Category: poetry

Holy, Ordinary Ground


Holy, ordinary ground.
Faded carpet and untuned choir
Voices rise trembling
Breathing the incense of perfume
A garden of human flowers.
This sanctuary made holy
By hope we hold,
Broken minds waiting
For light to shine in our darkness
Will you make us new
As yesterday
Spirit sustaining us
Abundant life
Drawing us deeper
Gracious forgiver of weakness
And giver of good gifts,
Right-maker, shame-taker
You have spoken life
To grave standers
And death chasers
Knit us new bodies
Together in joy and sorrow
Dancing and weeping
Your love has turned
Our faded carpets
To streets of gold

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Let there be Light

Here is a clip of my open mic performance at Stay Golden!

Stay Golden with Poetry

It has been a very busy last few days for our family, and I have been grateful for Torre’s flexibility and resilience as we kept him up late away from home several nights in a row. Last night was a show for Stay Golden, a performing arts ministry Matt leads that gives young artists a stage, and as always it was inspiring to hear testimonies and see the passion that high school students and young adults bring through spoken word, song, and dance. I signed up for the open mic part of the show and had so much fun presenting a spoken word piece I wrote this Fall – I’m hoping to post the video before long.

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Half Way Around the Sun

I have been half way around the sun as a mother –

it happened as quickly as they said it would.

Just as my belly stretched around his body,

my heart has stretched and soared on have caught glimpses of a kinder and more patient version of myself

who has tender smiles left to give at 2 in the morning and again at 4,

who wills strength into aching arms when swaying and singing are what my sleepy son needs.

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Time Change

Daylight savings is curb stomping my brain
I ride through my days on a headache that morphs from my skull to my eyes to my scalp down my neck.
My stomach churns like I haven’t slept, wants to eat my emotions like razor blades and popcorn.
9pm comes like a train screeching into the station, and the carpet calls me, rough and sturdy, to rest my face on it. It’s closer than my bed, after all.
5am bluffs me awake, then smirks a red gleam through the dark: too early to get up, less than an hour left to sleep, dawn will come after that. Sucker.
But the early air smells like Spring, and the soft ground presses gently on my feet to promise grass will grow soon.
The night sky stretches over my mornings again, but the wind doesn’t scrape like it used to.
Finally daylight slips over the horizon, reflected by office windows 20 floors up, bought at a price of bleary eyes and that hovering, dull ache. No refunds, just hope that Spring stays.
And I can always sleep on the train.