Breaking the Fast
I wait past hunger
to a knowledge of who I am:
a ravenous being, insatiable,
self-indulgent.
I wait past pain
the angry growling of a
hollow interior, ignored.
I wait past denial
into acceptance, into repentance
into knowledge of forgiveness.
I wait until I am fed
by the spiritual hand of God.
I break fast with unleavened bread
and water turned to wine,
the sustenance of faith.
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Grace hums to herself
as she riffles through a compilation of saintly
scrap bag lives for the pieces
to form a queen-sized quilt—
a collection of darks and lights,
striped days of earthly sorrow
intermingled with touches of heaven.
Joy fingers her medley of floral’s,
primary brights, fuchsias, aquas,
neon yellows—
summers triangles,
springs pastel rectangles
shares freely with an open hand
Mercy mends her tear-stained blocks
with appliques of Bethlehem stars,
covers over fields of somber November hues,
midnight blues despair with the help
of Hope’s skillful embroidery.
She picks through Joy’s offerings
to accent each completed square.
Faith’s invisible seams hold together
a count of fabricated days.
Patience assembles the quilt
stretches it within a frame—
Peace passes out the thread.
Each lady dons thimble, needle,
bows her head to studied toil…
Adds their own special flourishes
and embellishments with artistic flair.
To complete the work Charity
takes strips of scarlet binding
formed from Christ’s wounded heart
and encases the frayed edges
of mortal existence
The imperishable covers the perishable
with life everlasting (amen).
The quilt becomes a token of bridal love,
as heaven prepares for a wedding in the Hall of the King
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Filed under Light hearted, Religious
Evolution Anyone?
Would I gamble (my existence)
purchase a ticket of chance
on the odds of
a cloud of interstellar gas
coalescing into a living
homo sapiens?
I would rather place a bet
(to win)
on a guiding intelligence;
that in the heavenly spheres
there is
and has been
a creative hand.
c. Darlene Moore Berg
This series of poems were written over a period of time. The first portion was published in “The Penwood Review” several years ago. This is for all the parents watching their child through the process into becoming an adult.
Tanner I : Pre-Pubescent
He dances jazz in the upstairs hall. His back
and thigh dewed from an evening bath—
An Adonis, a young David, a newly cast Adam.
unashamed, innocent.
With pubescence I learned to clothe the transformation.
Close out siblings’ curiosity.
Became private in discovery,
the wonder of my own nakedness.
He does not know or guess…
That a fragment of apple peel,
millennia old, will catch in his throat
as he laughs a broken octave, lower.
His dance will become wrapped in veils—
safe from the eyes of the world,
free only in the sequestered haven of his room,
behind a locked door.
Tanner II-III Early to Mid-Adolescence
A towel enshrouds his elongated dripping form.
He flees from bathroom to bedroom
and with practiced speed, slams the door.
Its hours more
before a clothed, gawky
child – man emerges
a hand span taller
than the day before…
Tanner IV Late Adolescence
Muscles bulge with weights
one lift at a time
Body-conscious: the hair washed and combed
deodorant applied without parental hints
teeth flash white in a rare, sudden smile
And not unusual for him
to“stay up all night and eat anything
in sight”
sleep until the sunsets with no regrets.
c.Darlene Moore Berg
It’s Not All Relative
Know if I jump from this tree
I’ll land in the grass and weeds beneath me.
Gravity, a universal, undeniable fact.
No matter how I fantasize I can fly, I come back splat.
It’s not how I act, believe, think, feel.
Try jumping up to the sky yourself for proof its real.
One oxygen combined with two hydrogen ions
equals one molecule water.
I drink it from the tap. The cat laps it from her bowl.
Time somehow stretches towards infinity at the speed of light.
The spectrum of light shifts with acceleration, deceleration.
The boiling point of water varies with altitude.
And what remains constant?
Faith, hope, love: God unvariable.
Try jumping into His arms for proof.
Let your fingers explore the scars
tracing the palms of His hands.
Summon up your nerve, address the name of God,
speak to Him in full honesty.
Know He hears you, when He speaks in return,
don’t deny it.
Some things aren’t relative, they’re true—
The dawn following a day of disasters.
The rain slashing your lashes in a sudden storm.
An empty tomb one Sunday morn….
Adorned only with abandoned linen.
Coming in clouds and glory— Christ’s return
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Candlelight
It makes a difference then how I live.
The days are evil.
The darkness of this world hovers over the light
desiring nothing less than extinguishing it,
engulfing its flame.
For if there is no source of light,
the evil itself cannot be distinguished.
I must be more than a sooty flicker, Lord.
I must not fear to burn brightly…
let You trim my wick, feed my flame
with the fuel of Your Holy Spirit
wax brilliant in the Word, in the world.
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Be Wise, Woman
“Wise men still seek Him.”
and not to forget: wise women.
Mothers, wives, sisters, daughters
a need to find the one born
King of the Jews.
A messiah—not for men only:
salvation, hope, faith, love.
An infant
born of a woman,
honoring women.
Seek Him,
the man aflame
with the son-ship of God
and let Him
take your hand
and pull you to your feet
to stand
before Him
exposed, vulnerable
and not be ashamed.
c. Darlene Moore Berg
I am told this is the year of the “ugly” holiday sweater…
Holiday Apparel
Christmas cheer
I wear it in reds and greens
Santas, elves and trees
I wear it in blue and white
frosty snowmen, stars at night
Sweatshirts and sweaters
earrings and necklaces
pins upon the lapel…
All shout the season
except for my smile.
Lord, I go through the motions
wear my devotions
but my cradle is empty
I’ve left the infant
somewhere out in the cold.
I come to your altar, Father
pour out the bitterness,
the sadness, the self-centered heart
humbly accept your Gladness
the joy, the peace of Christ
.
I don the wonder of Your Love.
Filed under Christmas, Light hearted, Religious
a gentle reminder before the Day…
No Thanks Given
No “Thanks” were given.
The food spread out in festive feasting,
the people scrunched around the table…
And no word given
to the Provider of all good things.
Forgotten in the rush
of stuffing the plates full,
a bit of each and every dish.
Lives stuffed full, sated
and no time left to honor
the Creator of all life.
Remembered late,
the dishes long soaking in the sink.
The words would not come
beyond the regret wrapped
around the heart.
And now Lord this morning,
(after I polished off the pecan pie
and drank my cup of Earl Gray tea)
I appeal to You, Savior, forgive
…my thanklessness
the ingratitude that has invaded
the fibers of all our lives.
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Mercy & Grace
Mauled by a hit-and-run encounter,
abandoned, left to mew faintly
in life’s damp gutter…
Mercy with her sharp ears, hears,
scoops up this pitiful pile of fluff
wraps it gently in a warm fleece blanket
before shock sets in
She croons and rocks this injured creature
back into a semblance of existence
cuddles it close to her maternal breast.
She calls for help.
Grace breathes with the Holy Spirit’s
fire into the cold despairing nose
both wait for the shuddering
inhalation of hope.
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Filed under Light hearted, Religious
