Week 2. John 7

Little Levi and big sister Elena break into the writing like spring ...

written during the week of March 11-16.

Monday Nonets

Brothers knew him well but did not know

this one thing, from the beginning

He was one of them, yet not.

So familiar was he

that they scorned his claim

to be water

for all time

Spirit

sent

Levi curls forward tight to return

to his accustomed position

undisturbed by hungry cold.

Eyes tightly shut he wills

himself back to sleep

Elena kiss

Mama kiss

startle

sleep

Tuesday Quatern

“This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.”

The wedding wine was running out

His mother knew some hidden pow’r

And called him out before his time

Now sarcastic brothers taunt him

“This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.”

Like them, but strangely unlike;

Didn’t give them what they wanted.

He has stirred up things around him

Something has shifted in this town

“This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.”

Anger growing, wonder spreading.

Accept healing-not the healer.

Accept the food – but at what cost?

Slipping in and out of trouble

This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.

Wednesday Haynaku

time

is of

the utmost importance

Thursday Landays

Wind blasts snow across icy dirt roads

Little Elena stands on the ice looking for deer

Morning snowflakes drift past the windows

Levi opens new eyes to Sapton’s bright winter’s light

Pines and aspen, birch and ivy vines

Still wave, still stand as buffer to the winter’s sharp sting

… and back to John 7

Jewish religious festivals merge

Into sound and color and all saturated senses

But not this feast of tabernacles

Jesus of nowhere walking free as though nothing mattered

Friday’s Sonnet

You fall asleep and leave me unattached.

So silently I slip on coat and boots

and walk into the forest paths unmatched

by summer’s warm beckoning leaves and fruits.

Papery bark peels and curls from birches

Red willow dances with spruce and aspen.

Chickadee, red pole and nut hatch perches

on winter’s silent sleep, stillness grasping.

Yet cold is cracking, winter losing hold,

rivers slowly rising in the sunshine.

The turning moment may not be so bold

as those who, well fed, still asked for a sign.

Nicodemus stands by.  Now Galilee

links him by day to his sanctuary.

Saturday Haiku

five thin birches grow

around one decaying stump

round dance from their roots