When the…

 

When the latte comes and is a caramel apple cider.

When the order is cancelled and a local store is found.

When the gift wanted is gone and one unexpected comes.

When old behaviour returns threatening the newer and better.

When grace seems hard and patience is scarcely found.

When faith in the hard times seems a stunted mustard seed shadow.

When the tears come ragged and burning as a hoped for good goes.

When you come to it and hate the part when you go through it.

When the other side is reached and you are worn out but there.

When silly antics break the tension and laughter rings loud.

When it seems to unravel wildly and something new is woven.

When the cold snap comes hard and you stay cozy warm.

When the storm rages inside and out you remember to dance.

Remember to dance. In the rain. In the storm. In the pain.

Remember that faith isn’t for easy times but hard ones.

Remember grace is given freely, to you and from you.

Remember to cherish moments small, 

In years to come they will be large.

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Yesterday wasn’t the day I had planned, but God loves a laugh and made me a planner. I am learning to use my emotional sea legs to go with the flow and enjoy the detours as much as my well planned (but often way to boring) route. I don’t always get where I thought I would be going but the amazing people in my life make the journey worth the side roads and detours. We always find the best stuff on the extra mile and that extra mile is never wide, paved or brightly lit.

 

So remember…when the muse leaves it will return. But not as you expect.  I missed my poetry and my blogging. But in doing a Christmas handicraft with my son I discovered an older love for working with fibres and yarn I had forgotten. So my muse came back in paints, yarn and finally this poem. I don’t know if I am ‘back’ but even a visit is better than being totally absent.

Poetic Musings

For dVerse Open Link Night my son, Luke, and I have decided to share some poetic musings. Enjoy!


Summer Storm by Luke

Hail smashes down hard

Summer storms sweep skies dark

Thunder crashes loud


Fort McMurray in 17

A sudden hush awakes me from my slumber – the rain has come once again!

80k people flee, smoke eaters rush in to fight a wildfire you can see from space.

Convoys drive to the flames, fuel for the stranded, bringing hope in the smoke.

Hashtags and hope; the spirit ignites us to action and we open our hearts.


Note: It has been a very traumatic and inspiring time for those of us in Alberta, in Canada. With the wildfires across the prairies, especially the enormous fire that forced the evacuation of Fort McMurray. People have come together in amazing ways to help – in conventional and unconventional ways. I am proud of our responders, our people who just decided to help and did. From children inspiring fundraising bbq’s to people filling their own vehicles and going in to offer help. And those who are fighting the fires and rescuing the animals, those who are volunteering, praying and those who are doing what they can – thank you.  I won’t share images here – do some Google searching. See how big it is, how it is still burning along with others across BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba and into Ontario. Those giving their homes, their food, their money. Sharing hope and already working on the day they get to rebuild.

 

The Extra Mile

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Talking with our son about work. Effort.

The difference between being done and finishing.

That there is honour in the work. Good things.

The difference between doing good and your best.

That the good stuff is always found there. The extra mile.

_

Talking with our son about life. Faith.

The difference between belief and faith.

That believing without seeing is real. Good things.

The difference between the rest stop and the extra mile.

The right stuff is always found there. It ain’t crowded.

_

Talking with my husband about love. Us.

The difference between fighting for or against.

That knowing we stand together is the good stuff.

The difference between together and for one another.

We have found each other and ourselves on the extra mile.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dVerse Poetics prompt got me thinking last night about the extra mile. And how it ain’t crowded there. And it isn’t the place where you go when you are done but when you are finished. That’s where the good stuff is, where the great love found in doing small things grows wild. It’s about faith. It’s about teaching the next generation. It’s about love. And a bit of reflection – what if we had quit at good, or done? We wouldn’t have found the amazing blessings and richness of each other and our faith – it only exists when you go the extra mile.

Thanks to my Padre Kevin Weatherby who always encourages us to go there. Find out more at savethecowboy.org , find them on Facebook and Twitter.

Unpaved Roads

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I believe I’ve been on the road for a million miles.

Does it show? I wonder about the wear and tear.

1 lane, two lane, three, four, five. Freeway. Highway.

NO WAY! Don’t go THAT WAY! 

Flat top. Crowned gravel. Seasonal dirt. Grassy track.

The road less traveled is the one to take…

Passing lane – never enough. Slow lane – baugh!

…and yet if they take it all we’ll have to seek another.

Fast lane. Hammer down. Buck sixty. Po po gotta go.

I prefer the gravel road. Fields and old telephone poles.

People all have to pitter patter, get atter.

Slow down. It surely is the journey that is best.

Waiting for the school bus. Grader. Tractor.

Seeing the eagle. Owl. BEAR! Deer. Slowing down.

Always in such a rush. Blank look when they HIT.

No crosswalks for critters or old farmers. They just go.

NowaymanitcameOUTTAnowhere. BANG. Blame.

Slow it down. See what God put there to see. Yes. That.

I have to make it on time but I won’t rush this.

The journey isn’t about gas milage. Or time. It just is.

See what everyone else has missed in their rush.

I see the best things on slower, unpaved roads.

The only screen is the ‘windscreen’ and wow!

Can you see what I see? Slow down, roll the window down.

Be late every now and again catching jet streams.

I love the open road. The mountains. The prairie. Foothills.

Gotta rush. Gotta go. Get there. Get back.

Memories are made of stuff that moves slow.

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Coming back to dVerse for the first time in a LONG time. Did you miss me? I surely missed you. Hope you don’t mind my rambling take on the Tuesday Poetics prompt. 

BIG & small

Nature, the touch of God’s hand in His creation.

Moves me. Touches me. Soothes and rouses me.

Brings me tears and silences me in awe. Heals me.

Something as small as a sunset reflected in a

rain drop, something as massive as a storm.

Wee little bee darting bloom to bloom.

River carving it’s way to the sea.

There is a touch there.

A plan. In the places

where I feel the ground

most holy are those where

God speaks through the wind and animals.

Where flowers struggle to bloom, and burst forth.

Exuberance embraces to soul when birds soar where we

can never really and truly go. Lifting wings and crying out from it.

Nature soothes my soul when there is too much paved over. Too much built.

Too many machines, wires, poles and buildings. Too many people crowded around.

Nature releases me when I stop to breathe. To hear baby magpies complaining.

When I see birds hopping on hedge tops or dancing in puddles fresh from the rain.

Apples fallen before they ripen, feeding the tree from below. The circle of life, the cycle.

It is part of us. Lay on the earth, feel your pulse in the soil. Hear it in the wind.

Clouds soar above, weightless seemingly, and yet full of many millions of gallons of water.

Life given from both storm and calm. Sunshine and rain. Met, sometimes, in violence.

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dVerse has us thinking about nature. Nature is something near and dear to me.

As a farm wife, photographer and lover of all things created I find both healing and balance in the nature around me. From the aftermath of a storm to the reflection of sunsets in the rain barrel. Animals playing, hunting, living. Plants growing and dying. Being no more, and no less, than intended. Being fully. Isn’t that what we all should be doing? Working on the being and not the doing?

Visit the other poets, and leave them some love. 

Six by Twelve

Who am I? What words say the most about me?

Faith for without it each day would be a walk of darkness.

Grace that which we get, and must give, freely. As it was given.

Offbalanceweirdgeekystrangefunrulebreakingsinginglaughingsoftietoughie – it is one word if you don’t have spaces!

Seriously though, passionate, could be one. In love. In life. In all all. Live at the edge of your veins.*

Without those things I wouldn’t have the means or desire to be as thankful as I am.

For understanding deeply that the most important things in life are, indeed, not things at all.

They are son and husband. Loved. Beloved. Cherished. Treasured. Laughed with. Prayed over.

So thankful for the ups, downs, insides and outsides that make up this crazy mi vida locaLife.

As my husband so eloquently prays, “Thank you, Lord, for the blessings in our lives.

For the things that make us better people, and for the things that pass us by.”

Amen.

Starlight

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Starlight used to make me so sad.

The bright light of a star long dead

reaching me here with a tragic hope.

I stare at them through teary eyes

and wonder if maybe, just maybe,

we are wrong about starlight.

~

Perhaps starlight should bring me joy.

Those bright lights, so steady, so true.

Guiding sailors, farmers and guides

through time unfailing in their task.

I stare at them through wondering eyes

and think, “How far does your light travel

and maybe, just maybe, your light

isn’t a dead light after all. But reborn!”

~

Starlight, like a phoenix, rises beyond our

measure and while the light of one fades

as it dies, it take so long to reach us that

it never really dims, but is replaced by

a new light, of a star reborn. Born anew

from the faded and thread bare universe.

A patch that seamless joins old and new.

~

Starlight, more alive than dead. Not an echo

of something long since gone but more than.

An echo and a newborn cry, a dying spark

and a flash of new life – all at once. Far in time.

And we, in hindsight only, see nothing but

the endless. The faithful. The star lights eternal.

~

Death conquered, and birth affirmed. Spirals

of eternity weave through my mind and I must

look away. Dizzy and holding tight to the endless.

The starlight.

~

This is what happens when I think too much about things like time, space, light, travel and stars.  I wondered last night, staring at an impossibly bright and starry sky if perhaps their dying light overlaps a birthing light and that’s how we never lose our stars.  And faith is like that too…but that is a deep thought for another day!  Enjoy.

Surely you joust!

joust

Jesters dance, and joke before kings.

Their wisdom hidden in song escapes

the wrath of a leader deaf to truth.

`

Smiths sweat over forges, metal glowing.

Their muscles tense over tools of death

made to save them all and yet not so.

`

Maids wrapped and veiled wander.

Eyes flashing promise, or hope to

those whom they can catch looking.

`

Falconers send their hunters to the sky.

Screaming they soar, and return to

hood and ties – slaves who could be free.

`

Knights wait for their turn in the lists.

Horses pace, eyeing the tilts and

pennants flash brightly, armor gleams.

`

Blunted tips on lances signal this is not war.

Death is not the goal here, dismounting

your opponent is the not-so-secret wish.

`

Music rises and laughter rings loud.

The Medieval Festival makes me long

for a past far distant and darkly present.

`

All things Medieval over at dVerse…grab your sword, shine the armor and find a horse!  Check out the links and leave love, poets live on it! 

Blurred Hindsight

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When you get to this place you’ll know.

The lie of 20/20 hindsight vision.

Looking back the lines are blurred.

I can see you there, what is the year?

Such a fine balancing needed.

You can’t change the past if you

want to be who you have become.

And what a woman you are!

Those wounds they healed.

The scars started to ache less.

The joy lines never got deeper.

But your eyes sparkle so bright.

Looking out the window at the now,

I wish you could see how the wait.

THE WAIT you hated so is over.

You learned to serve in love.

Stayed true to the little gardens

you grew in the small places.

Those seeds now wildly bloom

here. There. EVERYWHERE!

You never knew. Had no clue.

That those things you seeded

along the path, they didn’t die.

They grew. Out of stone. In the sun.

From the dryness they found life.

Drove their roots down deep

past the dry season and found

an endless well of faith, filled.

EVERY time you wanted to quit.

You didn’t. Could have. But no.

Stubborn you, kept going,

If you could only see it now.

Even blurred looking back.

The amazing wild path

you trod. You sowed.

Hindsight may be blurred

and less than perfectly

20/20 is a lie, but the heart

it knows the truth. Wildflowers

bloom where it is wild, weeds

are only labeled by mis-location.

A letter from the future would be grand, giving me some encouragement during the times when the path seems harder, more barren than I’d like. Faith keeps me going forward when I can only see one step at a time, and I firmly believe that changing the past would change me, perhaps enough that I couldn’t be the person I am today. And today I love who I am. I am blessed beyond measure with my husband and my son, our family and friends. I wouldn’t change a thing that happened because it all made me who I am today. HOWEVER! I wouldn’t get in line for a repeat for some things either…ha ha

Check out the other great poets who are sharing at dVerse!

Breaking the American Sentence

Breaking the American Sentence into a Canadian form. eh!

Broken from haiku, the American Sentence was born into poetry. Lovely.

A true bird of snow, no feeble fleeing snow bird, she waits. Silent. Still. Deadly.

Invisible against a snow sky, often missed against the endless blue. Sacred?

Seeing them is a gift we seek. A gift we treasure. Something dear. Snowy!

How many miss the magic? What other treasures pass by unseen? Mystified.

Look around, see what you can see. Owl. Deer. Fox. Joy. Blessings to seek and find. Go! 

Snowy Owl – she flies!

The challenge at dVerse is to break and enter – take a form and make it your own. I broke the American Sentence a wee bit by adding a Canadian ending word. A question. A comment. A statement. Sarcasm. Hope. Something.

Great to be back at the Pub. Stop by the link below, see the magic other poets have woven.

http://dversepoets.com/2015/01/22/meetingthebar-breaking-entering/

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