Blood in Snow

Blood in snow poem3


Crossroads – Which way to ancient paths?

“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.” Jeremiah 6:16


and burdened,

sit down and rest.

Learn from gentle

and humble-hearted guide,

how to carry

and rest your souls.

At life crossroads,



ask direction

ask for vision

to the ancient paths,

that lead to God, to good, to life

and a light load to carry,

on the good way

with no heavy lifting

cause you’re not alone.

Hold on

Gotta let go;

This thing’s tossing me around

Like a merry-go-round.

Gotta let go;

Feels like I’m gonna explode

Like a Jack-in-the-Box.

Gotta let go;

This has me churning

Like milk in a lactose-intolerant stomach.

Gonna hurl, whirl and twirl,

Gonna pop, explode and burst

Wanna rip it out along with flesh.

Coiling round ribs

Twisting, wrapping and wreathing inside.

To release, liberate, and loosen

Gotta grasp Eternal,

Goodness, Truth and Love.

Hold on to Everlasting source

Or let that take hold,

And then,

Let go

The ephemeral, the disappearing


Inner Sanctum

I dreamt of a lover

He  guided me into his bed chamber

–a softly lit private place, darkened hues of red, blue, brown, and amber, like an uncurtained scene in a Rembrandt piece–

talking all the while

pointing to this and that

he storied the room,

the meaning behind the objects.


that fashioned his identity,

artifacts reflecting values, memories, masculine ideals, spiritual longings…

Watching as I viewed,  he smiled his delight in my attentive response.

I suddenly felt sleepy,  as though drunk with ageless wine,

and lay down on the bed–

his words floating,


closing me in,

enfolded by a blanket of self-expression–

My lids so heavy, I surrendered to their gravity.

The air, too, was warm and sweetly scented.

Safety here, a longing for rest and peace, for such a place as this.

Alerted by his pause, an invitation to weave myself into his story,

I offered my heartfelt response, “You’re beautiful.”

Relief and gratitude softened his face, fears evaporated through acceptance.

For I had recognized, respected, valued, and understood

the sacredness of this space–his inner sanctum

and my sanctuary.

Psalm 61: 4

Let me live forever in your sanctuary, safe beneath the shelter of your wings!

Disheveled Knitting Bag

A faded bag of tangled, once colorful yarns

spilled contents peek out from under the guest bed

forgotten, ill-used, neglected, frayed edges and lost stitches

the pattern that formed the knit items no longer visible

I begin the daunting task of sorting, ordering, reforming straggley strings into tightly wound skeins

Here, a string which once attached two mitts

with the one gone missing, the other of no value

There, a tangled mess of colours, once formed a scarf that kept the necks of my children from feeling the icy wind

Now, holes and tears have frayed the pattern of colours, and the yarns tangle into frustrating knots

An unfinished knit Fair Isle sweater makes its appearance through the mess

a reminder of lost dreams and hopes, of lost meaning

disheveled designs and plans and patterns that once made sense

now undone.

a new pattern, new meaning, new understanding of purpose

will weave the frayed and tattered into something whole and meaningful

but what theme will guide my stitches?