like a crocus

on these days when darkness gets longer every day, and my Christmas lights need a timer that goes 18 hours on, 6 hours off, my morning readings take me to crocuses in Isaiah 35.

the desert and the parched land will be glad;
the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
like the crocus it will burst into bloom...

the earth wakes up with crocuses
when the winter night loses its hold
scattered along the high ridges
among the grasses and thistles
lying low
so the wind brushes
over them in its haste to find a taller
thing to buffet
open in shades of lilac, lavender, purple
that you cannot see while scannig
the horizon

tired of winter we see only
ridges of old snow on the river banks
brown grasses
things that are not yet new
not yet awake

but if you find one
one clump of
bold
purple
springtime
crocus

you will discover
the hillside is singing
river banks echo
clouds stopping to grin
returning hawks spin as they soar

this is
the earth shouting for joy

granby river line

for Irene

the breeze came up soft
from the river in the mornings
waving through the pines
winding the grasses around its fingers

when the high ridges blurred
in the haze of the midday sun
the wind mostly held its breath
silent as the river tumbled by

fish flickered in the shadows
sheets hung silent on the line
till the afternoon cooled
breeze brushed around the corners

clothes dried
by the granby river sun
caught the scent
in every fibre and crease

I could fold the clothes
and carry the river
up the stairs
into our rooms

morning moon

the old moon does not rush through the night
gets up a little late
hanging in the morning sky
as though she's lost her way

followed us to school today
disappeared without leaving traces
while we meandered along the pathways
popping up in unexpected places

overheard us
  while we discussed the colors
   of trees
   ..that bunnies hopped
   and stopped
   and also frogs
   or magpies who flew

and maybe
we could be a bunny on the way home
or a magpie
or a frog

the moon was waiting at school today
hanging in the morning sky
as though she'd lost her way

meandering on pathways

.

south saskatchewan moon

the moon rises full
as jupiter pierces the sky

when I reach the banks
the moon has already broken free

but the river holds
   the light
stretches it long and
   rippled

broken lines of light
disappearing into the far dark shore

pelicans glide across the river's moon
set all the tips aflame

till the current calms them
quiets the moonlight

rocking gently
as you rock your little one

maverick

These are dry messy spring days.
Wind throws last year's leaves
into all the corners of the yard;
tugs at the fingertips of haskap and ash
coaxing them out of winter's sleep.
Poplar gets ready to throw seeds
and stickies all around the yard.

Iris and tulip spears piercing through old growth
to begin again.
I look at all the dry, lifeless looking brown
and wonder
how things can spring to life and color.
And they always do.

Mystery of harsh prairie where
the earth bursts open when
the winter loosens its hold.
Spring clouds wander the skies like
maverick squadrons
throwing rain and wind and
occasional hail onto the
waking land
not ready to settle into warm or
soaking rain.

resurrection hangover

So would you feel lighter or heavier?
Body slowed to a stop, blood ceased pumping;
pierced so that blood runs down, muscles flaccid.
When heart surges to life again, like a Gforce spin
the weight of the world falling behind,
lungs re-inflate with a sharp intake of breath,
spirit once more is knit to this body.

Our bodies -
not just shells that are thrown away
fading back into dust.
Resurrection implies at least some sense of
reconstruction
   bringing forward something of what we have been
      utterly renewed
         unrecognized
but known.

A robin is singing her joy to the neighborhood.
Plastic bag remnant of Easter egg hunts floats through the yard on the air currents, catches
high on willow branches and
then continues into the neighbor's.

A pair of jays land in the poplar and the robin's joy turns territorial.

Sun shines warm on my face,
wind tugs at the pages of my journal.
Yesterday's laughter catches in corners
and branches of my yard.

Week 7. John 12 ... also Holy Week up till Saturday

on the ground
bottle of nard poured on the ground
spilling over his dusty feet
silken hair brushes beloved feet
giving up your life will save it

palm branches thrown on the ground
the healer was coming their way
a young donkey carried him there
the whole world has gone after him

kernel of wheat falls to the ground
dying it produces many
a man who grips his life will lose
giving up your life will save it

scent of nard poured on the ground
spilling over his dusty feet
silken hair brushing beloved feet
scandalous, mute adoration

silent
was he funny, or smart, was he strong?
belov'd friend of Jesus who died
silent at the grave and meal
two vibrant sisters served
and spoke and poured nard
Lazarus watched
betrayer
sister
Lord

silent ones
when silent ones are healed
mutely grasping for his hem
sisters calling, debating, weeping
friends load him onto a stretcher
rip the roof off to lower him in

Jesus, you hear the silent ones
all our griefs and pains you bear
you walk among us
bidding us come
you are making all things new

bunch'a haynakus
Lazarus
rose up
from the dead

Lazarus
was reclining
at the table

this
is not
what Lazarus saw

Lazarus
did not
say a word

Jesus
looked her
in the eye

crowds
were drawn
to the man

tasting
death before
eating this meal

weeping
will cease
in the morning

falling
asleep never
feels like this

new
day never
dawns like this

what
kind of
coffee is needed

new
grounds for
believing in him

IAM
right now
resurrection and life

Landays
reversing expectations, Jesus
breathed our air with our lungs and called a dead man to life

reversing expectations, Jesus
ate in the company of the resurrected man

undoing expectations, Mary
poured nard over his feet, drowning all rational thought
...poured nard over his feet, captivating every guest
...poured nard over his feet, drowning all other senses

What song?
What song shall I sing, all has fallen still?
Yesterday's vibrant music fades away
overwhelmed by whips and cries far too shrill,
and friendships - pieces of silver betray.

What song shall I sing, now darkness has slipped
into daylight and the earth is shaken
holy of holies, the curtain is ripped,
echoes o'er every hill - I AM forsaken.

What song shall I sing as they take him down -
he whose voice shook the grave loose, now silenced.
Nicodemus, come sing in this darkness.
Lazarus, what do you know of his grave?

As Mary walks weeping I catch the scent
of nard poured out in worship prescient.


Lifted
Son of Man lifted
light of the world is snuffed out
black hole drowns all light

Son of Man lifted
light of the world is snuffed out
all of us drawn in

wrestling with this hour
he prayed, Father glorify
Father responded

this voice was for us
we heard thunder and angels
Father responding