The Visitor

The little child gets distracted in me, always trying to get
her to do what she doesn’t want to do. I just need to let
her rest and learn to be herself.

A candle in the window burns in the eve,
as I knock faintly then turn to leave. Then
the handle begins to turn, and a voice invites
me in, guiding me through a hallway dark
and grey.

There are pictures on the wall, almost as if
they are of me, from a small child to a girl,
who is now grown and tall. Another door before me

slowly opens. As I peer in, there is a room so grand
with an hourglass of passing sand.

A chair sits in the middle and I take a seat.
There are some little ones passing by as they
rub their sleepy eyes. They are forlorn, with
garments ripped and torn, each bearing a
pail of memories.

Looking at them I realize they are a part of
me. I give them love, wash their faces and clean
their shoes, but these are not enough and will not do.
They begin to cry!

“Please, we are tired and would find peace
and rest, letting go of your anxious thoughts
would be best.” These children I have ignored
have been with me through time, and now as
they ask, it is time to let them rest.

hunger games

There are times when I’m not sure I can take another step,
the hunger games sap my strength and there is little left!

Hungry, empty and weary, my sugar lows have descended
to my toes. Starving, rushing into the store, buying a bag
of chips, never mind the dip, just let these morsels pass
between my lips.

Attempting to rip it open, I pull, tug and finally biting with
my teeth, pleading, punching, until I am sobbing.

My pallet savors food, however it comes, steamed,
baked, stewed or even barbecued. Faint and dizzy,
no wonder I’m so skinny, these games are almost too much,
as I say a prayer and try once more.

Lids screwed so tight, while I anticipate at long last
a bite. Twisting and turning, frustrated and crying. All in
all the games played on society complicate life even more.
Oh, if we could just stay out of those scary stores!


There lies in the shadows a peaceful scene,
a boat carries someone in an unsettled
Beyond the placid lake is a river scene,
where dreams flow to the ocean streams

Pearly fingers turning pages of the
past, messages are sent to my troubled

But who can remember dreams as we slumber,
somber dreams that encounter our hearts?
There is a God who never slumbers or sleeps,
carrying our memories in His deepest heart!

Inspired by the Book Of Psalm 121

The little violet

Violets are my favorite flower to grow
With a little love and care they bring
much fun and cheer!

Snuggled in their beds, watered and fed, they are happy
where they are planted, with dresses of pink, purple and
red and bright yellow eyes

One morning a large hand reaches low
these violets are lifted from their beds and
placed in a box, wondering where they are going
the littlest violet begins to cry “please don’t leave me behind”

The engines are roaring they are not sure where
they are going, suddenly they come to a stop, the
man places them on a shelf, their leaves are drooping
their flowers are dropping and they are not very
pretty as people are passing

The little one cries, “our toes are cold and soggy
and we have caught a chill, please won’t you give
us a chance and take us home before we die?

A time to heal is what we need after our difficult ride”
A sprinkle of water, their heads begin to perk and
people stop to look “These violets are prettier than
before, I think I will buy them”

The shadows are passing, they are placed on a shelf
sparkling, if not for their time of disaster, they would
not be brighter, filling this home with laughter!