Soul

Lost

May I ever remember
hope is for the needy.
May I ever remember
love is for the forlorn.
May I ever remember
desire is for those left without.
And may I ever remember
of those, I am all.

I had fallen farther
than I knew I could.
I had turned from He
whom I had thought I’d known.
Yet when I reached out,
a hand did take my own:
the Light of Christ
my ever faithful home.

Patience

Until the mountains wash away,
until the sun has lost her rays,
until tomorrow turns today,
may I remember you.

Until the waves become the rain,
until the hurt is long lost pain,
until December’s gone again,
may I remember you.

Until there’s hope material,
until there’s purpose for this soul,
’til seeming nothing is truly all,
may I remember you.

Until the heartbeat beats in time
with a ballad’s soothing rhyme,
until I feel love’s hand in mine,
may I remember you.

Things To Do

There are textbooks to read
and essays to write,
and studies to do
so the tests are done right.

There is music to hear,
there are lessons to learn
from pain set to strings,
from lives never heard.

There are stories to read
of fantastical lands,
to make the mind reach
where life never can.

There are scriptures on which
the heart may feast,
to learn of truth
that lies underneath.

There are bridges to build
from the ash of those burned,
for a heart set free
is better than spurned.

There are patches to sew
in the fabric of life,
scars to heal over
the pains and the strife.

There are things to do
and promises to keep,
and a lifetime filled
with hills too steep;

but a lifetime full
if we’ll only see
that the love of this world
courses through you and me.

Elegy for Rina Smith

When I grow up I am going to be an air-hostess.
When the aeroplane crashes I am going to be a nurse.

Rina Smith, Grade II
Codrington School Magazine, 1959

Choices… choices.

For a young girl in Chipata in 1959,
there are few choices.
For a young girl in Chipata in 1959,
there must always be a backup plan.
For a young girl in Chipata in 1959,
there are no such things as idle hands.

How lucky I am despite it all.
How lucky we are who grew up with more
than the very worst, than the unluckiest.
How lucky to have choices more than Rina Smith.

Eggs

One’s basket is simply that,
ne’er more or less.
And when the chook is underfed,
the evidence lies in her nest.
When the chook is underfed
and the eggs are scarc’ly few,
how very easy it is to place
them all in One’s purview.
How easy it becomes
to forget a wider scope
as each solitary egg
becomes One’s lasting hope.
And yet, when ev’ry egg
is but one of a dozen more,
how quickly One’s little basket
becomes a veritable and d’verse store.

My Cumorah (II)

Green embers burn
at the heart of the hearth;
smoke wafts in an eddy,
higher and higher;
friends and family warm their lungs
on a soft, cloudy night.

My warmth comes from the flame,
coaxing flashes of bygone ashes.
My God is not so conspicuous tonight,
not in this place;
but absence is not what I feel.
I have a glowing fire and a promise
that leads me tonight,
a light that leads me
past endless night.

Old Ghosts

Oh, weary, weary mind;
why do you falter?
why does a ghost of twelve years passed
continue to plague thee thus?

Have you not sought refuge?
have you not sought light?

Then why, oh weary mind,
do you falter so
on these new nights?