Category Archives: Religious

Teach Me to Pray

Teach Me to Pray

Palm to palm
finger to finger
press together
each coal black worry,
concern, fear

into the workings,
the anguish of a prayer
leave these there

the salt
in glistening diamond tears
crystallizes
becomes hope

now wait
let His peace, calm
trickle down
into your innermost being

when its time
your heart rhythm
slow and steady
open wide your hands
let it all drop into His
scarred ones

raise yours now
palms open to heaven
fingers spread wide
in wordless wonder
verbalize praise

c.2017 Darlene Moore Berg

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Christmas Morning

 

Foot_fingers_baby_infantbaby
Christmas Morning

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

 

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The Empty Cross

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

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Hands

An infant, newborn

Fits between two palms

 

Imagine the immensity,

The entirety of God’s love

Cradled within fragile

Human hands.

 

His gaze locks with yours,

A focus, fixed, intense

Searching

 

Blink your eyes

And the Man, the Son of God

Before you stands

And now

He holds you within

His hands

c. Darlene Moore Berg 2015

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Mary’s Baby

 
Mary’s baby Jesus, she
held upon her knee.
The son of God, an infant boy
she tickled to his glee.

Mary’s baby Jesus, she
held up to her face.
The son of God, her little one
she danced around their place.

Mary’s baby Jesus, she
picked up when he fell.
The son of God, a toddler she
brushed off, kissed him well.

Mary’s baby Jesus, she
looked around to find.
The son of God, a growing child
she couldn’t believe the time.

Mary’s baby Jesus, she
hugged good-bye and waved.
The son of God, a man full-grown
she watched him walk away.

Mary’s baby Jesus, she
saw him crucified.
The son of God, the son of Man
she touched his bleeding side.

Mary’s baby Jesus, she
mourned when he had died.
The son of God, the Savior Lord
she saw him glorified.

Mary’s baby Jesus, please
answer when he calls
The son of God, the Prince of Peace
give Him your heart, your all.

c. Darlene Moore Berg

this is an older poem of mine but fitting for this season

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Mother and Child

Madonnas and Child
after a painting Mother and Child by Maurice Sterne 1926

“He was suckled at his mother’s breast.”
A classic image of maternal love,
the Madonna and child—-
visible in a thousand different faces,
a hundred various shades of skin tone,
ivory white to darkest brown.

Tranquility: the breast feeding hormone,
prolactin, releases its calming effect.
And a quiet peace steals a moment free from anxiety,
lines smooth on a weary woman’s face,
a racing heart slows to the rhythm of an infant nursing,
clutched protectively to a bare breast.

Mother to the world,
a transcendent experience, out-of-time,
the nurtured, nurturing child of God’s design
feeds on warm, sweet milk;
he tastes, digests his mother’s muted fear.
Her terror packs away in bundles slung
over an ass’s back and tied with sturdy cords.

A warning thunders in the distance,
the sound of hooves, the rumble of chariots..
Tanks roll across the horizon, the vibrations of artillery
detonate in the next village.
The soldiers come, and come once more…
and safety is always a thousand mile flight
across the shifting sands…
the landscape of another war.

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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The Paschal Lamb

The Paschal Lamb

God’s blood is on the doorpost of my heart,
salvation poured out into my life.

The angel of Death flies overhead,
and I am invisible in the night.

Standing I eat unleavened bread
sent from heaven,
drink the wine of remembrance—
a supper of lamb.

I am marked by His redemption.
I eat no bitter herbs.
I taste joy.

c. Darlene Moore Berg
IMG_0174

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