Category Archives: 1

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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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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