Storms

Here is a poem I wrote a long time ago. As I was looking back through my blog I found I had written several times about watching storms with my dad. I also discovered that most times that I wrote about storms, light was there, too.

Tonight storms are rolling in

I hear the rumble coming closer

Raindrops begin to beat the roof

I remember

I stand on the porch with Dad

We watch the dark clouds

Lightning cracks the sky open

I remember

I face storms in life

Cleansing rains come

And streaks of light

I will remember

Here is another “stormy” poem from a long time ago:

Little Brown Bird

A little brown bird
So tiny,
Spied on a long black utility wire,
An expanse of forbidding dark gray sky
Behind

The little brown bird
Strutted
Across the wire, tail bobbing up and down
His beak wide open, chirping
Loudly

That little brown bird
Continued
Singing his cheerful song
Even as fat drops of rain began falling
Suddenly

One little brown bird
Seemed
Like a herald of hope spreading a message-
Though storms come, believe our world will
Endure

Light Breaks Through

Photo by BTHY

More than a year of cloudy days. Grayness hanging over us. Thick and heavy clouds. And yet, light breaks through.

Eulogy from a Study Bible

It was a long difficult week at school last week after the sudden death of one of our colleagues. We began the week with a crisis team at school with us for two days. By midweek, we had details about the funeral. It was held on Sunday.

Our principal spoke and shared memories from the staff. She concluded with a note from one of our students (a fifth grader). This teacher was married to another teacher at our school. They had been married only a year and a half. The student said “when we would be in the hall and he saw her, his eyes would turn into a heart.” It really was true, so much changed in him and he was a much happier person in the last few years.

The pastor who gave the message used notes from our teacher’s own study Bible. He shared verses that were highlighted and his personal notes. It was amazing. The loss has been difficult, but with the words and tributes of Sunday, healing begins.

Golden Shovel

How do you find hope?
Do you even know what it is?
Is it the
fleeting thing,
the thing with
graceful feathers?

A shimmering thing that
flutters in and perches
delicately in
the
soul?

Hope alights and
quietly sings, 
whispers the
tranquil tune
bringing solace without
the
words.

Hope realized is a hymn and
the faith it awakens never
stops 
at
all.

First draft of Golden Shovel based on Emily Dickinson’s Hope is the Thing with Feathers.

Spring Serenades

I awake and hear
Birds singing...
Spring serenade

At recess I hear
Kids laughing and shouting...
Spring serenade

It’s evening and I hear
Lawnmowers humming...
Spring serenade!

Equation Poetry

I have been reading tweets for #NationalPoetryMonth on Twitter, and this morning I saw one from Laura Purdie Salas. She is doing equation poems this month- a perfect choice for all of us who are worn down by the pandemic and need something concise to focus our thoughts. If you haven’t heard this form, look for Laura Purdie Salas’ book, Snowman- Cold= Puddle: Spring Equations.

Here is my morning’s equation:

One hour + webinar = ideas to share

I enjoyed a video replay of a Saddleback webinar on writing strategies. I have some good ideas to try and to share.

https://www.laurasalas.com/tag/national-poetry-month-2021-equationpoem/

Promise

Raindrops gently fall,
Sun slowly rises through clouds,
Rainbow glows softly

Each day holds promise,
Gifts to claim, rainbow reminds, 
Just open your heart

New Day

Crescent moon, bright star
Lighting early morning sky
Herald a new day

Singing birds join in 
Glad chorus cheering us on
You have a new day

Hallelujah

A repeat blog post… an eternal truth.

Spring Afternoon at the Lake

Wind
ripples, 
Sun scatters 
light like diamonds 
across the water 

Birds  
glide through 
clear skies and 
sing perched in tree 
branches filled with buds 

Blue 
heron 
swoops down and 
regally stands 
at guard by the shore 

An arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable, increasing by one more syllable in each line.