Pancake Mornings

(from When You Were Young)

Those mornings
that I made pancakes, served
them with certified organic butter
and brown eggs from range fed hens,
that was just my way of saying
The whole world
loves you.

Oh, sure,
I mixed the batter,
spooned it on the griddle
that I tested with a splatter
to be sure the heat was right.
I made them in the shape of your name
because doing that made me glad.

But there was
a lot more love and labor
engaged before the batter
could bring pancakes to our table.
There were smiles, and sweat, and sometimes
tears when farmers’ crops would fail. There was
celebration in years of plenty

that left the larder full.
Of course, if you look back
to where it all began, there was a seed,
some sun and rain. Those breakfasts did not start
with human minds. The whipped cream and all that
buttery flavoring, the creative shaping,
that was just me having fun.

Long ago,
the smile you wear,
that sparkle in your eye,
the tummy that said yummy
at the scent of cinnamon, all the food
we’ve shared, the joining of our hearts and hands
it was all God’s plan.

The Rose and the Wall

“The Rose that blooms along the wall is a miracle” Thích Nhất Hạnh

March

The wall is old and crumbling,
Soft loden moss holds it together
but the cracks grow larger,
Soon it will fall.

April

The season’s last snow
sprinkles white on the moss covered wall
that stands as it’s stood for a hundred years;
it does not rely on my faith to endure.

May

My face wears the traces
of many frowns, Self-centered
and drowning in sorrow,
I am blind to the sun on the wall.

June

Just six weeks since snow fell
in April, The earth is splashed
with the sparkle of June, The rose
that blooms along the wall is a miracle.

 

A Bounty of Blessings

The brook
a quiet passion spent
with each new burst of song,
so glad was it for springtime sun,
so glad that winter’s chill was gone.

And I
in my vain foolishness
would claim it for my own,
but a fish with a greater truth
splashed me a welcome to his home.

God’s hand
has wrought such beauty fair
on sky and land and sea,
What He creates is owned by none
We share this season in the sun.

Seeing its Song

Oh, to capture the language
of that violet seen from a window
that is lifted a bit
to let in a touch of Spring.

The lawn’s first green is untrimmed,
unruly in its vigor, now that the winter
has passed or at least
taken pause.

There in the midst of it all,
a violet as bright as a gem,
bruised purple
at the moment of birth

and buffeted by a rowdy
wind. Yet it stands resolute,
upright on a supple stem
that bends rather than breaks.

Isolated by its shape and hue,
this harbinger of summer caught alone
in a cloudburst with frigid intention,
the mercury  fast dropping.

Quietly taking its stand, even in silence
speaking  as surely as any celebrity
espousing their greatest expression,
its life is its message.

When the Birds Are Singing

I don’t want to live this day
as if it were my last, to spend
these minutes trying to make perfect
this life that’s not quite.

And if I did, what would I do?
Get my hair done, buy a new suit?
Maybe cancel  appointments
scheduled for next week?

Would I eat bacon with no fear
of reprisal, then follow the salt
with a sweet,  daring the devil
to show?

Posh and bother! What do I know
about how I would be? I choose to live
this day splendidly, a milestone
on the way to eternity,

unique in the joy of the sun rising
to morning’s bird song symphony,
blessed to be knowing
the One who wrote the tune…

one that  I’ll hear again
and it will still be new.  Aware
there is so much yet to be known
and satisfied

that time has no hold.

Forest Lane at Twilight

When day is over
and night has just begun
the crickets and the bullfrogs
begin their song,

It isn’t very long before
the symphony is joined
by night owls and cicadas and
the sway of grandma’s swing.

The melody of twilight
holds the hum of vagrant winds;
it is more a soothing sigh
than any whisper or demand.

No blinding rage or sorrow
rises above the evening sounds.
Perhaps it is a lullaby
to soothe the daylight’s end

or maybe it is just a hint
of  a greater heaven.