Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Loving Roy

The words of this poem spilled onto the page as though spoken in my ear by someone begging for understanding and forgiveness.  After several years his story still echoes in my mind and I decided to share it here.

"I'm sorry, Roy, I had to do it
Ain't nothin' goin' right anymore.
I done my best to take keer o' you
and this hyere farm
It weren't easy with you
bein' crippled an' all but
we done alright, jus' you and me.
Only now the cancer's got me
and we both know'd
I'd soon be layin' 'side o' mama
Nights I couldn't sleep,
I heerd ya cryin' for mama,
I keep hearin' ya beggin' me
not to let them social fellers
carry ya off to the city
where ya ain't never been
and put ya in one o' them nursin' homes
where ya'd never agin
be close to someone ya loved,
never hear the whip-poor-will, or the peepers, or the owl,
never see the fawns runin' 'cross the field
or the hills a-far (afire) with color in the fall,
never smell the honeysuckle
or a field, fresh plowed,
I love ya too much, Roy,
I jus' couldn't let them fellers do that to ya.
If there's a heaven, I know you're there with mama now
If there's a hell, I reckon that's where I'll be in a minute.
God forgive me, I didn't know what else to do.
I'm sorry Roy, I had to do it."

Monday, April 4, 2016


Tulips, daffodils, hyacinths,
and flowers unknown,
In long neglected flower beds,
Quietly stand in memory
of an artist long forgotten

Can you hear them calling,
Restore, who will restore?

Weathered by storms and sun,
with peeling, fading paint,
The old porch hints
of days of grandeur

Can you hear it calling,
Restore, who will restore?

Plagued by demons,        
Scarred by leprosy,
Unclean and bleeding,
Caught in adultery,

The Creator declared,
Restore, I will restore.

Like the prodigal son,
Wounded and bowed    
by all manner of evil,
The children of men
barely reflect
their Creator's image

Can you hear Him call?
Come unto Me,
I will restore.

Monday, November 2, 2015

Conversation with Bubbles

"Get up," he said, "Get up!"
My bowl is empty and it's seven o'clock!"

"Ignore him, he'll shut up,"
My brain groggy with sleep went back to dreaming.

"Get up and feed me," a voice insistent
won't be denied.

"Be quiet, it's not seven o'clock.
We went on slow time don't you know?"

"Humph, excuses, excuses."
He changed tactics hopping onto my pillow,
purring and kneading.
"Please, please get up, O mommy dear. I'm hungry
and it's seven o'clock."

"No, it's not and besides your bowl isn't empty."

"Suit yourself, I'm staying here, purring and kneading
until you get up."
Finally the alarm goes off, I get up, fill his bowl.
"Okay, Bubbles, breakfast is ready."

"Never mind. We're on slow time.
It's not time to get up yet."

Sunday, July 26, 2015


Butterfly bush
outside my window
hummingbird magnet
dishes left unwashed.

Notice he is swallowing a drop of nectar

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Chicken Talk

     Sometimes, God gives me a photo, totally unexpectedly, that speaks to me. I thought I'd share it. Perhaps it will speak to you.

With hustle and bustle this wise banty hen
Keeps her brood in tow
Teaching them lessons they need to know
To thrive in a chicken world
Under and around her feet all day
They watch her every move
Listening for her gentle clucks
As she shows them all the doings
a proper chicken does.
When the sun begins to fade
and evening takes its place
Mrs. Hen gathers her flock
And coaxes them to roost
in safety under her wings
Far above the enemies that creep
steal and destroy in the night

As dawn begins to waken the earth
A raucous "cut, cut, cut, ca-dacket"
bounces me from my bed
Whatever is this racket?!
Two little peeps have gone astray
Are roosting near the ground
Wonder what they heard their Mama say?
"You kids come up here right now!
You'll get yourselves killed down there
That's why I want you here with me
Now come here!"
With squeaky peeps her wayward chicks
fly toward the sound of her voice
With her brood intact in the full morning light
Mama leads the way to the henhouse suite
A place of safety from enemies that fly
steal and destroy in the day.

      "Behold, I have loved you with an everlasting love......He will cover you with His feathers...Under His wings I am safely abiding........He has seated us with Him in heavenly places, far above all principalities, powers, might and dominion......Jesus said, "I do nothing on my own. I only do what I see My Father doing for whatever He does the Son does likewise.....It is written in the prophets, they shall all be taught of God.....He that believes on Me, the works that I do shall he do also and greater works....."  from Jeremiah 31:3, Psalm 91, Ephesians 1 and 2, John 5:19, 30, John 6;45, John 8:28
John 14:12    What better way to learn than to sit at His feet as Mary did to know Him and to know the Father.

Saturday, April 18, 2015


Spring blew open winter's door
Snatched the snowy blanket from his bed
Released the rivers from their icy cells

Danced her way through trees
as she whistled for the birds
to call them from the south
"Tis futile to resist," she laughed
and calmly knelt to whisper
to the likes of bluebell
and spring beauty
coaxing them awake
Aroused by her embrace
the peepers in the marsh
welcomed her with fervent songs

She skipped across my lawn
leaving kaboodles of yellow dandys
standing at attention
.....but I don't care
Spring is finally here!


This year I so yearned for spring to arrive! It reminds me there are other things awaiting. "For the whole creation eagerly waits with anticipation for the sons of God to be revealed."
Romans 8:19  

These also wait in hope:


Thursday, September 4, 2014


Maggie's fingers curled more tightly around the steering wheel as her car bumped along the dirt road.
    "What a stupid pilgrimage this is!" she complained aloud, though there was no one to hear. She felt as if some giant unseen hand was dragging her to her birthplace, the place to which she vowed she would never return. She braked sharply as a turkey hen with a brood of 12 meandered across the road ahead of her, the mother yelping loudly to keep them all in tow. It made her think of her own mother, gone 10 years already.
     "Do you ever stop missing your Mom?" Maggie wondered. Subconsciously she rubbed her cheek as she remembered her mother's tears the day Maggie left home. Not that she wanted to leave.
     "Why must I go back? It's over and done now." But that unseen force wasn't leaving her alone. It kept tugging at her heart. The car bounced over a pothole as she put the car in gear again and left the turkey family far behind, clucking and purring in the pines. She almost missed the driveway, it was so overgrown with weeds. Unwilling to park along the road, she clattered over the weeds and stopped the car several yards from the house.
     "Well, isn't that appropriate?" Maggie muttered as she stared at the boarded up windows of the abandoned house, shuttered as if to hide even the memory of her existence. The vulture roosting on the chimney seemed to taunt her with her father's last words to her. "Get out! You're 18 years old now. Get out of my house and don't come back!"
     She had thrown some clothes in her suitcase and fled to who knew where, vowing she would never allow him to hurt her again. She looked at the vulture so she wouldn't have to see her mother's sad eyes.
     "If you're so smart, Mr. Vulture, tell me why. What did I ever do to deserve what he did to me?" But there was no answer and now there never would be.
     Tall grass, weeds and brush covered the ground.
     "Looks like good snake habitat and if there's a snake in here, I will scream bloody murder!" She almost chuckled, remembering the time she had picked one up by the tail thinking it was a stick. Warily, Maggie explored the backyard, wondering why she was compelled to be there.Abruptly, in mid-step, she stopped, rubbed her eyes and looked again. Among the overgrown shrubs, she had caught a glimpse of a bright, coral colored flower.
     "The Tropicana rose," her murmur was barely a whisper and again she heard her father's voice. This time it was tender.
     "Happy thirteenth birthday, my little pearl. See this? It's a Tropicana rose planted especially for you because I love you so much. Every time you see it, remember I will always love you."
     Anger welled up and spilled from her eye. She slapped away the tear.
     "Daddy, you said you'd always love me but you didn't. Why did you stop? What did I do to make you hate me? You never told me. If you had I could have said I'm sorry but you never did. Why, Daddy, why? You never told me and now I'll never know because you're dead! Dead, dead, dead."
     Maggie sank among the weeds and the tears of pain and anger that she'd held inside for years, all tumbled out at once. Even the old house seemed to shake with her sobs. After the last tear had run down and melted into the dirt, she lay still for a long time. In the bottom of her purse, she found a pair of scissors and with them she gently snipped a long-stemmed Tropicana rose. As if by design, she found an old bottle nearby that she filled with water from the creek in which she and Daddy had played. With one last look at her old abandoned home, she took the rose, put the car in drive and never looked back.
     Two weeks later the lawyer called to request her presence at the reading of the will.
     "But he cut me out of the will," Maggie said. "Is it necessary for me to be there?" The lawyer assured her it was. It was a simple will.
       "Being of sound mind, finally, and feeble body, upon my death all my assets are to be divided equally between my two daughters except for the Tropicana rose. It belongs to my daughter Maggie.I hope she can forgive a stubborn old fool."