His Judas Kiss

Let it be done with,
the unraveling ended,
his Judas kiss
no longer wet on my cheek.
Recover it - my heart - from
the wreckage, that I may
forget his touch
and unlive the days spent
loving. Those
days are lost.

Will I yet live again
new in resurrection
the cynicism gone
from my breast?
Uproot my heart, revive it,
from the man who unjustly
housed it. Let it be
quick, our closing,
let it be now, in this breath.

No longer the lamb
dead in the
jaws of the lion.

We Are One No Longer

It has begun,
the declination of one -
the rapid descent into two
and there was no warning,
no decent admonition
no alarm of our unity's decay.

My lilies have hung their heads.
They once bloomed for us
sprung forth of deep, rich earth.
Would they not wait with me,
and yet the premature wilting
has made its claim,
and my lilies have hung their heads.

Our sun has set,
and tomorrow it will not be rising.
Night has come with an
abiding grip on the heavens,
and even stars that burned for us
are no longer burning.
Our lights have diminished.
Our sky has blackened.
Our sun will not be rising.

And what of our flesh,
the bone of our bones,
the fruit of our joining?
What of our roots and their
intertwining?
What of our days spent laughing
and our quiet moments
embracing?

Hide them up,
uproot them from within my being,
tell me they were not.
For my love is gone,
I have lost him.
We are one no longer,
and two
is the loneliest number.

Let It Be Together

Let us ride out this storm
in our meager and weary ship
but let it be together
that waves rage against us
and rains beat down
into our exhausted souls.

Sail with me under
skies that threaten
with a black vengeance
to drown us in an
unrecoverable despair,
under lighting that
shakes its fist with
a furious conviction
to set us ablaze.

Be not dismayed
beside me,
and let us combine
our two hearts
and unite our wills together
with our Maker's
that we may stand
while the world is falling
and embrace while
others turn their backs.

But be not moved beside me
and we will ride out
the storm until we sail
on a placid sea
and the sun breaks through
with a golden promise
that we have made it,
and none can break us apart.

He Is Gone

It is sufficient to
say that he is gone,
nothing left behind
to put away in my box of
Anything Worth
Holding Onto --
maybe some memories
that I can't decide if
I should keep or
dig a pit for.

Where is the tombstone
that I may stand over
and do my mourning,
or the newly poured soil
that I may weep my
eulogy upon?
I have roses for
his passing and
love letters,
simple tokens of
my affection, but no
gravesight to set them on.

Some say that he is not gone,
but I know better.
They point me to a man
with lying in his eyes
and indifference in
his laughter.
Body and bones, but no soul
needing nobodys to
love him, to validate
his misconceptions
of life and purpose.

No, he is not the the one
I mourn for.
Sufficient to say that
he is gone.

A Lonely Night

"Another Night"
No fires are
burning on this night.
Just another undesirable
exchange with cold sheets -
me and the cold sheets again.
The chill in the room
leaves an icy kiss
on my cheek,
an unwanted kiss, but the
only one offered to me.
Outside the window
stars illuminate the heaven.
Somewhere under those
stars, young lovers are making
promises like we did
so many nights ago,
promises of forever and
eternity and all the
romantic cliches of
budding passion.

Shouldn't you tell them
that fires die out
and promises are revocable?
Shouldn't I say it,
that lovers lie and
smother the heart until
it is dead but beating?

And then they're alone
remembering the nights
long ago under stars
that burned for them
when their lover made
promises he would never keep.

If Only

"Tell Me"
Tell me how it is done,
the cool, unmoved
indifference strewn
so casually about your life.
Yesterday's dust was
swept so swiftly
under the rug
never to dirty the feet
that walked upon it.
I envy the ability
to shut off the heart
and keep on living.

But the sun shines
upon you as you wake,
and the newness of the
day calls you from a
restful slumber to
rise up and thrive
without a care,
without a load to press
you down between
your sheets.

That I could be held by
you and am not
is my complaint.
I wake in the taunting
embrace of yesterdays gone,
the brisk foreboding of
tomorrows coming,
and today's unavailing
already exhausting my breath.

It is always the same.
The perpetual yearning
that I push down somewhere -
anywhere that it will
be undiscovered.
The pain,
my private groaning,
as I examine my
two able hands and
the irony of their
inability to bring you
back to me.

I say it always.
If only.
If only I could be swept up,
swept away,
off of my feet
and into the arms of
the man that would
hold me and never
let me go,
not for anything.
If only he were you.
If only it were you
that keeps me
and you that I keep.

Thinking of Jacey

"For Heather"
It was but a moment
that I held you,
the frailty of your newness
in my arms,
the angel breath
upon my cheek.
There was a song that
we sang just between us
without words
without notes
but whispered in the
quiet bond of
mother and child.

It was but a moment
that I felt the rhythmic
rise and fall of your
infant chest upon my own
and felt the imprints
of your tiny being
carved in the eternal
chambers of my heart.

It was but a moment,
and then you were gone
with an unrelenting
goodbye,
gone from my arms
to that heaven that sent you,
to God who gave you life.
There were tears
that could not keep you here
and hands that ached
to touch the warmth
of your satin cheek
for a moment longer -
a moment that would
not have been long enough.

It is but a moment,
sweet baby girl,
until this time will unravel
and the human pain of
our separation
will be swallowed up
in the morning rays
of our sweet reunion.
We will cry no more tears,
we will bear no more sorrows.
Our morning will come
with healing in its wings,
and forever will ride in
gloriously upon its back
with you and me,
mother and child,
in quiet song again.

For One Who is Lost

"Deliverance"
I hid my face that no
light would shine upon it
to expose my shame.
I shut my hands
that I would not have to
look upon them and
behold their stains
of years of self-deception.
I lay in bed and swept
my thoughts away
to numb the pain
of what I was,
the nothing of what
I had been, but
it crawled mockingly in
bed beside me
to remind me.

So when He called
I didn't answer, I
didn't lift my head.
I dare not believe
that such a Being was
beckoning me,
bidding me to find Him.
But in my depths, in my
desperate inner pleadings,
mercy shone its rays
upon me and bid me
to rise and show my face
because I had found
Him whose love
defied my bitter shame -
my deliverance,
my way up and
my way out.

Letting Go

I wait for it
with apprehension --
the moment that
you are gone
and there is nothing
inside you
no hope to cling to
no words that
mean anything.

What do I say as we
sever the hearts?
Good luck, see you soon,
have a nice day
when what we mean
is finality and
the cold realization
that our sun has set
and won't be rising.

Better days are ahead,
at least that's
what they say.
It's better to have
loved and lost,
time heals all wounds,
and all the other
nonsensical chatter
we attempt
to fill our minds with
so we can
make it through
the night
in one piece.

But I'm unlikely
to forget all
the days behind us,
the right ones
worth holding onto.
The firsts,
the way you
wanted to keep me,
the kiss we never
wanted to let go.
Still, I feel your
hands and mine
inside them,
my cheek against
the warmth of
your chest, and
the forevers we
exchanged when
they meant something.

Inevitably,
the night will come
to suck the marrow
from my bones.
Our bed will be
cold and taunting
on what was your side,
your empty pillow
the skeleton of
who used to
lay beside me.

There, in the
unresponsiveness
of the dark, is
where I crumble.
The strength I
borrowed from
somewhere (or
the weakness I had
masquerading
as such) is depleted,
and I am alone
with my thoughts
of you and me.
The minutes of
the night become
centuries as I lay
in our bed
without you.

And, suddenly, I
wish for some
nonsensical proverb
to hold onto,
something to get me
through to a
brighter morning,
a morning where there
is hope for healing,
and I can begin
letting go of
the apparition
of the ideal you.

A Poem For Jacey

My friend Heather, who is my brother-in-law's sister, lost her 9 week old baby this morning around 4 am. I can't imagine the pain that she and her family are in, but I wrote this poem for her. If I lost my little infant I would want to know that she would be mine again someday and that someone would love her while she was away from me. Thank goodness they are all members of the church who can find peace in knowing that the Lord is with them and will never leave them comfortless.


"For Jacey"
Go in peace, sweet angel girl, to the
beauty of the Heavens that you know.
Look to the Father who named you His masterpiece.
Listen, for He has called you home.

The world's dark nights shall never touch you.
With sorrow, you shall never weep.
Pain, nor anguish, shall not follow you.
Sickness shall never taint your sleep.

Sing with the angels, sweet baby girl,
send your voice to the audience below.
Whisper in the ears of your weeping mother
that you will meet her at the gates of her home.

Tell her the Father holds you in His arms
and rocks her baby to sleep.
He sings her lullabies of beauty and light
and gives her His glory to keep.

Now, go in peace, sweet angel girl, and wait,
for the Father shall exalt you.
Your mother will hold you when Heaven calls her home.
And then she shall always keep you.

Goodnight, Easton

"A Lullaby"
Quiet now, child of mine,
and lay your head to rest
while the moon
is bidding you to slumber.

Sleep, and dream to
Heaven where the
Shepherd gathers the
flock of pure hearts.

What light is it that
falls upon your face
as the night has settled?
Surely you dream of God,
and the angels teach you.

Let Heaven keep you
always still
while I sweep the day's
dust from your cheek -
while I rid you of the
bitter fruit of my failings.
Let Heaven guard you
from the lightlessness that
settles upon so many faces.

Hush now, child of mine,
the good are sleeping.
Rest until
the break of the morning,
for on the morrow
you will be my stillness
when the world is falling.

Tonight, like every other night, I was laying in Easton's bed singing to him. And just like I always do, I thought of how much he amazes me. The love that I feel from him and for him is tremendous. He is so good and pure, and his face is so beautiful. Just watching him at night makes me think of how good little children are. I know that is why the Lord tells us to be like little children. You can't help but to just love them. And they love us despite all the bad habits we have.

Thoughts on a Nature Walk

"The Road Unbends"
The road unbends for me
between the river and great mountains
that have stood for centuries.
The dark night has settled.
A pale, thin sheet masks that stars,
but they faintly glow, and if I
gaze long enough
they appear to me.

In the mountains
I receive the earth's nourishment.
It assures me that it knows, for
it has been for countless centuries
a mother's heart
a father's unshaking arm.
The leaves rustle, and I forget
my uneasiness.
The river is steady so that I
may follow it until it resigns
and find a stillness there.

God is resting here
in His own earth. On this path
I could walk the extent
of my life, for here it is quiet,
and His voice is unbroken.

On this path knots untie themselves.
Complexities are constricted
into simple forms, and God
speaks without interruptions.
Here, time cannot unravel me.

On this night
I utter no words - I say nothing.
In nature, conversations
are spoken silently.
Not even a whisper, and it
hears what is in me.
I embrace its response.
Though is often says nothing,
I hear it listen.

Love at a Distance

"Alteration"
Here, within the solitary walls

of my room, in the quiet unresponse

of this small city,

I am taunted by the absence of your

summer eyes

your warmth and pure intent

embedded tenderly in the midst of my recollection.

Each night after the

long day's continuance of miles

between us I fall asleep

embraced by the remembrance of

your arms and my home in them.

These cold cruel miles like

prison bars standing erect and immovable

in the center of us

Great canyons that have thrust through

the surface to alter our perfect valley.

For My Husband

"Enough"
Only a few days left,

their temporary character being of no

consolation to me.

I cannot keep you near enough

stay wrapped in the warmth of

your embrace long enough.

Its lack of permanence drives a longing

to the tips of my fingers-

hands that cannot be held by yours completely enough.

The abscence of time appears

with its ugliest face to let

distance lengthen itself

thoughtlessly between us.

I have filled the days with a

thousand things of you,

and, yet still, I will not

have you near enough.

Watching Shooting Stars

"Shower at 3 a.m."
When the deep blue expanse exhales,

the blazing stones that have lingered

beyond my eyes for centuries in

willing submission

are sent on their way.

As the sky hollows its lungs,

loosens its grip,

the stars shoot off gratefully,

my eys losing the chase, and they

disappear forever to me.

In this rare and unfiltered

segment of our humble lives

we pause to pay our respects to

what is greater than us, and it

sends its regard our way.

The stars in their tiny form outnumber

the count of our eyes.

So, too, are we.

About Motherhood

"Fruit of My Labors"
The day is through,
and you are fast asleep
upon my shoulder
while the dishes are
in the sink
and crumbs are
on the floor.
Dust has settled on the
cherry picture frames,
and baseboards
have been neglected.
Because today
I was just your mother.
We sang, and I
taught you some letters.
We played, then
I hugged and kissed you.
You cried,
and I held you
I cleaned, clothed, and fed you.
Tonight we prayed
together while the tasks
were left undone.
Now you are asleep
upon my shoulder
after a day's worth of
all that I taught you.
And before I look around
and see failure,
I kiss the child resting
in my arms,
and I think of you -
the result of my toils,
the sweet fruit
of my labors.
-7/23/06

A Poem About Easton

"Easton's Eyes"
I know those eyes -
They say what hearts
cannot tell.
They whisper that
all is right in this moment
with you in my arms
and I in your gaze.
Life is still,
sorrows lie down,
and we are all that
are breathing.
They sing the song
that only you and I
know the words to,
the song of mother
and child.
Those eyes are a window
to where God is -
two lights telling that
all is not dark,
all is not empty.
For there is purity and
promise in the
eyes of my child.