A Favorite Blend

A Favorite Blend

Grace invited Mercy and Peace
in for a mid-winter tea.
The sisters hug briefly,
peck respective cheeks
before unwrapping layers
of coats and scarves.
The world’s frozen wisdom, flakes off,
melts into puddles at their feet
silent beneath the glow of heaven’s stars.

Spring is a future memory, another season
following the blizzard of earth’s present days.
A spicy cinnamon-apricot aroma wafts
from a floral painted pot.
A lace cloth adorns Graces sturdy table
carved of red mid-eastern cedar.

Mercy’s eyes shine, dance with delight,
she inhales the scent of a life steeping in God,
sweetens with her honey each poured cup.
Peace passes a pitcher of her cream;
stirred thoughtfully into the tea it
mellows both the bitter and the sweet.

Grace smiles benevolently, shares
with her sisters the marvels of divinity.
They drink, sip, praise the blend:
His undying sacrificial love,
a human life savored from the fall.

c.Darlene Moore Berg


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Poems for Mothers

mike and pat 1989 1


I desire to enfold
a precious new life
just sent from heaven
to our hearts

To delight in the exquisite
detail of hands, feet, fingers, toes,
the smooth contours of a tiny nose.
To ruffle scant hair atop her scalp

Where can I go to find
the little one my heart yearns for?


I clasp a fragile wonder—
toes perfectly formed
grasping my thumb,
curling around the pressure
of a caring touch.

I caress a newborn’s tiny foot,
hold an extremity of a miracle,
the little kicking message
saying “world, I am come”.


I Come to Be a Mother

Tied to an operating table
my emotions were flat, exhausted,
trammeled by a day’s long labor.
I felt no joy or grief
only a faint relief
the child was born, alive and whole.

His dark, quiet eyes stared briefly into mine
before the nurses bundled him away,
and the anesthesiologist deepened my sleep
while the obstetrician put my stretched abdomen
back in order.

Bonding mother to child,
love does not always come instantaneously
or easily. Sometimes it must grow
in slow infantile steps, moment to moment,
year to year.

Joys of motherhood come grudgingly
into a hectic career-oriented life.
I nursed the infant with my body as I
nursed the bonds of love that fastened
tightly into my heart.

Love grows fitfully, finds its own space
to develop. He is my child, I am his mother.
With care I nurture his life
and he nurtures mine.


Mother’s Day 2001

Prayer’s answer stands over shoulder high,
squirms impatiently under my arm.
Evidence God’s blessing breathing
into my daily life.

Tears I remember sitting
as mothers stood to be honored
on their special day
Inward cries of desire to share their gift.
A barren heart, home filled
with shrieks of delight.

In a circle of prayer, desires shared.
Humble hopes laid down,
picked up by a joining of hands.
Now here he stands twelve years tall.
A reminder, a witness God’s love,
His living light reflected into my life.

A Mother’s Heart

The heart of a mother
derives from a Father:
the Abba, Daddy
loving God of heaven.

She absorbs love
leaning against his knee.
She drinks compassion
into her soul from the cup
offered by His hand.

She croons her suffering child
into her breast,
smooths his wayward cowlick
with her cheek,
kisses his tears

Her fears she whispers
to Her Father
in almost silent prayers,
knows He understands.
She shares each concern
with Him.
He gathers her tears
in crystal spheres
adorning His throne..


c. Darlene Moore Berg


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Then Every Tree

“Then Every Tree in the Forest will Sing…”
I Chronicles 16:33

Willows hum their lonely blues,
swaying arms low in supplication to You.

Oaks cloaked in grey garments of Spanish moss,
vibrate in rhythm to finger-snapping jazz,
zydeco along the bayou.

Sugar maples turn traditional hymns into
a syrup of delicious arias of praise.

Aspens quaver in easy-listening harmonies,
clutching bravely to a steep ascent of scale.

Gnarled windswept pines chant monkishly
the Name to the roar of ocean breakers.

Palms toss to the rumba of the Carribean,
the tropic heat swelling on the tide…

A cacophony of clattering leaves,
weaves a symphony, an alleluia welcome
with the approach of Your footsteps
O Lord, Almighty.

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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Jack in the Pulpit

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

Jack in the Pulpit

The Reverend Jack,
robed in lavender this season,
peeks surreptitiously
at the assembled congregation;
rises up in his green-draped pulpit
for a spring morning exhortation.

c.Darlene Moore Berg

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Dogwood shyly uncovers her face/ wonders if spring has truly come/wakes slowly into the caress of the sun

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The Reason

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

This poem was written several years ago. The forsythia is in bloom here today but my neighbors south of us had a surprise snow from Southern Missoui,Illinois, Arkansas to Kentucky tow nights ago

The Reason It Really Snowed On An April Night

Mother Nature changed her bed linens last night,
washed the flannel sheets and her quilted coverlets,
shook out her favorite eiderdown comforter…

The stitches old and weak unraveled,
and the down flew out thick and white
and blanketed the world.

The flower heads, reds and yellows
gazed up in mute surprise;
the trees sagged with a double heavy load–
fresh snow and early green leaves.

And Mother Nature laughed until she cried.
The tears fell wet and formed as ice
into faces looking up to question “Why?”

c.Darlene Moore Berg

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