The Hayloft

I close my eyes and I can still see the way the tiny particles of dust
danced within sunlight streams, spilling through gaps of old in the loft of that hip roof barn.
Where many hours of childhood bliss were passed
amongst the sweet scent of dried grass, warm and tickling against our skin.

In the quiet of this memory I can still hear the soft coo of pigeons
perched way up high in the rafters overhead
the quick, sudden flutter of wings as they flit from one beam to another.
I feel the comforting vibration of kitten warmth in lap of legs crossed Indian style.

I feel the wonderful sense of belonging amongst the voices of my brothers, sisters... family.
These companions that call back and forth to one another
through tunnels of bales, dark and dusky, we'd built for each other
...our play homes.

I remember, too, some days when the sun would not shine
and the rain would pour down, pitter-patter on roof of tin
and the only light shone dimly
from single bulb above.

Then we would fly on rope secured way up overhead.
Soar from top of stack to dusty boards below and back up again,
clinging desperately, but with delight,
to that length of braided string.

Within the sanctuary of this place, these moments ran deep.
I was free. Safe to be myself...Complete.
Is not this what we all long for?
Why memories such as these are so sweet?

:::::

This poem was written by me in response to another challenge going on over at Seedlings in Stone. L.L. gave us the phrase, "I close my eyes and I can still see"... and asked us to write.

I have done so, and I hope you have enjoyed. (smile)

:::::

Above photo taken of a painting I own by Jim Daly. I pray that memories such as these will be instilled within my own three precious boys.

This is exciting!

So it turns out that all who participated in the great poem caper over at L.L.'s blog this week are now featured on "The High Calling Blogs" today! Check it out... Just my name appears so if you wanna check out the poem I wrote... click here.

****

And I just wanted to send out a warm, heartfelt thank you to all of you who have really encouraged me in this with your words of kindness in my comment box to this poem and my other recent one entitled "In the Stillness"....

You have been so generous.

With Love...

Just a small gift I made today...

...a box made with scrapbook paper...

...and 5 tea bags wrapped individually for placing inside.

If Memories were Sparrows...

If memories were sparrows
I'd capture them,
finally.
Those who,
wild and unexpected,
flit in and out of my mind.

They need to be sorted
gone over, studied.
They need to be separated,
those good from those bad.

It's time,
though hard,
to destroy.
To once and for all
remove forever,
those whose presence
deadens the heart.

The good, then,
may come and go
with a will of their own.
They may be looked upon
with a sweet expression,
may be touched and caressed.

Those sparrows may alight upon me
without fear
of my cringing in horror.
Alas, if memories were sparrows
life would be...good.
For we, then, would decide
what could not remain
and what could.

:::::

Thanks to L.L. Barkat for her inspiration. She posted a challenge here to finish a poem from which she had written the first line... hence "If memories were sparrows..."

I am new to writing poems.... haven't written them since high school English class, and now this is my second one in just a few days! You can read my other one entitled "In the Stillness" here.

L.L. has a wonderful post here on the process of writing a poem. She has been such an encouragement to me. If you have any desire whatsoever to write something like this go check out her blog for more information.


Google image of sparrow found here.

a great-grandmothers joy...

... holding her great-grandson. My youngest son Allan sitting on my Oma's lap during my sister, Elizabeth's 30th birthday celebration in October of 2007. He is almost 2 in this picture.

And this is the same picture, but cropped in close... I am so thankful to have a picture of my Oma that shows exactly the way I think of her... she is always so happy and cheerful when I go to visit her and always so delighted to see my boys... even though she has over 80 grandchildren and, I don't know how many, great-grandchildren. She truly is a wonderful and beautiful woman. And I love her so much.

brotherly joy

... my boys really do get a lot of joy out of being brothers to each other.
They are the best of friends and like all healthy, thriving friendships, their relationship is sprinkled with both good and bad, laughter and tears.

In the Stillness...

The tears were close that winter evening
as we gathered round for dinner warm.

When Words were read and prayers were said
I slipped into the night,
an escape into cold dark, desperate for silence
from chattering boys and child songs,
a walk to the fields of open prairie.

Sparkling snow, icy crunch under feet,
mind in turmoil, questioning...

"Where are You? In the messy chaos of my fallen life?"

Then...
a still small voice within depths of soul
as I gaze into the starry expanse,
"Be still...
and know."

Silence...
mind clears, beauty surrounds, heart aches,
and I surrender.

I still... and know.
He is God.
He loves me, even me.

In this space of busy young ones,
whirling household ...life,
I must take time to still, to rest...
in Him.

:::::

This poem was written by me. Please do not copy without permission.