One Country Mile

photo by Kinsey

Such a  little road of no significance

one perfect prairie mile

stretching east to west straight and true as only a prairie road can

pointing your slender, ruddy finger from ferry road to river hills

centre of my universe.

You were not designed for traffic

for getting harried people from point A to point B

indeed, Google Maps knows not of your existence

and there is no reason why they should

and oh, how I love that thought.

Our little country mile

that brings us home

that piles up high with winter snow

until we are closed in

within

delighted at the prospect

of not getting out

and no one getting in

just reveling in the mystery of home.

Oh yes, there are the neighbor folk

dear people that they are

their yard light a beacon half a mile up the way

warming our hearts

when the nights get dark

and we could feel so far removed from reality.

For you, oh little country mile

are off the beaten track

just where we like you.

In the middle of nowhere

centre of our universe.

I learned to run on your crunchy surface

fields of wheat stretching away from me as far as the eye can see

I revel in the sound of your little sandy stones under my feet

or the wheels of my children’s bicycles

or my beloved’s tires as he turns in the drive at day’s end.

What walks and confidences have been shared

along the ribbon of your ruddy lane

and you hold all dreams and secrets well.

I can’t but smile when I turn your corner

See the river hills rolling away before me

and the stately trees that line your flank

arresting the wind and furnishing a still and magical shelter

for the traveler blessed to pass beneath their shadow.

The two little farmyards half mile apart

One so perfect, so manicured, lovely

a feast for the eyes and the soul.

And then comes ours

and I just smile. 

Little country house with many gables,

Big red barn with tumbledown stables

windmill reaching to the sky

five little children on the fly

from orchard to pond, garden to gate

dugout to pasture and back again

You are only one bantam country mile

yet you harbor so much joy

and so much life.

Raccoons and muskrats, deer galore

foxes and coyotes, skunks and more

owls and eagles, hawks and squirrels

all hide in your ditches, your woods, your bowels

my little country mile.

My  sweet country mile

on this homey country quarter

in a vast prairie province

in this magnificent northern nation

on this continent of continents

center of my universe.

 

 

Home.

 

my contribution to Random Acts of Poetry.

A Valentine in March

photo by tijmen

I cry your mercy–

pity–

love…

aye, love!

Merciful love that tantalizes not,

One-thoughted,

never-wandering,

guileless love,

Unmasked,

and being seen–

without a blot.

O! let me have thee whole,

–all–

all–

be mine!

That shape,

that fairness,

that sweet minor zest

Of love,

your kiss,–

those hands,

those eyes divine,

That warm,

white,

lucent,

million-pleasured breast,–

Yourself–

your soul–

in pity give me all.

Withhold no atom’s atom or I die…

John Keats

Now if that’s not enough to cause a girl to sigh, I don’t know what is. What a gift is this love!  What a visual of the love He has for us and desires from us (minus the pity and mercy on His behalf of course).  It leaves me rather… breathless. 

“Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.”

Isaac Watts, 1707

Just Breathe

When autumnal tempests
within me rage
and angst and worry
fill this page
of my life
I pause
shake brittle leaves out of my hair
and surrender softly every care
I sigh
and breathe.

Just breathe.

When invernal flurries
my clarity clouds
and the habit of urgency
my peace enshrouds
I pause
slow down
like a treadmill being toggled down
I wipe the ice from my lashes and face
so I can look again on grace
I sigh
and breathe.

Just breathe.

When primaveral showers
'round me pour
and waves pound madly
on this shore
of my existence
I step back
withdraw
to higher ground
I pause
where I can gaze around
I sigh
and breathe.

Just breathe.

When summer drought
my soul does suffer
and against this thirst
I find no buffer
or reprieve
I wearily crawl
to water's edge
beneath the shadow
of Your hedge
and lay me down
on hallowed ground
where all is calm
and still
and Your voice
is heard at will
I sigh
and breathe.

Just breathe.

My contribution for L.L.'s poetry prompt at Seedlings In Stone.

The Symphony of Grace

If life were a symphony
conducted from above

humanity an orchestra,
the score entitled “Love"

Each life would be an instrument
with a cardinal part to play

Each element designed to be
essential in some way.

It wouldn’t be the soloist
taking centre stage

or certain proud ensembles
that dominate the page

But the harmony of one and all
that would cause a shiver

to run up the spine of the spectator
and set their soul aquiver

To each and every one of us
is assigned a special place

a spot designed for us just so
in the Symphony of Grace.

Sometimes I fear I play alone,
that none play my same page

Oft tone deaf to the harmony
that graces this vast stage

But then again, at times someone
pulls up a seat close by

whose score is quite familiar,
with an instrument like mine

Oh joy! I do not play alone,
a misfit set at large

I’m at once part of a greater corps
and smaller entourage

I rejoice you play beside me
and for the melody that results

when we each take up our instrument
and let our hearts exult

in this exuberant crescendo
that sets our souls ablaze

For we are His workmanship,
ordained to bring Him Praise.

I discovered the first draft of this poem buried deep in my archives, something I was working on some time ago. Now, as I took a second go at it I found it to be such a fitting illustration for my recent reflections on grace. Truly we play a beautiful tune when we learn to appreciate and relish the beauty of our diversity and to compliment one another in heavenly harmony.

Tapestries

Once you sat serenely on terra cotta tile
in the corner of a Tuscan room
white chintz billowing softly at your back
sunlight splaying your floral brocade
oft I curled up within your familiar embrace
bible in my lap
leg thrown over the comfortable fit of your well worn arm
reading
praying
gazing out over sprawling hills
of sunflowers
vineyards
olive groves in turn.

Five children I held
rocked
nursed in you
five others I mourned
sat rocking in solitude
arms wrapped tightly around the ache
in my own hollow abdomen
while burning tears spilled
distorting my vision
as grief is prone to do.

You crossed the wide Atlantic to grace my prairie home
where you snuggled into the corner of a much more homely room...
battered hardwood beneath
and the steady pummeling of many little hands and feet
others less sentimental may have looked on you, chagrined
critical eyes drawn to those tattered tassels
this unsightly tear perhaps
that stubborn stain
But to these sentimental eyes of mine
each worn thread of your tapestry
is gently twined with a fleeting memory

I see my girls
sprawled on the area rug
braiding your silk tassels while I read
my boys years later
snipping mischievously away
scissors in hand
reveling in the "click" and the chords that fell
lifeless to the hardwood
later to be swept up and cast into the fire
like golden locks after a trim

Memories of my children as they napped in you
curled up in my lap on you
climbed
and jumped
and laughed on you.

Your faded tapestry is beautiful in my eyes
interwoven as it is with the tapestry of our lives.


My contribution to L.L. Barkat's poetry prompt at Seedlings in Stone. What timing to be led into the living room this week where I finally retired my beloved and tattered old wingback chair.

Kitchen Window

reflections from my kitchen window which is all at once a window onto my world and a window into my soul. God is gently reminding me that as I seek to establish peace in my home through discipline, everything I breathe and do must be cushioned, carried and consummated in a spirit of peace.

my girls, in fields of gold, with our yard and my kitchen window behind.

Rectangular pane

I stand here again

hands immersed in a labor of love

window on my world

framing my girls

in gold around and blue above.

Were they to now glance in at me

I wonder just what would they see

a gentle reflection of peace?

Or a woman distracted

distraught face contracted

mechanically meeting these needs.

Cooking and cleaning

shining and sheening

never made for a welcoming home

but a heart undivided

by gentle thoughts guided

will draw them wherever they roam.

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Collosians 3:15

my contribution to L.L. Barkat’s Random Act of Poetry

I Found My Soul

in the crevices of a rugged cross
gnarly wood seeped in crimson stain
cumbrous nails long since lost
but gaping wounds remain

To think that then His soul Divine
cried aloud, reached out through time
offering to be merged with mine
and the moment that I whispered “Yes.”
is when I found my soul.

I found my soul
inscribed in antiquated words
on hallowed pages
composed by faithful, stalwart sages
who knew not that they wrote of me
but penned a common destiny

In those gold gilt pages I lose myself
or who I thought myself to be
and find myself
as who I was designed to be
indeed I find my soul.

No wonder that His words reveal to me
who He’s designed and purposed me to be
He sets the rhythm of my life in motion
and is the source of all its ebb and flow
I asked from whence my soul had come
and He told me
from His own.

Prairie Chick

Inspired by L.L.’s challenge at Seedlings in Stone.

Grace in Winter.

Grace in winter
is warm rays of sunlight
dancing across red barn boards
and hardwood floors
and making pools of warmth
in fields of encrusted snow.

Grace in winter
is a dazzling cobalt sky
cloaking a world

of icy white
creating a spectacle

of warmth and light
in a season so gray and bitter.

Grace in winter
is the soft embrace of a favorite scarf
protecting cheeks from biting cold
making one feel safe and bold
even as north winds howl.

Grace in winter
is the refuge of a big barn wall
concealing one from the frigid blast
reminding one not to stray far past
the shelter therein proffered.

Grace in winter
is the melting of hardened icicles
fluid drops slipping
silent and tender
from crystal fingers
cold and slender.

Without winter
there should be no need of grace
Without grace
all would be winter
Grace does not remove me from winter
or abolish winter from my life
Grace sees me through.

Grace is…
sunlight

and color
warmth

and protection
beauty

and blessing
in a world that is cold
and gray
stark
and buried
crying out for redemption.

Redemption has come
and even now continues to do its work
sanctifying unto itself a new creation
that one day soon
will break forth in glorious bloom.

A creation that has been steeped in grace
will break forth in grace
and will result

in a world
where there is nothing but…
Grace.

thoughts inspired by L.L’s challenge at Seedlings in Stone.

Memories

If memories were sparrows and my soul a tree,my boughs would be laden with memories of thee;

and the Love that first sought me.

If memories were raindrops that pour down in May,each droplet would have something lovely to say;

of the Love that ransomed me.

If memories were snowflakes drifting down in December,each gentle flake would bid me remember

the Love that is waiting for me.

Prairie Chick.

Check out The Great Poem Caper at Seedlings in Stone for the idea behind this poem.

Introducing Mr. Jack Frost

When the fields are naught but stubbleAnd the final leaf has fallen
When November's moon is waning
That's when Jack Frost comes a callin'
Fences can not hold him back
Nor barbs keep him away
Over the stile and through the gate
He silently makes his way
Through the grasses brittle, brown
Across the orchard bleak and bare
He stops to leave his frosty breath
On crimson apples hanging there
Past the clothesline, barren now
From our farmhouse we see him appear
In his white cloak and sparkling scarf
And best of winter cheer


Pictures and Poetry by Prairie Chick, all rights reserved.

Encore After Dusk.

Behold the Bride of the evening arrives

silently ascending the steps of celestial granite.

Swathed in white damask and adorned with fragile lilies she moves gracefully across the darkened cathedral of the heavens.

A million candles her matrons of honor, shimmer and quiver then fade at her approach

For the radiance of the groom's countenance is now fully reflected on the face of His bride, and everything else must fade to black.

Pictures and poetry by Prairie Chick.

First Lady of the Evening

Behold she takes the stage

Bedecked in mauves of bold outrage

With trailing scarves of lavender
A flush on her cheeks, her dark lashes sink

above lips painted petulant pink.

Her spirit is heated, her passion fast meted

She has only one moment to please.

Her seconds of glory, so quick you'll be sorry,
as she sinks in a curtsey and flees.



Pictures and poetry by Prairie Chick, all rights reserved

The Call of Fall

There's a nagging voice inside my head urging me to hurry

Nature's clock is ticking while Old Man Winter crouches impatiently at the door.

But the call of fall rings louder. It beckons from the billowing clouds.

and echoes across the vast expanses of newly gleaned fields.

It says; "Stop... savor. You know I can't stay long.

Blink your eyes and I'll be gone."

Oh glorious days of Autumn fleeting. You win of course.

I abandon the apples on the bough,
the best of intentions to work right now

and relish your sweet presence.

Pictures and Poetry by Prairie Chick, all rights reserved

Faithful Fathers

To the One who designed me
gave me breath
life
continues to give me the gift of life
and nurture me with His gentle care
He is a faithful Father.

To the one who accepted me
gave me a home
hope
continues to give me the gift of family
and be "there" in your quiet, faithful way
you are a faithful father.

Tears
tears of joy
and thankfulness
of overwhelming love
and thankfulness
to Him,
to you

Who would have thought
one like me
unplanned by those who conceived me
wounded and aching, hopeless and longing
through the vulnerable years of childhood
would find her heart's desires being birthed
through the very pain that encompassed me
squeezing the breath from me
like a chrysalis
forcing me to fight to break free from the darkness
reach for the light
climb out from the chords of past sorrow and degradation
and find that indeed, life is beautiful
to discover my wings, and learn to fly.

Because that was His plan all along
and the journey was mapped out from the start
the depth of the pain and hopelessness past
enhancing the heights of joy and hope present.

And you, my earthly father by choice, and His design
(don't ask me how that works, but I believe in both)
helped me along the way
by being a stalwart example of His attributes
love
joy
peace
patience
kindness
goodness
gentleness
and self control

All things I needed to learn.
All things He wanted me to learn
All things you have in part helped me to learn
you, are a faithful father.

I am blessed.
May my life
in some small way
be a blessing to both of you
my faithful fathers.