Xapa to the World

Tag: poetry

  • Poem: Cold Winter 8

    8
    January 24th, 2014

    How did they know? Those farmers…
    How did they know of the frigid and bluster
    Of this year’s winter?
    The proof is in the pudding
    And the pudding is cold as stone
    And hard as ice.
    Cold.
    Doesn’t even seem the right word for this feeling.
    And the perpetual snow drifts across the roads,
    Like snakes of white powder
    Side-swiping between the tires and biting at them,
    Turning them to ice in an instant.
    And the cats eyes of taillights
    Glaring behind as if angry of the cold as well.
    I’m tired of it too, but my car is warm,
    Mostly, and I’m willing to go around in it.
    But don’t ask me to get out and brave the frozen wasteland.
    My only consolation remains that
    The days do grow longer,
    And soon will come the crocuses.

     – Sarah ><>

  • Poem: Cold Winter 7

    7
    January 22nd, 2012

    The ice came and took its victims.
    Freezing and snapping and catching,
    Holding us hostage until it so pleased.
    But the sun came and rescued us.
    And in response, the ice melted,
    Exhaling a mist into the sky –
    At night, obscuring the sights
    And refracting the lights so they scatter
    And blend and flood as much as the water.
    Red and white and yellow and green,
    Bright and obtrusive,
    Tainting the scene.
    But the lake is near untouched
    With the haze rising above
    And weaving its way through the waterlogged trees.
    They never drown.
    And the train awakens and the white lights
    Between the cars like buck teeth
    Flash and pulse and faster and faster
    And gone.

     – Sarah ><>

  • Poem: Spring Expects Growth

    May 29, 2011

    Spring expects growth,

    new life and an increase.

    While Winter ran rampant across the earth,

    we expect God to work in the soil,

    in the trunks of the trees,

    in the hearts of men.

    Spring brings disappointment when the Winter is over

    and nothing has changed.

    The garden is empty,

    The trees have no leaves

    and the heart is unsteady.

    No blame is afforded to God –

    only to the stubbornness of the soil.

    It is my fault that I am the same.

    Sarah ><>

    I reviewed this poem.  Check it out here.

  • 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 ><>

  • 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 ><>

  • Day 5 – Love

    I think the way people love changes over time.  God’s love stays the same.  God loves me the same as He did when He put my body together.  He loves me the same as when I took my first breath.  The same as when I first sang, “Jesus Loves Me.” The same as when I asked Him into my heart.  The same as when I was obsessed with boy bands.  The same as when my heart was broken and  I was crying for a Father.  The same as when I heard Him call to me from Russia.  The same as when I set foot in China.  The same as when my heart was broken and crying for a lover.  The same as when I shut my ears to Him.  The same as when I opened them again.

    My love for Him has changed though.  It’s been childish, inconstant, genuine, self-serving, impatient, joyous, grieving, etc.  But is that then love?  The difference could be that God loves outside of my circumstances and I can’t help but love within them.  But the goal is to do the same.  Can I do that?  I’ve found that with certain things I am able to, but not in everything.  But God’s ability to love me constantly and continually outside of my circumstances is not a sign of His apathy to those circumstances, but a mark of how great His love truly is.

    I could sing of Your love forever, I could sing of Your love forever…

    This isn’t a commentary of my ability or desire to sing to God for all time, but a showing of the greatness of His love.  It would take more than eternity to sing all of it, and I would still need more time. 

    Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens.  Your faithfulness stretches to the sky.  Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains, yeah.  Your justice flows like the ocean’s tide.

  • 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 ><>