Bird Whimsy with a nod to the artist Suzi Denis
The bird painted on my mug
is staring at me: an anxious stare an air of trepidation in her gaze.
I might pick her up. Bathe her in the hottest of water and hide her back in a dark corner of the cabinet.
She may prefer to hang out
in the mug tree by the coffee pot. She is a connoisseur of tea and doesn’t mind hot chocolate.
I bet it’s the cat
that has her in a nervous twit. The cat strolls where she will and has been known to knock a mug off my windowsill and shatter it beyond all human repair.
The bird on my mug
continues to stare.
Wishing a Happy Mother’s Day to all women: whether currently a mother, grandmother, waiting to be a Mother, or a mother to those who have none. God Bless.
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
He gathers her tears
in crystal spheres
adorning His throne..
c.Darlene Moore Berg
photo by Bob Morton
A portrait, an unstudied snapshot
a Father’s love observes his son,
his delight in creation’s majesty.
The child points into the saffron-
melon to cantaloupe the sky.
Seems to paint the indigo blue clouds
with his own index finger.
One artist to another, lingering
waiting for the burst of light
to shatter the remnants of darkness,
for the hope of a bright new day.
The Son’s love completes his work.
Time to play.
It is interesting what you read on the Internet. I just found out that April 30th this year is “poem in your pocket” Day which reminded me of a poem I wrote about two decades ago…
I’ve a poem in my pocket
a verse waiting
to be penned.
It rustles as I move
tugging on my skirt
I have a poem
in my pocket
sitting in the corner
of my mind
hoping to find
c. Darlene Moore Berg
Pause awhile sheltered under the eaves
screen yourself from harm: wind, sun, disease
find a measure of peace, tranquility
A luna moth folds its upper wings
Its daylight sojourn secure
free from predators.
Free to just be—
This Easter is unique. We will celebrate our communion at separate tables, virtually.
From a chunk of freshly baked bread
to the smallest minuscule morsel.
The sweet pressed juice of ruby red grapes
to the bitter dry burgundy wine
in quiet sober contemplation
or in joyous song, jubilation
The elements of faith pass by—
bless us now.
From One who Once was Dead
A poem for Good Friday
Lazarus held his sisters close,
both weeping into his woven cloak
standing at a distance
from His cross.
A simple Sabbath day walk.
Lazarus knew the power
of this Man’s voice.
Wondered at this Man’s choice
to hang there wounded, bleeding,
Jesus wept for him as friend.
Lazarus’ eyes welled for Him.
The darkened day, the wounded
souls, wailing at the feet.
He bowed his head into his
sister’s tangled hair.
Lord, O Lord,
what are you doing there?
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Love’s anointing lingers
its fragrant offering
bathes His scalp:
pricked, pressed with thorns
a painful crown.
A scent, a sweet perfume of hope
throughout the sacrificial morn.
His love pours out: precious drop
by precious drop.
Her oil of nard, nothing stinted.
Love freely given, never lost
despite its cost.
c. 2019 Darlene Moore Berg
Gardening is in the Genes
In mimicry of God,
I shove the spade into the sod,
turn over the soil,
gently place a seedling redbud tree
within the hole,
firm enriched humus about its roots.
A halo of pink will encircle my head.
An attempt to re-create an Eden
within the confines of a suburban lot.
Knees creak, back aches.
Potting out the petunias, Impatiens, salvia:
dreams of a rainbow riot of flowers
arch through my mind,
blooms nod prayers
in a playful spring breeze.
I stand, stretch, ease sore muscles,
see birds and butterflies decorate my skies.
A pair of hummingbirds dart
in a dazzling zigzag to the feeder.
Where to dig a place for a fish pond,
make a safe haven for frogs, turtles,
a space for colorful Japanese iris
to spear heaven?
An effort to please the eye,
draw praise to a creator,
welcome weary visitors,
refresh a soul.
I rest under the shadow of a living tree
Blossoms perfume the coming night.
I yearn to harvest fruit from its branches
and share with you in delight.
c.Darlene Moore Berg
Great Egret March 2, 2020
Great Egret in the Naples Botanical Garden
A tall white elegant bird
neck a shallow forward “S”
a long narrow gold beak.
Mistook it for a statue.
After all he was standing just behind
the stone pelican at the tropical
Graceful and still.
Until he moved ever so slightly.
One brief high stepping
black foot, then the other.
A cautious approach
eye on the water’s mirrored surface
and whatever may dwell there
swimming beneath its feet.
The beak hovers, poised
a spear ready to strike.