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
“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
And So it Is
“The only dream that lives…” From ‘Our Dreams’ by Ann Weems
not a house with a perfect floor plan /sited just so /amidst the trees /with forested hills in view/ a rocking chair on a porticoed porch.
Not a job with hours predictable/ the work stimulating and enjoyable/ no late nights, padded paycheck/ smiling, happy co-workers and colleagues.
Not a car, a boat/ not a diamond ring/ not any “thing”
not even a person /husband, wife, friend/ son, daughter/ significant other.
Just—the breath of God/ the gentle inhalation of salvation/ the exhalation of hope, joy/ the beating of Christ’s heart/ within your own chest.
c.Darlene Moore Berg
It seems the world has had more than its share of storms within this past month.
I. Asleep, My Lord?
Fear rocks the boat in waves of disbelief,faith crashes into splinters….and the Lord sleeps.
Bailing doubts that wash unbidden into the keel,we try in vain to tie down vagrant, flapping sails;all our tattered hopes whip free in the ensuing gale.
Fear rocks the boat…and the Lord’s asleep.
Straining at the oars against a head wind,we search for the safety of solid ground.The boat floods in despair’s crescendo waves.
Our Lord sleeps, curled up, eyes closed, innocent…And the boat begins to sink.
In the wreckage of our faith….He sleeps,and when in deepest anguish we shout out to Him: can He still hear us above the roar of the storm?
The night shatters into sudden, quiet calm.Christ stands in the very center of our lives…The impression of a rope distinctly coiledacross his left cheek. Not asleep.
He knots our fears into absolute silenceand awe….our faces still wet with sea spray.We may not know who commands whom,but we know who is Lord—-the captain of this storm.We know the power of His single word.
Teach Me to Pray
Palm to palm
finger to finger
each coal black worry,
into the workings,
the anguish of a prayer
leave these there
in glistening diamond tears
let His peace, calm
into your innermost being
when its time
your heart rhythm
slow and steady
open wide your hands
let it all drop into His
raise yours now
palms open to heaven
fingers spread wide
in wordless wonder
c.2017 Darlene Moore Berg
Mary counts the toes
she counts the fingers
not a one is missing
two eyes, a nose
the feeling of love
of wonder, grows
as she explores
the soft, wriggling newborn
wrapped in her arms
She is alone this morn
just the two: mother and son
warm amidst the blankets,
cushioned by the straw in the barn.
The shepherds and villagers are gone.
Joseph off to find
the morning repast.
She now snuggles at last
into the love of God
humming her lullabies of praise
She raises Him, this little one
close to her heart.
Nourished in spirit and soul
she nourishes Him with her very self.
c. 2016 Darlene Moore Berg
The Empty Cross
Three crosses on a hill
Two occupied, bones picked clean
One stained only with blood
In death empty
Where is the body?
Wrapped in linen, incense, myrrh?
Hidden in a rock-hewn tomb?
Guarded by soldiers?
The Tomb stands open, vacant
Scattered stips of cloth
Left on a stone slab
The garden quiet, birds singing
In the distance
Where is the Man buried here?
Where is death’s victim?
Where is the crown of thorns?
Where are the tears shed here?
A crowd on a hill
A man glowing in light
A rising, shining glory
Clouds enclose the view
Christ is ascended..
c. Darlene Moore Berg