in the dark.

This kitchen

Through the kitchen window, 

Barb brisks about, here and there,

Shawntel fills up soapy buckets, Debbie organizes desserts,

Michelle makes snacks for the Sunday school children.

These women,

new to this kitchen,

With hands familiar for the tasks, 

hearts willing.

My eyes are spilling as I measure the legacy,

Cups and quarts, hundreds of meals

Generations, aproned and humming

The keys unceremoniously passed

To Clarissa, Elise, Danica,

from Darla, Mavis, and Margaret, 

From the ones before them 

and before them.

Arriving early in the morning, cleaning late into the afternoon,

the stomachs filled and the connections made,

hands clasped and prayers said

over this broken bread.