the writers group. a poem.

like the uncertainty of an approaching storm

the staccato tap of fingers on keys

plays a scattered beat. I wonder

if that is the sound of

the soul

revealed like sign language,

the give

and take

battle of life

revelation.

Empty me…(a poem)


The struggle is real.

Do more.

Be more.

But wait.

Be still.

Stop.

When life is full that’s when we need to give it up.

Give it all up.

Let the worries and the pressure and the performance fall through the aching holes of our heart,

the heaviness of brown paper package

promises released,

the frustrations of 

self

like sand through a sieve 

emptied

given up

to the One 

who gave Himself 

to fill us up

with 

peace

*

not as the world

gives,

empty,

but

free

Blooming glory: a poem

oughttobe

 like the day lily pushing

up through the soft

spring soil arms up-

stretched to the sun,

we are where 

we are if even 

for a passerby to say

“Glory, would you

look at that!”