Faith

I peer into your face

As through a glass

Darkly

Your breath is vapor

Your spirit is muted

It clouds my mind

Facts deceive

But faith believes

I live on

This blog post is written in response to a prompt from The Mag and 1 Corinthians 13:12.

Enraptured

I peer into the depths of the snow covered forest and my heart leaps for joy at the peaceful scene that confronts me. Although I have devoured this scene many times before, the perspective afforded by the newly fallen snow amplifies each detail, as each branch and nook uncovers definition otherwise overlooked. Shadows beckon as the sun ignites the world around, transforming muted tones into objects with brilliant contrast. My vision is enraptured as I linger in this peaceful environ and breathe the crisp air that surrounds me. Finding purpose in the moment, my thoughts fall from my pen upon the white page, seeking to capture a fraction of the beauty before me. But words fail to bequeath meaning to the pureness and sanctity of this tranquil scene.

© 2011 by Maureen Newman. All rights reserved.

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

The Dance

The dance
Poised, embracing what is
Holding a thought, grasping a whisper
Determined to find our place
Eager to waltz, floating in harmony
The dance
Balanced in rest

© 2011 by Maureen Newman. All rights reserved.

This post is written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Anticipation

The snow-covered path to my door
Waits; undisturbed, barren
Inside the fire burns
But not in my soul
Moments without you embrace eternity
Tick, tock. Even the walls talk
Slowly the hours pass
Sand through an hourglass
The scent of evergreen fills the air
Footprints, softly linger
Waiting, anticipating
Impulses wax; passion ignites
Embracing, touching
Together again

© 2010 by Maureen Newman. All rights reserved.
Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Antiquity

I carefully open the old family Bible, the pages stiff and fragile with age. Long years it spent tucked away in the trunk amidst letters from home penned early 1900 by those long forgotten. The binding creaks as I lay it flat upon the bed beside me, eager to unearth treasures sealed within its pages. Faded pictures depicting familiar bible scenes weave the story, and bring to mind lessons from my childhood. A photo, lovingly wrapped in parchment paper, adheres to a page, and dried fern branches speak of losses once deeply felt. Gradually I move through the books of the Bible exposing the contents long hidden from human eyes. And then I find it. Folded into a perfect square, and tied about with what appears to be a perfectly preserved braided lock of hair, its water-stained exterior denotes an age far beyond the other contents held captive between the pages. Placing the treasure in my hand, I gently stroke the braid, drawn, yet repulsed; touching a fragment of a life lived so very long ago. Unwilling to disturb the fragile parcel born in antiquity, I place it gently back within the pages of its tomb, wanting to protect the treasure held within.

© 2010 by Maureen Newman. All rights reserved.

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Maligned

He stood afar off, away from the crowd, his quiet demeanour echoing the gentle spirit I know so well. Aghast by the vigour of the other participants, I draw my memoir close to my chest, endeavouring to keep it pure, unsoiled by the hateful comments flowing from the mouths of the malcontents. How could they believe such a thing? Why would they accept such blasphemy spoken from such a wily character? Once they would have stood firm for their king, and now they seek to destroy him. To believe the raucous comments maligning the words I so loving penned. My book should have set him upon a pillar; a place deserving of such a man. Will he ever look upon me the same again? The fire within me burns away my hope, and the book held close to my chest crushes my heart.

© 2010 by Maureen Newman. All rights reserved.

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

An Invitation

You give me the eye
What? What’s up!
No roasting pan, no rotisserie
No deep fryer, no wok
What’s the plan!
You invited me for dinner
I paused to consider
Funny, so it seems
But the fat just hit the pan
And I, have other plans

© 2010 by Maureen Newman. All rights reserved.


Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Julia

Julia! Was the only mark you left on this world the small gravestone that denotes your passing? Or did your lungs breath air and your voice erupt with sound, if only for a moment? Did your mother hold your tiny hand and grieve for the daughter that would not be? Or were you whisked away as your life was ebbing to spare her pain? Is your name listed in the family bible? Did your passing leave souls as empty as the cradle that would never rock? Or was it promptly stowed away along with your memory?

Julia! Does your voice erupt with sweet sounds, for all eternity, as you rest gently in the arms of God? Or does your voice mingle with the heavenly choir in praise to the Almighty?

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

A Monster Among Us

Inside a man, a soldier
A monster groans
Hideous and cruel

Years pass
Odd events transpire
Obscure, no trace

Women travel in pairs
Some fall prey
The trail remains cold

Stealth, wandering through their abode
Moving through each life
Robbed in their guise

Death, long to arrive
Beseeching, desperate pleading
Broken and stretched upon the ground

A monster in high standing
Hidden in plain view
Forensic tracks betray his way

Souvenirs mark the course
Documented death and perversion
Horror, despair, pain

Families grieve, their world suspended
Can justice be gained?
Can punishment satisfy?

God enters the court
The monster weeps yet turns away
Red flames of hell flash from his eyes

Families recognize the Saviour
Vengeance is Mine, the eternal judge
God alone can satisfy

This is written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales and reflects my thoughts on the
crimes enacted by Colonel Russel Williams, Ontario, Canada. Best description: the devil's work with ferocious drive. Prayers for the victims and their families.

Autumn

Fall is my favourite time of year. Warm colors, cool breezes, rustic sunsets, and starry nights enhance the moments and bring peace to the soul. Who can kayak across a lake reflecting the colors of the season or walk in the woods to the sound of crunching leaves and not feel in awe? Warm fires invite us and hot apple cider delights our pallet as we gaze into the season and relish the victory of a summer well spent.

I am convinced that God’s plan is intricately woven into the spectacular beauty of this refreshing season. Recognizing that many of us in the northern hemisphere must endure 4 to 5 months of harsh winter, He blesses us like no other, with this gracious gift of autumn, preparing us for the journey to spring.

This is written in response to a prompt by Magpie Tales.

The Scent

I linger beside Martha’s bed and listen to her shallow breathing as the clock ticks onward. Hour after hour passes and the air in the room becomes stale and pungent, rife with the anticipation of death. With each passing moment my heart bleeds anguish and my soul reels from the eminent loss.

“Where are you Lord? Why does she linger? Are there so many people passing through the pearly gates that she must wait in line? Or is her fate not yet sealed between a judgement of heaven or hell? Are you giving her time?”

The sound of footsteps breaks the silence as a stranger enters the room and moves towards the bed, disturbing my thoughts. A peaceful presence accompanies him; another new nurse, I decide. Laying his palm across her forehead, he takes Martha’s frail hand in his and begins to gently massage it. His soft voice whispers secrets to her dying frame, drawing her focus towards him. I arise from my chair and settle beside her on the bed.

“Will you yet rebel against your Lord and Saviour, Martha?” I hear him inquire. “Will your last breathe bring the hope of heaven or the pain of hell? You know the choice you must make. I am only here to remind you one last time. The decision has always been yours.”

I watch as Martha’s eyes close, forcing tears down her cheeks. Her breathing ceases and her body relaxes in death. Laying her hand gently on the bed, the stranger turns to leave. As if disturbed by his movement, a soft scent fills the air.

“Do you smell the perfume?” Without taking my eyes off of Martha, I reach out and grab his arm, needing him to answer.

“It is the scent of a new Christian,” he rejoices, as the arm held tightly in my hand simply disappears.

This is written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Fire

The vermillion flames reflect on the water
More rapid than eagles they fly past as they consume
Without words they command attention
And devote seekers stare through the shimmering heat

They dance; of course
To their own rhythm
Red, yellow, orange, white flames
Wreathed in grey particles that obscure
Flashing skyward sparks escape
Igniting and purifying as they feast

All nature is mobile
Panic ensues
Direction is obscured; temporary blindness
Instinct rules as creatures flee the inferno
Finding refuge in the raging waters
A test of strength, salvation for the able

Clouds burst and rain falls
Hissing, whistling, smouldering
Smoke steals the air and lungs collapse
Black rivers flow and water extinguishes
Mother nature claims her own
And from the embers life is resurrected

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Oh! Canada

The colors of my country

Crimson leaves
Aqua blue waters
Purple skies
Yellow sunsets
Green fields
Brown earth
White clouds
Black nights

Light the Catherine wheel
Watch the colors dance

Oh! Canada

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Cold Steel !

I knew him long before I saw him. Old Spice mingled with the scent of rotting fruit, the smell of bile pasted to his clothes too long without laundry. Hot smoky breath soils the back of my white dress as feet whisper to a stop behind me. Alone in the moment, my mind envisions his form and it repulses me. Fat fingers; frumpled hair; greasy whiskers; missing teeth; a cornucopia of disgust and I loathe the stench of him. And then I feel it, the cold steel of the blade against my skin.

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

Expression

I’m ready! Each pencil driven to a perfect point, waiting! Thoughts explode around my head but I must settle on a beginning. The page waits, so pristine and perfect. Will the first mark caress the page or leave it wounded? Lord, let my thoughts flow from my mind and meander slowly from the pencil to perfection upon the medium before my eyes. As I see with my mind’s eye, let its expression embrace all that is right and perfect in your world. May my pencil never offend! As I place pencil to paper, may the world that surrounds me be a fertile field for my imagination and may my soul recognize the touch of your guiding hand.

Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

A Snake ....

On my daily walk today I encountered a snake. Not a huge snake; probably a foot and a half long. But he was certainly long enough to stop me in my tracks. We simply stared at one another and then I quickly hurried by. Peering back, I expected him to slithering after me, but he hadn’t moved. He was simply biding his time, waiting to cross the road, and I didn’t figure into any of his plans. I will add at this point that I am okay with this! As I continued towards home I started thinking about that old snake – the devil - and it occurred to me that he does exactly the same thing. He waits on the sidelines to steal our joy and put enmity between us and God. So I offered a prayer for all fellow Christians, that we will constantly be on the lookout for that old snake and, armed with the two edged sword, cut off his head.

This is written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.