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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Coldest April

This poem was written in 2007. May have to revise it to Coldest April in + 11 more years…

Coldest April in 114 years

In an inexplicable fit of irresponsibility
April flew out for a Carribean cruise last Wednesday.
She cut a deal for 11 days, 10 nights.
March had promised to do her a favor
and watch the spring weather for her.
But then he traded 4 days and three nights
from January to escape to Disney World.

And that’s how it is—
January put Spring to bed with his cold breath:
nipped and frosted each exuberant bud,
flower and newly out-flung green leaf;
Left wilted puddles of vegetation
across the country expanse.

When Spring awoke, she started to cry.
Inconsolable is she.
March tries to calm her down
with his erratic winds, but she’ll have
nothing to do with him.
May stopped by briefly to warm
things up a bit, but departed quickly.

Summer sent an angry e-mail to Mother
about the coming lack of fruit
for her famous jams and jellies.
Autumn wrote a P.S. about the quantity
of grapes for wine.

April is locked in her room upon
her return and won’t talk to anyone.
Mother Nature is on the line
with God the Father about what can be done
to minimize the damage April’s wrought.

c.2007 Darlene Moore Berg

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M.D.

In honor of National Doctors Day

MD

Human handsDry, rough, skin crackedFrom frequent washing.Gentle hands in touchFirm hands with control These hands know the differenceBetween caring and indifferenceBetween pokes and prodsAnd a kind concern.Warm hands on squirmy belliesHands to caress the tears, the fearsHumble hands with finite knowledge Hands reaching up to brushThe Hand of the Infinite—The Great Physician.Hands seeking wisdomTo help, to healHands lifted up in mute appealHands of hope, of faithHuman hands.

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Marriage

flying in tandem

Lives intertwined together

Going the long haul

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Keeping Watch

Christmas Eve and are we keeping our own Watch for the child to come?

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

Keeping Watch?

Hands that have not touched soap and water,
perhaps, in weeks.
Black fingernails, broken and chipped
lift to greet a sight
bright, blinding in the heavens—
angels bursting forth in God’s reflected glory.
Eyes reel peeking between calloused fingers,
see blurred a host shouting, singing, speaking
and with awe, stutter “why me, why us, Lord?”
from silent lips.
Ears resonate with words, hear but comprehend?
Intent only on the voices of scattered sheep,
the choruses of heaven invade, echo through
the poor hillside shelters of their lives.

And as the glow dims, it’s a jostling,
“Did yo’ see what I saw?” and “Well, why not
let’s go check it out?”
And the draw to Bethlehem, a wonder
indeed. For it was all as the angel said.
Some poor woman an’ her man, a new infant
wrapped up good and tight
from the cold of night
laying in a…

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Known

Used in church this morning with an alternate ending:
“In wonder, in awe I live mylife, write my poems, play, sing
before Him.”

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

Known

He knows my name
each letter, each syllable, first, middle, last
He whispers it on the evening breeze,
He croons it in the midnight darkness.
He breathes it into my heart in the morning
His new name for me…
Beloved.

He knows who I am
each cell, each hair, each element
each wayward thought and action
He knows me
from fertilized ovum to this being stumbling
through each long day.
He transforms me through His Spirit
and I become a new creation, His child.

I know His Name only in part—
God, Father, Lord, I Am that I Am, Almighty, Savior…
I sit in wonder, awestruck before Him.

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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