Day 40 – Poetry for Lent

Hope Soars

Hard to believe the sun still shines
with you sealed in a tomb
people go about their business
dawn comes and the world turns
sending the sun sliding down 
past the horizon
And it all seems wrong.

Hopelessness is a heavy weight
we've carried these last couple days
when little over a week ago
we followed you in
a triumphal entry
a celebration of the Messiah
Where did it go wrong?

Morning comes early
for sleepless sleepers
on this third day
the last task waits
the anointing of His body
a bittersweet final goodbye
but the stone rolled away  
signals something wrong.

Why do you look for the living
among the dead, proclaim
men who gleam like lightning
He is not here for
He has risen!
And what was wrong
becomes right

Hope soars

Day 39 – Poetry for Lent


Gentle hands
red and rough
knuckles bent and swollen
He calls each sheep
by name, whispering
courage to skittish ones
gentling those who bite and fight
seeking sheep who wander
driving away predators
healing the wounded
feeding the hungry
Through cold, rain 
blazing sun
through storms and drought
He pursues the lost
calling each by name
not giving up
tracking them down
to bring each one safely

Day 38 – Poetry for Lent

What A Poem Couldn’t Capture

I tried to write a poem  
but words couldn't capture
a friendship that runs through
my life, spills over the edges
into the cracks
day into night
work into weekend
winter into summer
day into month into years.
A poem couldn't contain
the laughter echoing from
an oil change station
it couldn't soak up the 
funeral home tears, couldn't color
disappointments and joys in job,
family, relationships, or in ourselves. 
A little thing like a poem couldn't begin
to describe the mooring strength
of a friendship that's always there--
a phone call, visit, text away.
How could a poem demonstrate
that safe harbor relief found in
a friendship where pretense isn't necessary; 
where there's no judgement for being
the leaky rowboat instead of
the sleek private yacht?
Nope, no way could a poem
display how friendship strings light and 
dark moments together into a
rich and lustrous life.

Day 36 – Poems for Lent

Hope Ravels

   slow but sure
                            Coming apart at the seams
We neglect
         leave it out in the rain
  and watch it dissolve        
                             a little 
with every harsh word
sense of self
Wave over the beach
washing away our sandcastle
                                   by bit  
                                        the silence tears our spirits
    Catching a strand here
                      loosening a piece there
Winds of disagreement and strife
                      crumble our
Widen                the cracks
   hastening the disintegration
Hope is starting to r
on the edges
Do you cut it off  
  w i nd it in?
Is it easier 
to pick apart strands already torn?
Or are we able to see 
beyond frayed hems 
                                   enough to weave us back together?
Do we build or do we tear d
Can I
rebraid my life with yours
to make it stronger?
Or do you prefer to
  stay       apart?
L o o s e ning 
             with every storm
                    that comes our way?

Day 35 – Poetry for Lent

A Fickle Lot

Palm branches waving
cloaks spread upon the road
they welcomed him with
loud Hosannas
blessing his name
with shouts of joy
as he rode in upon
a gentle donkey.

Accusations flying
false testimony given before the judge
they accused him with
loud shouts
cursing his name
with calls for crucifixion
as he stood in silence
on his own.

Thus it is that
we go from a party
to a funeral
all within a week.

Day 32 – Poetry for Lent

More than a number

You are not a number
no matter the gravity 
with which a test was administered
- or taken -
no matter the times
it was talked about
- or studied for

You are much more than a score
on some three lettered exam
covering math and reading
     and writing of course
but not even touching on
subjects that matter like
how a raven is like a  
     writing desk
why men go to war
what the uvula is for
   which, by the way,
     is far removed from the vulva
        in location AND use
or why, if God is good, 
     there is pain and suffering
        in the world.

Don't settle for being 
a number or grade 
for you have abilities
    and possibilities
       yet to discover.

Day 31 – Poetry for Lent

Which came first

The fog came first
long before the crows
but history -- or, if this were
   a different sort of poem, 
       one of those pretentious poety poems,
the mists of time --
will remember the black birds
as harbingers of the
inescapable white mist that
smothered everything, deadening
the world, white-washing the landscape 
until roads, houses, trees, beach, and water
were bleached into a silvery white that vanished
any horizon.

For their part
the crows were simply grounded
the distinction between air and ground
no longer finite. 
To be clear
there was no murder of crows
just two, male and female,
and they were 
   shall we say
whiling away their downtime
by engaging in some sort of 
mating dance
   a precursor of Corvus copulating, no doubt
that involved much hopping, preening
and occasional pecking
    not necessarily in that order.

Truth be told
   as it is even here upon occasion
the rumors of harbingers started
when the raucous birds finished
their mating machinations.
A silver dollar sun strove through the haze
defining shore and sea
earth and air
the mist sending smoke signals into
a startled blue sky

and we saw it all.