Crumbs on a crumbling floor

Will we always feed the children
bitter, brittle bread?
And does God see, as He swoops in
to sweep up
even the tiniest speck of the last little crumb
in the darkest corner?
But if He left it there, maybe it
was actually a seed,
(I didn't know it yet;)
a seed that my bowed heads tears will water,
until it grows eventually up
through the ceiling
of this tumbled down dilapidated house.

Little Secrets Nesting

A tiny pretty bird 

is nesting just above my head

beneath an awning.  

It's a good spot for a nest, 

tucked away from the weather, so her

babies, once they hatch, will still be

dry and somewhat warm

should she have to leave them 

squaking

while she gathers worms 

to feed them.

I feel honored to be trusted 

with her secrets, black and white

with spots of red she only hints at

as she scurries
 past me, fastly, 

determined (I am sure) to not be

noticed

very much.

The Tender Times

Treasure the tender times while they transpire.
burrow beneath your bunker, be brave
enough to endure the enoughness,
the pure peaceful pleasure
of a small something simmering soft;
for fresh freedoms flutter fast, and fleet.
Leave longing and loneliness alone.
Why do we waste the wonderful on worry then wonder where it went?
Precious in periphery,
epiphany explains the entropy of enjoyment.
Squander this Spring,  and Summer will swamp you soulless.
June and July are joyless junkets of jerryrigged jamborees.
Heat hits the hottest humid homes. Humanity hums
for a fresh, florrid Fall.

Wednesday's wintery wind

After Wedneday's wintery wind, the flowers
on my lavender bush waved carelessly in different directions
like a great head of hair
on the girl
who' doesn't appreciate it.
Maybe this spring,
I will finally feel warm
enough at least to recognize that I was never truly in danger,
and God hadn't left.
Maybe next year, I'll remember this year,
and know how to recognize goodness
in the low lying lavender just below
my front door
that was tossed til it looked like the hair
that I always wished I'd had.

((and the girl with great hair is looking back at me, wishing
she had a front door.))

Before the End (of the world.)

We thought this place a paradise
we thought this place looked awfully nice;
(awful in parts, nice in parts)
but all our thoughts
were wrong.
Once, there was a world, with things;
a heaven full of fluttered wings;
birds would fly and hail would fall,
and we thought this was all, was all
and we thought this was all.
And it was built by word,
and words like bricks
and life were heard
on what was once a glittering world
that sparkled in the setting sun til just
before the day was done
and we thought this
was all, (our walls)
yes we thought we were very small,
but we thought this was all.