A Storybook Poem


I wrote this poem and made a little book for my niece and nephew (after sewing two owl stuffed animals for them — yes, it was a weirdly productive weekend)…

The Owl Asked Who?

A gift appeared below
so low below
surprised me

High up
high up
sitting high up
in my high tree

The gift appeared below
I said,
I wondered, saying
“WHO?”

Around and round I looked
I searched
but never
Knew WHO

So I perched,
I stretched,
I flew,
I dropped
to see that gift below me

I lit, I stayed
my feet on the ground
by the base of my
high tree

I opened the gift
my surprise
it was a red,
red strawberry

The air, the sun,
tree, wind
and heat,
The day so
very merry

But WHO to thank?
I looked and found
not a single soul

The day, it begged,
it beckoned,
begging me
to take a stroll

I climbed the hill
turned away from
the tree

I left my perch,
my place,
left behind me

I strolled and flew,
felt the sun’s heat
on my wings

It was the perfect day
for a stroll
Perfect for
perfect things

In the sun
I saw it,
the sun shown the
strawberry patch

The strawberry patch is
where I found my friend
I met my friend
I found my match

We sat and talked,
we laughed,
I knew.
I finally knew.
I knew WHO.

My perfect day was
perfect because
my perfect WHO
was you!

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Something old, something new

I’ve been a bit of a slacker this week with posting, so here’s two poems.

The first one, A Like Poem, is in my ebook of poetry, which you can still download for FREE until the end of May. Then the next one, which I just call Nathanael right now is a new one.

A Like Poem

We’re alike in different ways
Alike but different is sometimes okay

We’re alike but we talk differently;
Put me the South, but keep the Jersey in me

Alike and different, we split them in half
I try to be sad, but you make me laugh

We’re alike but we do different things;
I watch from the sidelines while you pull the strings

Alike but different is how we’ll stay
Alike but different is sometimes okay

Nathanael

Here am I sitting
under a fig tree
when you come along and
say Follow Me

My old life is dead
my soul is set free
I’ve been Nathanael
a proud pharisee

I climb to see you
from the sycamore tree
when you call me down and
then dine with me

My old life is dead
my soul is set free
I’ve been Zaccheus
a proud pharisee

I take the forbidden
fruit from the tree
when you call me out and
then you clothe me

my old life is dead
my soul is set free
I’ve been Adam and Eve
a proud pharisee

Yes, as for me I grow
like a green olive tree
in your house I flourish
for you so love me

my old life is dead
my soul is set free
I’m like David the psalmist
redeemed, your grace, holy

Two Works in Progress

An excerpt from my latest short story (still just a draft):

He struck the match and the flame lit up his face. Pained eyes, tired brow.
“Ready?” he whispered.
I shook my head no. “I just want this to be over. I don’t want to be sad anymore,” I whispered back. My voice cracked on the last word.
He grabbed my arm. “Tessa,” he said, his voice low and worn out. “The hurting won’t stop with this. You know that, right?”
A felt a tear crawl out from my eyelid. I wiped it away. “Let’s just get this over with.” I said.
He threw the match on the leaves and papers and twigs and the flames grew into a blaze. The smoke kicked up ashes; the sparks popped and hissed at us.
We watched it burn. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

And here’s the first half of a poem I’m writing that explores the different trees in the biblical stories:

Here am I sitting
under a fig tree
when you come along and
say Follow Me

My old life is dead
my soul is set free
I’ve been Nathanael
a proud pharisee

I climb to see you
from the sycamore tree
when you come along and
then dine with me

My old life is dead
my soul is set free
I’ve been Zaccheus
a proud pharisee