Christian, personal, Poetry

something (revisited)

I need a moment,
a moment measured only
in light years,

the oracular thread
through centuries
and non,

encaptured, enraptured
by deepest tones
geographically strata-ed,
through past and present,

eyes so gently gently replaced
with brushes archeologically
bristling with Him,

joyful in newborn

the blind man was healed
and the tenses were spilled

and millennial mysteries unravelled
into new ravelling of me.

and the blind woman was healed



originally posted 26th March, 2017
Christian, Poetry

what are the words for mothers’ day? (revisited as a Christmas meditation)

a day that’s already bled in
(365 times Hallmark)
to our psyches’ movement
through mountained plains

perpetual translating
of the countenanced refrains
that echo
after birth.

The depth obfuscated, unsung
we play punctiliously with undone
and the cardium layers hold hands
tremoring with the ache
of a thousand forms.

And there’s no way to finish these lines
kaleidoscoped mystery of a Child’s eyes…

Christian, prose

the silence after the implosion was not deafening (revisited)

Canberra trip 108.jpg

They always loved the way they both loved waterfalls.
As if it weren’t enough to drive through that scenery on the way, with its exhilarating verdancy,  the serpentine paths unmarked, illuminated by their shared love of, well, their shared love.

But now, his muscles twitched.
Her emotions repelled down, down from the cliff of his hardened inner life. Over the cascade of his own unformulations. Starting that landslide, you know, the inward one. The one that implodes stars…

leaving burn marks on the pavement. The ones that stranger, whistling at the end of the week, steps over.
He’s wishing those darn kids would quit playing with fireworks again!
But, you have to admit, it IS a great night for a campfire…


Originally posted Jan 13th, 2017



you pulled away

the footsteps coiling around my neck.

a gentleness bled

into prints excoriated


the first rains crawling

along droughted river beds

shoe shaped cracks that choke


my heart swept up

into Your dark embrace

the Darkness beyond human myopia


seen only through the lens

of tears given Divine

You reached through dimensions

of suffering, the kind


that decodes DNA

and breathes, reanimates


Eye to eye

Heart to heart

humility scorned

now plays the part…




Photo credit: my husband

Christian, Poetry

you pulled away

Christian, General bewilderment, Poetry

the deafening…




of the mirror falling

breaking into shards of rain


The welcome filling

of  unwelcome cracks

in the halls of the criminally sane.


The midnighting of light

and the folding of the fan of every colour

into its resting place


the praying of the weary

the relief in flowing tears, theres no grieving

for the mirror’s freak showed face.


photo credit: Alex Voigt

Christian, personal, Poetry

it poemed through your death…


…the colour from her dream,

it drained right through dimensions,

the syntax, and the stream.

Euphonious not to mourners

the notes unveiled in grief,

but heaven writes the harmonies

and descants of relief.

A young life filled with purpose

and at peace with what was granted,

the air broke into sombre tears

and drenched our hearts enchanted.

Our thoughts fragmented bloodlessly,

were washed and torn united,

we shared the pieces silently

a mosaic of love requited.

We will never be the same again

for all the death we’ve seen,

my heart is full of unexplained

it bows to deeds unseen…


(This was the recessional song for young Tyler’s funeral. That whole experience was incredibly moving. We hadn’t been in touch for a while as he had moved away. His Dad shared the story that a couple of weeks before his accident, his girlfriend had a dream that he died. She was, of course, really upset by it and discussed it with Tyler. He talked about what he would want if it actually happened. One of the things that came out was that he wanted to be an organ donor. So as of that morning, his Dad informed everyone during his tribute, that two men had been saved by his kidneys…)

Christian, Fiction, prose

she left

She heard them! The chords of cogency. Crescendoing. Pulsating with hermeneutical harmonies that filled her with a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. The clarity descending in notes that burst her heart.
Her heart. That’s what she could feel!

She was right to leave.
And she didn’t just walk. She floated. On the weightless tears of Another.
He turned her back, from face down, and she left forever.
Right out of that grave.




crocheting continuity

in the weaving waves

of sound sublimity,


the embossing of the

dimensional trinity


by the cerebral unity,


g(r)asped by incredulous senses converted

to heights of clarity –


the aching symphony


scaffolding the wholing

of peace.

Christian, Poetry

“adam and eve”

Christian, Poetry

She climbed for the view…

Old photos 1273.jpg

over all of the pieces

missing in action


but so far from field

she was too high to collect

any meaningful


semblance of early

configurations of their



She had to go down

and follow the river bed,

to lie underneath,


to wait in the depths.

Heart broken by the sight and



by the breath of One

already there, bleeding out

poem’s syllables.




Christian, Poetry

the aching sweetness of pierce…

in childhood.

Those tears –

in hovered cadence,

epiphanies’ radiance,

beyond the reckoning,
the reasoning
of fractured eyes
and thwarted whys,

bursting up through the belies,

the linguistic instant
of heartfelt cries


(I remember seeing this on television when it was first performed. and the music wrecked me (no pun intended). This section was my favourite part. For those of you who practice it, God bless your Easter meditations.)



Christian, personal, Poetry

you know I’ll only say wiedersehen

what a recondite day for a funeral

the sky the colour of wind

with it’s abstruse way of connecting

and a restless need to rescind


the boundaries of pre conceived notions

that death is a part of life

we weren’t created to be separated

I’ll never stop thinking we’re rife


with the agonies of dimensional distance

cunning, convoluted and cruel

I thank God for blessed reunions

and perfuming the stench of death’s fuel.



Christian, Poetry

something (part two)


Midnight tunes

thought balloons

filled in, and

it’s coming around again.


misplaced clowns

haunted frowns

shaving paint

the mirror’s afloat again.


poignant eyes

bleed unlies

trip that thread

now what did they mean again?


If I had words I’d tell you

I don’t walk miles to let you know

you are near and so far

my most unimagined song.


I don’t climb but I see you

I don’t dig but I rest beneath

those salient words that you breathe

I’m drenched in unimagined air…


something (part one, revised)

Christian, personal, prose

the book with no names

Easter Tuesday 018.jpg

So for those of you who don’t know, I am married to a Lutheran pastor.

I could seriously write a book about what life has been like in the last 20+ years living this reality. The thing is, if I did, I would have to kill everyone first. Because changing names wouldn’t be enough.
I jest, of course!

But, these people are dear to my heart. My husband is the pastor of five churches and our churches are small. And of course, microcosms of greater realities. There are times I have enjoyed worshipping with big congregations. The fellowship can be incredible. However, for people with anxiety issues, being welcomed into a smaller community has been an extremely healing thing for them, and we have witnessed beautiful things that literally brings tears to my eyes.

One of the highlights for me was when a very reclusive gentleman, who has some serious anxiety issues for a number of reasons, finally joined our smallest congregation. To say that it terrifies him to join a large group of people, would be a grave understatement. So to see his ongoing healing from the love in that community, has been nothing short of amazing. Last year, he called our house to wish me a happy birthday on behalf of their little church. It is hard for me to put into words what that meant to me, because I know the agony he would have gone through before he made that call. (Please don’t tell him I wrote about him, he would die! 🙂 )

I truly feel blessed I am a part of all of this. And I will always be proud to be a part of these families. Warts and all.

(And thank you WordPress, for being another “family” I have come to love.)


Christian, Poetry

in honour of a birth


Heaven takes a breath
then breathes out Love,
a Child wakens.
The world slowly changes colour
as the air filters a new Light.

Stilled by the cosmic embrace
of Humility
the world slowly changes depth
music oxygenating the space in between
the prostrating tears of angels
and those undone
trembling at the foot of that mysterious cradle
of vulnerability


Christian, personal, Poetry

onominapia 137

My soul in sympathy

to those expressing grief –

I marvel at the articulation

of WordPress poets

who graciously lavish beauty

beyond horizons.

But all I can do

is exhale

the outline of a sigh,

knowing they will fill it

with words lit by transcendence

and an ancient promise,

because my own soul is heavy,

and this snow falls in

like the sighing watch of the night…

Romans 8:26


photo: Chase Miller