“The years the locusts have eaten
will be restored”

“They have not been wasted”

“And I will make good, what the
swarm has eaten”

The following is a story of the travels of a
Wanderlust, and her search for a peaceful
land. From her journeys through dry arid
wastelands to one of life giving contentment!

It was as if I was blown by the creatures of
the wind, on wings singed from the heat of
affliction.
Unable to stop and become part of this
earth. With my eyes, scanning for some kind
of life, but everywhere I looked there was
darkness.

The years of my life had become consumed
by the blight of an oncoming army,
devouring everything in sight.

But there is a favorite quote
“I will restore to you the years the swarming
locust has eaten”

“My great army you shall know and I will
make good the years that the swarm has
devoured”

The following is part of a story I have
written in metaphoric prose and
poetry

“Sitting on a bench, reflecting on
Her life, there is a longing in her
Heart, couldn’t it have been
Different than this one she has
Survived?
The formative years have not
Been wasted, the bumps and
Ridges of dry desert sands, truly
Have become bridges to a better
Land.
This is a work in progress, a
Prophecy in time. She presses
On with hope, that what she
Cannot see will one day come to
Be.

The house stands strong and tall.
Proud and free it seems to be.
Leaves swept bare, not a weed
To be seen, shrubs neatly trimmed,
All in all this place has a happy face.
But windows and doors are locked,
No one can go in or come out.
A girl resides here, it is dark.
Shades are drawn, as she sits all day
Long sewing on her ascension gown.
A spotless house, not even a mouse
Would dare to venture in.
The clock’s pendulum strikes on the
Hour, announcing she must hurry to
Obey her rituals, to sweep and dust.
The kitchen table with empty chairs
Is saddened. In the cupboards are
Antagonists chewing.
Lowly locusts with their flatulence
Bellies and bulging eyes, inch their
Way through grubby cabinets…
Tired at the end of the day she hopes to
Rest, but this is when memories
Have their ways. Tossing and turning,
She can no longer bear being eaten
Alive.
A cry is heard from the disheveled
Cat, as smoke comes through the
Door. The room at the very top
Bursts into flames… The room she
Could never go in.
She is awakened and quickly rises,
Picking up her dress, running to the
Door, it falls on the floor. It is sad,
This house is removed, but it
Has to be.

Her Thoughts Must Be Restored To
Their Rightful Place!
The scavengers of earth, devouring
Their prey, now bow in solemnity to the
Sacred Word of antiquity.
“The years the locusts have eaten
Will be restored, they have not been
Wasted.
Letters she has hidden behind
Are now words of poetry seeking
Her mind.
Pages are bursting to be heard. The once
Disarrayed cat sits by the fire in
Contentment. The puppeteers have
Relinquished their ties with shears
Sharp enough to break the lies.
The cabinets are no longer stirring,
Gnawing has ceased as the locusts
Retreat.
She did all she could to make herself
Clean. This girl of dust is no longer
A wanderlust. Her house has become
A home, glowing within.
She would like to invite all to come
And eat, there is plenty of room at
The table, a table draped in white
Linen, bread and drink freely given.
Candlelight reflecting faces of
Those no longer hidden!

Portions of this poem are from
My book ‘Wanderlust’

---

“The majestic view within”

Through the gates of peace and rest

For a complex mind, it seems difficult and laborious to reach

The insurmountable heights of peace and rest, to expand the

Mind beyond learned behaviors. Each step I take is as if two

Remain behind. It takes a trek of faith, not looking back

From where I have been.

~~~~

A ladder has been given, one

I pretend

In my effort to ascend

A ladder of wood and ropes

As I begin

My feet are unsteady

Holding on to this rope

The land and valley

Below is treacherous with

An altered look

This rung is one of several I must

Climb

One at a time

The wind comes up

Pushing my body around

Fear takes hold

I am told to look up

There are more rungs on the

Ladder to go

I know not, I am not alone

With climbing and searching

Then to the next rung I must

Go

Hope comes close then

Fades away

There is a wall I cannot scale

As if I fail

The rungs are splintering

From constant motion

Of my feet

Of hope, I am unable to keep

Shifting with effort

Continuous wringing of my

Hands

Fear grips me again

Rain begins to fall

Holding on tighter

Unable to bare the strain

Little progress I have made

The wind has stopped along

With the rain

One rung left

Six, in all

The rope becomes easier to grip

A new Hand reaches to mine

I have climbed six rungs

Reaching the top

“I have scaled the utmost

Heights”*

A day of rest is given

After the day of six

The majestic view of

Heaven I see within

By His grace

I have reached Eternity’s Gate!

*A stanza from the hymn

“I’m pressing on the upward way”

‘A story of two becoming one’
And a voice said “this the way”

When does a poem become a poem?
A thought sprinkled in the mind, or
Written on paper?
I began writing poetry, hoping to find
Myself!
From life experiences I had become
Disconnected, not knowing which way
To go, until I was driven to distraction!

I am just visiting this person within,
Not too personal is my intention.
Don’t get too close, or she will shut
Down.
I tried it once, her feelings were
Exposed and my words were
Opposed.
There is just too much distance
Between us.
Once we were close and held
Each other, we laughed and cried
Together.
Then a strange thing happened,
We parted, really not sure why
And said goodbye, and went our
Separate directions, but a little
Piece of us stuck to each other.
Sometimes l get lonely for her, the
Part that escaped me, but we are
Shaped so differently, we could no
Longer fit together.
Her thoughts resist, the one I have
Missed.
~~~
The house wont stop creaking at
Night, is it trying to tell me
Something I don’t want to hear?
Houses say words too, they hold what
Is true. They are faithful, wrapping their
Arms
Around us at night, opening windows
Letting in light, touching us with
Daylight.

~~~~
The shadows are lifting, my child and I
Are conversing. The path is turning,
The same road we are now
Traveling.
My winter is past, springtime is
Approaching,
Labor pains delivering, a reborn
Child emerging. No longer an imaginary
Dwelling, no longer a child withdrawing.
In the present I am living.
This is what I had hoped for, a different
Path than before.
I have found the way to find the rest
Of myself. And then I heard a voice
From behind, saying…
“I will go before you, I will make your
Crooked paths straight, whether to
The right or left I will lead you!”

Poetry is truly a bridge between myself
And what is left of myself!

Excerpts taken from
‘The Voice’
The Book ‘The Wanderlust”

A voice said “this is the way“
A new path I have taken

This is the final letter of a series
of six ‘Letters to Daddy’
dedicated on this Father’s Day of
2021 to all those who struggle
with an earthly father image.

“And the churning waters were billowing on
the face of the deep, in the darkness of swelling
waves”

Daddy, I remember the day when you were close to
death, and I was called to say goodbye.
I was reluctant, as I entered your room, as you
struggled to breathe, until you fell asleep and
they took you to a peaceful place to rest.
You then faded from my memory, and I began
to draw a picture of how I remembered you, until
my inkwell had become almost dry, with the trace
of your image, my brush became heavy, the colors
became dark, until I was exhausted and I finally
gave up. You became nothing, as if you had never
existed, leaving an incomplete picture that must
be filled in my mind!

‘My Love Letter To God’

It is You who took the churning
waters
billowing on the face
of the deep
In the darkness of swelling
waves
swirling in the deep abyss
crying aloud with groaning
pains
waiting to give birth and be
delivered
Before You spoke Your word
“Let there be light and life”
my existence was in Your
thoughts
as You patterned my form when
there was none
A seed plunges into the
darkness of the womb
two beings creating a separate
being
as they embrace in a moment
of bliss
In an instant You wrote
my life in indelible ink
The beginning of a tiny infant
not fully formed
is immersed in the embryonic
fluids
Each part is fashioned by your
hand
my heart begins pulsating
life
Your plan for me is
skillfully wrought in the
lowest parts of the
earth
But who am I to question why
I am cast into
circumstances beyond my
control?
The chosen vessel carrying me
is frightened
as her only
awareness of love is of abuse
and neglect
Her thoughts are permeated
into my small mind
knitted together
as sinews and flesh are fashioned
about my tiny body
The cells of my being are engulfed
with her
memories of long ago
While the blood racing through
her body
feeds the embryo with
a frightening adrenalin rush
I have to wait in that darkness
just as the seed
must wait for Your nurturing acts
to bring forth life
I am called and reluctantly enter
this world
My first glimpse of life is not
pleasant to
my childish nature
I question as Job, “Why did I
not die at birth?”
“Why did I not perish before I
was born?”
A wall of separation comes
crashing down
planting its steel bars into
the chasm of the earth
culminating in an abrupt
interruption of time
You have said I must become
as a little child
must I go back to the very
beginning
of conception?
Must I have the mind of a babe
unmindful
of its surroundings
content to exist in each stage
of formation?
If I could only shut my eyes
and reflect on
the innocent
mind of a child bathed in
quintessential peace and
tranquility
To be freed of these scattered
thoughts
that take me captive
to another world of doubt and
uncertainty
quenching the Spirit and nullifying
the goodness of God
I am helpless to know the answer
to these questionings
it is as if I
were being drawn into a darkness
of which I am powerless
But perhaps this dark night of
the soul has a purpose and a
reason
that I need to embrace this
darkness
as the nocturnal labor
pains of life experiences bring
awareness
of a Father that has completed
the image
of the one left behind!

Letter #6

“I am going to have to let you
go and say goodbye”

Well Daddy,

The ball has always been
in your court, you have
called the shots

You always seemed to be
the la-la man,
always having fun
tipping the bottle

on the poker table with
your friends
puffs of smoke curling
to the ceiling
You couldn’t even see me

Darn,
why do I do this?
Give you free rent in my
head
just going through life
believing what you said

I thought you held the
keys, and if I just did
enough

I would be alright
I did everything I knew
when I went to church
I always followed the
rules

No rouge on my cheeks
no fringe upon my dress
my boots polished to a
lustrous shine
then maybe you I could
find

but you died too soon
leaving me with a picture
incomplete

I don’t know the reason why
these things happened
but perhaps there is a purpose
and reason

if it can be helpful to others
that question why, like I,
then that makes it alright

so dear Daddy
I am going to have to let you
go and say goodbye
I’ll always love you and
I know you loved me too!

I have one more letter to
write, of One that completes
the picture of the one you
left behind!

Letter #3

“I then had hope to be delivered”

My way was safe I thought

Well Daddy, here I am again. I’ve
Been thinking about what I said.

I know it sounds pretty sad and
I have tried to think of some words
To make you glad.

Wow, Daddy the nightmares
Were bad and fearful thoughts
Struck my mind. They just
Wouldn’t stop.

I felt shame most of the time.
Why does it matter? Why do I dread
The thoughts of
Others?

Maybe because mine had been
Shattered and only theirs mattered?

Then there was placed in my heart
A desire to do differently.

I had a glimpse of something better.
A candle is lit bursting into flame.
I then had hope to be delivered
From this shame.

Choosing an austere journey, one
Of piety and devotion,
I was sure this was the solution.
But I was confused between you
And God, I was mixed up and thought
He was like you, never here.
It was never clear.

I knew about love in my head, but
Couldn’t seem to feel it in my heart.

And after awhile the thoughts
Became even more frightening.

Daddy, even though I had sworn
Not to follow you, I found myself
Doing it, only in a different way.
My way was safe I thought!

---

“A daughter’s words to her daddy from a little
girl’s heart”

With love from a long time ago

Letter #1

With Father’s Day just around the corner
I find myself
Having memories of a father of long ago.
At least once or twice I remember sending
a letter over
the years to the resting place where he
is buried.
And of course receiving no reply. But that
wasn’t unusual,
I usually had no reply when he was here
on earth.
Come to find out, I’m not the only one that
has done this.
It is common for others to do it as well.
I’m not sure what
the caretakers do with them or where
they direct these letters.
They may open and read them,
then dispose
them, or maybe they don’t bother at all.
I have vivid memories of negative events
far out weighing
positive ones, I don’t know why this is (there
had to be
some good ones), from a step mother
In a a blue negligee
floating from room to room in a drunken
stupor, leaving
me wondering where my
mother had gone. From my father weaving
in and out
of cars on the freeway, stopping for a drink
of whiskey
from a bottle hidden under his seat.
Taking me to the bus where
I would have to go back to a scenario
worse than
this one I was leaving.
Much later in life I wrote
a series of letters to my father,
working through
emotional issues long over due.
I have called them my

‘Love letters to Daddy’
They are
short letters, six in all, and I have
wondered whether I should post them
all together or separately, and have
decided
to share them one by one,
since the words did not all come to mind
at once, I had
to put them together slowly.
There was no hurrying the process of
working
through emotional issues that had been
buried deeply over many years,
I had to recreate the image
that I had imagined in my mind, to
One that is loving and kind!

“Oh Daddy, you were the one with the clickity-click-click of the tongue”

and the crazy songs you sung!

Love Letter #1

Daddy, you were bombed last night!
Walking into the kitchen the
Morning after, light reflects you
In the breakfast nook, as I quietly
Enter to see if you are alright.

You are hiding behind the newspaper
And unable to notice your daughter.
Alcohol vapors sting my nose, you don’t
See me, as if I don’t exist.

Oh Daddy, you were the one
With the clickity-click-click of the
Tongue and the crazy songs you sung.
Where did Mama go? I think she got
Tired and left.
I remember her pouring water from
Bottles down the drain, but it had
A funny smell, I couldn’t really tell.

Who is this strange lady in our
House, the one wearing a blue
Negligee, you both swing and sway
From room to room, then pass out
On the bed.

Sounds of heavy breathing are
Alarming, I am confused and don’t
Know what to do.
Viciousness in the kitchen the day
You staggered across the kitchen
Floor.

A pressure pot of beans exploding
On the ceiling sending you to the
Hospital reeling.
I begged you not to drink, but you
Once again began to sink, I’ m sorry
Daddy I made you drink.

Well, my visit with you is almost done
And my time is spent, I will soon be
Sent away.
Really Daddy, will you send me back
To those abusers and their evil ways?
Aww, please, why do you let them
Do this to me? I really don’t think I can
Take much more.

Oh don’t make me leave, don’t make
Me go back to that smelly shack.
Your pungent smell of vinegar, cukes
And alcohol are better than that.

But my pleas were ignored, you were
Just too sick to have me around.
That fifth of whiskey made you awful
Thirsty as you hid the bottles in
Cabinets and drawers.

Remember how you swerved on those
LA freeways taking me to the bus,
Without a sound between us?
The roar of the engines and exhaust
Fumes making me sick, carry me to
A place I would rather not go.

Finally climbing the steps, crying,
Unaware of the effects on an innocent
Child from no where.

Well Daddy, I remember these
Things whether you do or not, so I am
Writing these letters in hope to be
Freed of the pain that was caused!

Letter #1 of 6