Heart’s aubergine sky
Torn, marked…Behold, hope writhes; bursts
Gleaming amidst scars
©Jael Leslie, 2018 ~ All rights reserved.
Hope Amidst Scars
1
Oil of Grace
Some days wake faithless
Old soul fatigued, defeated
Whispers, “Lord, help me”
Life turns on such small prayers prayed
God storms darkness, ransoms peace
Pours oil of His grace
Refills true-heart’s confidence
His mercy rescues
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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Translucent Hope
New moon makes its way
Guided by Hand of Heaven
‘Cross mid-summer sky
Translucent hope shimmers, gift
Seems beyond reach…perhaps not
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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Altars (Acrostic)
Image ~ http://www.thebiblejourney.org/
♥†♥
Altars announce “God met me here”
Let it be known “this is hallowed ground”
Testimony of faith experience, supernaturally real
Altars flame with Holy Spirit’s anointing ~ as you approach,
Remove your shoes, be silent before the Lord God Almighty
Sovereign King saves, steadies souls surrendered to Him
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
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Hot Haiku
Summer temps soar
Flowers wilt, joints swell, grace wanes
Brief nap, rain dance dreams
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
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Melting At the Keyboard
Melting at the keyboard
Sweaty fingers lose their
Place on “home row”
Patience evaporates as
I type gibberish…
Unendurable, or so it seems
Intemperate temps
July, my love for summer
Is conflicted, far from easy
I’m struck anew each time
I look up to sky’s endless
Perfect blue, a glory
Incomprehensible
Gift of favor from God’s
Constant hand, His
Heart’s cornucopia
But too-bright happy sun
(Relentless, just doing its job
Oblivious as chatter-box child)
Pierces eyes accustomed to
Overcast horizon…
Craving, yearning, praying for
Breeze…cool caring breezes that
Tickle green leaves, tease trees
Till they, helpless to resist, dance
Regardless of heat I hold these months
—Late spring through autumn—
As treasures; try to fill my
Gaze, nose, skin, to the brim
Saturate soul so it won’t be bereft
Once the rains again begin.
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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Ghost In a Wishing Well*
*(Gordon Lightfoot, “If You Could Read My Mind”)
Trilling at Eventide
Birdsong signals his return
Old knight, denim-eyed
Armor dulled like pewter
Distance, decades gallant…
He has been her hideaway
From morning of her years, till dusk
In Winter’s deluge, silver weeping
August’s summer seeping musk.
Spring mists lift before his gaze—
Turn, let it linger, fall upon her.
Whenever he spoke
Music changed tempo’d beat
Hour on hour, she yet listens
Longing for ancient myths’ repeat.
As daylight drifts, drips clouds’ rosé,
Spills across late afternoon…
His fingertips touch, warm her blush
Paintbrush of remembered swoons:
Beneath a bower’d bougainvillea
Promises, palm-kissed plumeria
Innocent heroic love.
Distance, decades gallant…
Her knight, her hideaway.
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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The House Where God Lives
This is an undated photo of the current St. Andrew’s Church, which was built in 1919, after the 1918 fires. Photo courtesy of the Carlton County Historical Society
Brick building, ivy-clinging
Nearly 100 years old
Surrounded by trees
Simple cross on rooftop
Red doors which remained
Unlocked back when
The house where God lived
Was true holy sanctuary, a
Haven respected, protected
By angels unseen…
~
The child wore Sunday best
Like everyone did then: men in
Suits, women in nicest dresses and
Heads covered by hat, chapel lace.
It was a hushed-voice place
Of denomination’s calendared
Liturgy and hymns; sermons blurred
By Reverend’s soft monotone, and
The child’s whirring thoughts
Which lacked spiritual reference.
Oh, the quiet which embraced young
Soul who learned the Order of Service:
The “sit-stand-kneel-sit again” (in
Hard polished light wood pew) with
It’s reassuringly dependable structure
Made church comfortable, safe.
Even a somber silent distant God
Wasn’t as scary as home; He held
Things together in His hands, was
Sovereign, enthroned over chaotic world.
~
Much later, long after her family left
The small town and little church;
Following other churches of varied size,
Styles of worship, doctrinal statements—
“Church” became much less about a
Building or architectural vision.
(where bullets may zing as saints pray, these days)
For, God Himself had traversed galaxies,
Mega-miles, immense measurements of time,
To be as near-right-now as her next breath.
His Presence, Spirit, encompassed
Her with grace-love. His Word became
Her pillar of fire in darkness—brighter, more
Warmly delighting than new summer days.
He was bigger than religion, far beyond
Doctrines, Bible interpretations preached;
He exceeded the songs, programs,
Potluck dinners; the regimented
Positions, postures of piety, prayer.
~
Unknown to her, the red doors
Which welcomed her at age six
Closed permanently in fall of 2017.
The church had reached nearly a century;
The handful of congregants still
In attendance were saddened.
That young girl who once called it,
The house where God lives, reflects
Back on 60 years and says:
“‘Church’ is Jesus—
Who is fulfillment of the Law,
Embodiment of God’s love and mercy—
Living inside my heart”.
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
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Wind Chimes
Wind chimes…
Tinkling language speaks
Prayers, psalms sung.
Each season carries breeze-sown
Messages in melody…
Love, sorrow, joy, hope, wisdom,
Remembrance, Destiny calling.
Listen, soul; heart, hear and learn.
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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Lanterns & Love Dreams
Picturing paper lanterns
Set aloft over the lake
Her heart imagines a
Wedding that won’t be…
Late-blooming love dreams
Are for others less
Constrained by chains
Invisible bars, locked cells
Life-sentences cerebral…
Someone has to write embraceable
Novels with full-bodied heroes
Handsome, mature—and
Head-turning damsels dripping allure.
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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In Memoriam
“If thou of fortune be bereft,
and in thy store there be but left
two loaves, sell one, and with the
dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.”
The blogging world recently lost an extraordinarily fine poet, a man of noble principles and generous kindness. I was honored and blessed to know Paul Lenzi through our poetry blogs. His absence leaves a bruise as significant as was the shimmer of his presence. Despite his health issues he wrote and published voluminously, with passion and literary precision which earned praise for his expertise, and inspired his readers to hone their talent.
I doubt any poem I might write for him would do justice…now and then, I’d manage a piece for which he’d comment, “wow”…those were seriously good blog days. I envision him now, his body pain-free in Heaven; and suspect he’s engrossed in weighty discussions with the great philosophers…and still penning poems, for he seemed unstoppable.
My condolences go out to his family, with prayers for God’s comfort and peace amid the rough seas of grief and loss.
Thank you, Paul, for everything you gave us…it was ever an over-flowing basket. (Kudos and blessings from your poet-friend of myriad blogs and pseudonyms, l.b.)
For my readers, here is the link to Paul’s poetry blog:
https://poesypluspolemics.com/
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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Sovereign Hand, Hearing Heart
Is wishing a kind of prayer…
Maybe a second-cousin to faith?
No, no more than magic
Can make marvels,
Miracles.
There is One True God,
King of kings & Lord of lords,
With Sovereign hand
And hearing heart.
He speaks answers to persistent pleas,
Desperate despair of lives derailed.
He’s the good, loving Father—of blind
And lame; weak, weary, oppressed;
Dependent sons, daughters…
Starved, lacking substance;
Thirsting for what’s real, lasting—
Who longs not for sacrifices meaningless,
But humbled souls’: “Lord, please”.
©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com
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