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We Are All Eve’s Daughters

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

This poem appeared in Bellowing Ark about 7 years ago and again in the very short lived journal Three.One.Six.

We Are All Eve’s Daughters

I chafe under any command
I do not understand the reasoning behind.
I resist a simple, “Go”, with “Why?”
A “Do this” with “What will it accomplish?”
And a “Do not touch” with “What would be
the ramifications if I did?”
Ready to listen to any serpent’s lies.

Simple obedience.
A skill not innate in woman.
God must have seen the complications
of an estrogen influenced mind.
The delicacy of hormonal balance,
the female curves—
her circular line of reasoning,
the logic that escapes a male perspective.

I cannot say I would not have caressed the apple,
tasted its crisp tart flesh.
We learn the hard way to resist temptations,
and Eve had no practice, no training.
And with all my self-imposed discipline,
sometimes there is…

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Mary, at the Cross

Spring and Good Friday today, Easter is only two days away

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

This poem made its debut in the mid 1990’s as part of a Good Friday service at New City Fellowship in University City,MO. It was the first in what became a series of poems I wrote centered around various women of the Bible.

Mary, at the Cross

A drop of blood
slowly falls
from His foot, lands
close to where I stand.
I close my eyes to
the anguish
in His face,
cannot close off
the anguish
in my heart.
As a mother
I would gladly
trade His place,
stretch out my arms,
embrace the wood,
the nails–-
Let them pierce me, instead.

God, I am not angry with You.
I hurt, am bewildered.
After all
He is Your Son, too.
What does His dying here
prove?

c.Darlene Moore Berg

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The Master’s Example

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

Holy Week, the Easter season. This poem relates to a scene in the Last Supper where Jesus is washing feet. see the Gospel of John 13:12-16..

The Master’s Example

The road-dust stained towel set aside,
brown water thrown out the upper-storey window—
An unexpected anointing for the unwashed
lingering outside in the back street
with a touch of the humble holiness of God the son.

With hearts subdued, feet clean,
we listened as words bathe
our battered pride, our expectations.
Examples.
Hard to refute the Master:
the scene of Our Lord in service before us.
The lowest part, the most disreputable portion
of ourselves touched by His Hand.

Demands. Servant. Messenger.
Feet to carry the cleansing word of God out into all
the streets and alleys, the back lots of humanity.
Feet washed with water and towel by Jesus Christ himself.
Discipleship. Obedience.
We didn’t understand the price.
We…

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Violets

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

Violets invade spring:
tiny purple promises
bobbing gently between
blades of grass green.

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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Encased, shrouded the world wears a coat of crystal/ bows beneath the weight/ the resilient do not break.

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White Elephants

It is that time again: Covenant Bible Church’s annual White Elephant exchange tonight. Starts at 5:30 with soup and sandwiches

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits

christmas dec05 022An annual tradition of our local church community for about the past decade has been the White elephant gift exchange/party. Due this year on New Year’s Day.

Come One, Come All!

The white elephants are on parade
disguised, camouflaged
in pretty bags, boxes, papers, bows
so no one can nose out the prize,
the surprise, the embarrassment
a size 2 party dress, I must confess
hilarious held up by a bearded old man.
A girl with a miter saw trades for a candle.
The pig cookie jar, who knew? A star!
A deer head joke, facial expressions priceless.
The annual Christmas goose is this years cardinals fan.
Pickled eggs? Straw hats?
What’s up with that?
Who would trade the laughter with the gifts?
Such a lift of heart to see families band together
and friends connect with one another.
And don’t you dare take that
one thousand piece puzzle
of…

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Migration

Migration
in loving memory of Janet Depriest Ahlrich

the wind sighs, shifts to the north
the sun ascends at a southward slant
daylight shortens minute by minute
and the birds at the feeder: migrants
on their journey to some new winter abode

A longing for a different home
the ability to lift my heart, my soul on wings
soaring to a goal beyond
this world dimmer, another brighter
and I wonder when I will learn
to fly
I scan the horizon
You, my friend a distant dot
amidst the clouds

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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