This is the Real World

This is the real world

where thunder reels the world.

The wild wind steals the world.

The huge sky fits the world.

The lightning splits the world.

The ocean tips the world.

The earthquake rips the world.

The mountains top the world

And wartime rocks the world.

But they can't burn the world

'cause God's hand turns the world.

And it won't end 'till he wants it to.

Even so...come, Lord Jesus, come.

As beautiful as earth can be,

the better world needs not the sun.

Only the Son.

Fall Poems

Here are two poems I wrote last Fall on two sequential mornings. 

Trees are turning, geese call,

heralding winter, this is Fall.

Cool air, bird's sound,

cricket's chirp, wet ground.

Gurgling trickle, soft grass,

moving water, squirrels pass.

Pent-up storm, looming trees,

tense yet frantic, gentle breeze.

Colder now, squawk and flutter,

air-born chase, wind mutters.

Whispering distance, gray sky,

silence warns, birds fly.

------------------------

Today--not like yesterday!

Still cold, I grant

But the birds, they chant,

"The sun will be warm, it shines bright!"

The deck was glazed with droplets,

I slipped across.

A tiny piece of water in this world

'twould soon be lost.

The grass is soft

and glassy with silver beads.

My bare feet slip by in fine, liquid mists

through the gentle reeds.

Then, back! The birds, they sing!

My feet take wing--

dance across cold stone

on toes alone.

Then, I smile behind.

Half foot-marks I find:

They lack their heels.

Silent laughter peels. 

Autumn

The Fall,

It's not quite here yet,

Visibly,

Vividly,

Oh, how I love it!

Even my moist and tickled nose

Cannot dampen the striking affect

Of bright orange

And red

And yellow

And yes, some clinging green

Against the bright blue of the sky.

Fresh clouds float by,

Or swiftly fly.

In the springtime

There is a chill yet clinging to the earth,

Like a frozen blanket.

Then, it slowly warms,

Like numb fingers

Held to a fire,

and joyfully blossoms

into sunlight.

Is then Fall the opposite?

As the spring comes after the cold,

Is the Autumn then a chill prelude to Winter?

"Nay!" Says the flaming world.

Are not the first timid frosts that come too early

Chased back by the burning leaves of Autumn?

“Go back!” they cry, with voices warm and crackling with laughter,

“It is not yet your time! Go back to the frozen wastes, your turn has not yet come!

“Do you not know that first must come cheeks flushed like the ripe apple, and wild romps with a merry crunching underfoot? Do you not know that first comes the Harvest, and rolling down leaf covered hills and flashlight-lit games in the dark before the weather turns 

too chill?

“Do you not know that this is the time for bonfires and fingers sticky with warm marshmallow? For clear voices ringing in the crisp air and light feet not yet sucked down into the close, snowbound world?

“This is the time to fly for all those who know how, with sweater half off,

hair streaming behind,

and feet that do not seem to touch the ground.”

“Go back, chill frosts, go back! Go back! It is not get your time!”

The cool Fall air is not the breath of Winter!

Rather it is part of the vigorous song

of Autumn:

playful,

perky

and full of cheer.

Hear the Fall birds singing in 

trees still dressed in their splendor!

Hear the rake scraping

warm, dry ground,

and the rustling explosion in yonder towering pile. 

What went flying upwards

now comes fluttering down again.

Out of the leaves pops

a child’s head.

Up he springs and runs

back to his starting point

to charge back

and dive

into the pile once more.

The dazzling colors

celebrate

the birth of a new season

rather

then the funeral of the old.

This joyful tune does not change

Until the world becomes

Bare and gray

And the wind is a fierce

Icy whisper.

*But even winter has its beauty.*

I Took A Walk

I've been sitting too much.

Take a walk.

Being in front of my computer this long is killing my back.

So take a walk.

It's not like I'm not being entirely unproductive.

Just take a walk.

This math just isn't clicking.

Take a-

I don't want to bother getting up.

I know; take-

I want to finish this first.

You aren't doing anything. Listen to me, I am the voice of common sense. Go. Take. A. Walk.

I don't want to walk down this hallway, go down these stairs, put on my shoes, walk out this door...

TAKE A WALK.

I am.

Good.

Is that familiar to you.....even slightly? :) After having this conversation with myself, I decided to circle the block using the short rout.....I went 3 times and stayed outside for well over half an hour. I love taking walks; want to know why I enjoyed this one so much?

It was half-past twelve and the day was gray. No, let me reword that. The sky was a dome of white, blue and gray marble. The occasional cold speck of rain that ticked my forehead and eyelids was barely noticeable, only ghost reminders of a wet morning. Earlier the top of the mailbox was covered with these drops like bubble wrap. It was beautiful.

Brown stains and puddles stretched along the gray cement. I was walking in the curb. That small dip on the side of the road held treasures of dead leaves, sand, small rocks and the occasional soggy pine cone. I always look out for nice pieces of quartz at my feet. One time I found half a key, another, a lovely metal button with an engraved design. You never know what you might find, and all of this was just at my feet.....

I like the peaceful silence of being alone out of doors for a few minutes. I like being the only one making the scratch-scraping noise of walking for a whole stretch of quiet street. I like listening to my favorite bird calls whose liquid sounds make me think of how good cold water is when I'm really thirsty--the moment it stops I want to hear it again so that my ears can drink in more of their music. I can almost taste it on my tongue. 

Two squirrels chased each other in a brief circle before leaving my sight. A pair of mourning doves loitered under a tree in a wood chip bedded garden. The first left at once. I stopped to watch the second one for a bit. He looked so funny: a smooth, tannish-pink colored bird with little round eyes that shone like black rubber. He bobbled his head back and forth as he walked. Then he flew away, too.

So many small details to notice! Ordinary things when focused on can become wonderful. I call it simple complexity; or complex simplicity--depending on what sounds better at the time! I clunked over another rusty storm drain. Then I walked back over the grate again to hear the sound. I'd never noticed the echo deep down in the blackness, ku-thunk. It sounded like a gulp. I suppose even storm drains must swallow!

When I got home again, my cheeks were the color of cold and my glasses half fogged over. I untied my shoes. There is nothing more refreshing than a walk--who cares about the weather? 

A  journey begins with a single step....and often that step is simply getting up. For me, that can be the hardest part. Please don't be lazy like me: take a walk! 

Wind on Wednesday

Then dawned a Wednesday, happy and bright,

A day full a promise with Summer in sight.

I sat out of doors with my back to a tree,

And all things about were as still as could be.

Then-from whence I know not-there came up a spring breeze,

Which danced overhead through the tops of the trees.

And rustled old leaves and fluttered my hair,

And then went away-I cannot say where-

But since it came back again, I really don't care.

Spring

The cool, clean crispness in the air-

The smell of earth and wind and sky.

Of the melting snow,

And the feeling of the sun just beginning to touch the earth once more with warm rays of light…..

The timid unfurling of palest green at the tip of twig,

The dry leaves of yesteryear that rattle in wonder

And are blown away in the winds of change,

The brave sprout that unbends it’s small head above thawing soil,

The minute movements of a small, oft overlooked world

Beneath the hasty foot bound nowhere,

The soft moss creeping over gray stone and under dry twig,

The stirring of life at every corner,

And the laughing grass beginning to tinge emerald all sing in silence:

The green world awakes as the birdsong takes flight.

This feeling comes but once a year:

This freshness,

This joy.

This peace,

Today the world begins anew.