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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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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Happy Mother’s Day

A beautiful Mother’s Day to all!

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits


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.

Mother Heart

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
with Him.
He gathers her tears
in crystal spheres
adorning His throne..

c.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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A Dogwood Blossom

Darlene's Poetical Pursuits


A Dogwood Blossom

Trace the contours,
the edges of each petal
come to the point, indented
dipped in darkest red.
In legend, it is said
that each white quartet
is living memory
of the cross
where Christ once bled.

c.Darlene Moore Berg

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Where it All Began

Where it All Began
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Time to come back to the stable
stroll through the stalls
brush the mane from a donkey’s eyes
scratch the head of a calf
pick up a kid, a lamb
cuddle in their soft fur

and through an open door pause
kneel before the newest occupant
an infant bedded in straw.
A young woman caresses his cheek
wets his face with her tears of joy

it is crowded here
but quiet, reverent
something new, intangible
a fragrant incense of hope
arises in each human heart
breathe in the presence of God

c.Darlene Moore Berg 2015

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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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