Poem: Tick Tock

January 30, 2011

All this praying, counting,
Hoping, waiting:

Tick tock.
Tick tock.

Another glance and a half spin ’round.

Tick tock.
Tick tock.

Of patience and courage
And fears squelched from disruptive thoughts.
How much longer, Lord?

Tick tock.
Tick tock.

Sarah ><>

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Poem: The Something Hidden

October 21, 2010

The Hunt.  The Search.
The Discovery.  The Find.

I loved it as a child.
At Easter or in Hide ‘n’ Seek
Or a puzzle.
To be the one hunted was ok,
But to seek out what was wanted –
The joy was there.

My favorite is when I’m not looking
And the thing is suddenly there.
God woos like that;
Hidden, yet not hiding,
Sought, and yet seeking.

The Hunt.  The Search.
The Discovery.  The Find.

My teachers, mostly patient,
Letting me find on my own.
Recognizing the joy of realizing
The point, the aim.

Now a teacher myself –
Learning to guide but not uncover –
Like hunting for eggs with a young one,
Letting the blue peek out behind a leaf,
Just to see the delight in their eyes.
Watching God peek out behind the pages
And people and stories.

He is a masterful Lover,
Well-equipped to be found by anyone –
Often in places I’d never look.
The joy is now leading others
To seek and find with their own eyes.

The Hunt.  The Search.
The Discovery.  The Find.

Sarah ><>

Poem: The Moon-Cloud

September 24, 2010

The moon,

Like a rice wafer in the sky,

So light it seems almost like a cloud

To be blown away by a sigh.

Round, defined, translucent,

Like a dream just after waking –

Fading into the pale blue sky of morning –

Soon to be forgotten

With the dawning of the day.

Sarah ><>

Poem: The Scalding

June 22nd, 2010

The drip-drip of water into the pot.
Setting it on the stove,
I turn the dial slowly to “Hot” and watch
And wait.
The result is already known:
Heat + water = boiling and steam.
As the bubbles form at the bottom,
I stick my hand over the pot to feel
The heat rising.  And rising.
And rising.
Not ready yet though.
Finally, cascading to the surface – it’s time.
I plunge my hand in,
Feeling the water scald my skin,
My muscles and nerves screaming out.
But I cannot pull back.
The pot must be emptied.
Inside, I’m shouting, “No, no, NO!”
But I raise the pot over my head
And pour the rest out.
As the boiling water joins my tears,
My cheeks red from shame, pain, and fears,
I set the pot in the sink.
The drip-drip of water into the pot.
I’ll be healed when it’s full, to do it again.

Sarah ><>

Poem: Green

March 26, 2010

I catch glimpses of green from beneath

the rough casings of brown.

Green, showing its affinity

for the bright blue of the sky above

and the already verdant ground below

blanketed by warm and delicious yellow light.

The snow from the early morning

has already melted away

and gone to feed the aching thirst

of those green, green, green,

velvet to the touch, newborns

peeking out and teasing my eyes and heart

with a hope of what’s coming.

Life from death –

is the great mystery of my mind today –

how regardless of circumstance

there is a bubbling inside of me

urging itself to uncover from within,

shedding its winter-case

and entreating all to join in the wonder.

Death no more to hold them in its grasp –

an echo of a greater Truth

and, aah!

My heart is at peace and energy.

Sarah ><>

Poem: Emerging

October 29th, 2009

On the tip of my brain
Sits a poem only half-formed.

It has been on the verge of being written
But lacks a common thread or substance.
Inspiration…

The change of the seasons are a muse
As is Prokofiev, green tea, and daffodils.
When peering out into nature
To watch God’s amazing workmanship
Words drip into the sky
And peek out from behind the trees.

These fleeting moments of clarity
Are so difficult to grasp,
But their memory leaves a taste in my mind
And can’t help but make me thirst for the Something Greater.

Like the dark shadows shining down from the clouds
Between the bright rays of the sun.
Or the resonance of a string on my violin
With the tamborine atop the piano.

The sound rushes through the air and finds a kindred voice
And the two shake with joy at their meeting,
Lifting my heart with them
And laughter bursting forth.

Observing the absurd and giggling
Deeply until I must gasp for air.

God, the beautiful painter,
Who made the colors to complement each other.
He put red flowers on stalks of green;
Purple and yellow wildflowers
Scatter themselves and dance along the highway,

Crowned with caps of white.
Trees containing one hundred shades of orange, gold,
And vibrant, burning embers of scarlet
Against a vastness of blue
And a trunk of black.

Each leaf, then, holds a secret;
Each flower petal an answer,

And my eyes flit over them oft unaware
Of such a great mystery.
Oh, grant me the liberty to write such a verse
That would do justice to these trappings
Beating out of my heart.

A calling, a whisper,
A rampant longing for the glorious.

Sarah ><>

Poem: Start of Autumn

September 22nd, 2008

Sometimes change comes suddenly and sometimes it

Takes its time to come through.

As leaves turn from their green hew to

Reds, yellows, and browns,

Trees resound the coming change of the year.

Oft filled with as many sweet aromas as Spring,

Fall has a subtle beauty to it.

And we praise the Maker and Artist, Who

Understands our need of change, even

Though we may not wish it at times.

Unworthy are we of the gift He gives us,

Mystery, nature, and a season of respite.

Now we welcome Him with open arms.

Sarah ><>