Excerpt for Wanderlust by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


Other Books by the Author;



A Child’s Journey Through Darkness

Weeping Child to Forgiving Child

A Child Interrupted

And The Child grew Up

Crushed Violets

Love Letters to Daddy

Unshaken

Mining Town Girl

























Copyright © 2018 by Donna Nieri



Wanderlust



So another journey of the

girl, as she leaves

the story of the past

behind.



The children have grown

older,

the boy moves on,

but she remains

in the last mining

town.



Her wanders and travels

have come to an

end, but the bumps

and ridges continue to

travel in her mind.



There is placed within

her heart, to turn from

her mother's ways.

Her father still lives

in the city and she

visits on a bus,



an exciting time, she is

not sure why, he is

inebriated, but he is

kind.

Back home, she feels the

absence of her father's

embrace.

Things are about the same,

arguments and fights, bring

more agony and pain.



Then mama comes home one

day with a book, not sure

what it is, but the words

say "bible," and the girl

looks inside.



This has to be a

miracle, coming from her,

and later they would know,

it is inspired from

above.



The girl tries to read it,

but it makes no sense and

she puts it on the shelf.



She had a vision awhile

back, of a Father,

the one who replaced the

one she was looking for,



but through all the

heartache of life, she

soon lost sight.



Sporadic visits from time

to time with her father,

always ends with heart wrench

departures.



Praying she will not be

sent away, that her stay

can be delayed, for a while

anyway.

He becomes ill, the boy

and girl are called to his

side. Gasping for breath,



thinking this will surely

be his last, the seconds go

by.

Seems like a minute, then

he takes another breath.

He is dying in agony and

pain that alcohol brings.



It started with one, beer,

then whiskey and highballs.

There is no cure all for

this.



Tears come as she returns

home, never to have her

father back again.



Now a greater desire than

ever fills her heart and

slowly it is filled with

devotion and piety.



No more bad words, no

sleeveless dress. No

more lipstick and eye



shadow causes the worst

duress. Her lips and

eyes have always hidden

what is inside.



The holes that were bored

for earrings - skin filled

in. Hair is straight, no

more curls,



no more dangles, bangles,

diamonds or anything. Her

altered face, erased

from the world.



Feeling like a gazing ball

for all to see,

her little girl within isn't

sure what is happening.



Now, some may wonder why

the girl gets high on

religion, to not follow

alcohol or some other

addiction.



Isn't it the furthest from

evil you can get? But if

the truth is known, this

one surpasses all, in

self-righteousness.

A trickle of blood, a cramp,

horrified, as she looks down,

the menses has struck.

Being prepared to carry on

the maternal past, she is

sure her children will be

spared what she received.

Still sitting, covered

with dust,

she is convicted to take

the book off the shelf.

Beginning to read the

Word, hope begins to

dispel her doubts.

Her desert experience has

left her parched and dry,

leaving a trickle of a

stream, becoming

stagnant and full of lies.



Words are read, "you have

drawn in your heart

a picture of Me, one

like your father.

But I'm not the one you

see."



Saucers of blue spin in the

breeze, morning glories climb

on the old wood post. Tendrils



twist and turn, as blossoms

fade in the shade. Sort of

like her life, trying to

bloom, petals quickly vanish

away.

The locusts are back with a fury!



Threats, with fingers

pointing to the door, telling

her to leave, she is just

not good enough to please.

At the age of sixteen

and constant issues with

her mother, she is married.

Now she has two children,

and not sure what to do,

her motherly instinct

fights for her children's



fate. She means well,

but there are just too many

things on her plate.

What does she do with

these two?

In their little white

cribs,



four brown eyes stare,

little clenched fists,

she doesn't think she can

do this!



She has the desperate fear

they will see her, as she

sees her mother.

She is led to

share the Good News with

her brother and "mother."



(Mama becomes

mother as the girl becomes

older).

She has concern for her

brother's ways.

Heeding her concern, he

turns to God, changing

the course of his life

to a better way.



As time goes on mother

becomes zealous going to

opposite extremes,



pronouncing hell fire and

damnation, embarrassing

her in front of family and

friends.

Mother is assaulted, she is

thrown against the door of

the car. Her head is

compromised even more.



For the rest of her life

she has seizures, a scare

her children must bear.



It is cruel fate, for a

mother who knew no better,

languishing upon her

bed in a cancerous state.



A body eaten by a sinister

disease leaves a ravaged

body instead.



She wails like the sound

of a stricken bird.

Her head beads with sweat,



her lips are swabbed with

a cloth,

she retches in the pan

placed below her head.



The girl bathes her broken

body hoping she will be

spared and soon be dead.



Felines stalk the room

with cries, clawing

curtains, scratching at the

door, sensing her eminent

death.



Mother reaches to her

daughter, arms outstretched,

one last breath, she dies.



The girl is in shock, and

suddenly stricken with shame

for the anger she has had

with her mother.

In her once pliable heart

now rises a

hatred for the years that

have given her a difficult

start.



The turmoil and confusion

create guilt and shame,

questioning why,

as she vacillates between

anger and blame.



Pressing memories, ready

to explode,

she develops a puzzling



way of defense, using codes

and symbols that assemble

in her head.



Compulsive behavior becomes

a prey, afflicting her

new found faith.

How should she pray, what

position, sitting or kneeling?

The thought goes back and

forth with repetitive force,

her prayers stop at the



ceiling. Should she repeat

the words? It is hard to

convey the words she would

like to say. She doesn't



know there is a Helper

standing by,

presenting her words on

high.

A stutter of the mind begins,

processing doubts and thoughts,

creating brain lock.



Should she or should she

not, as she wavers at the

door, her body slightly

tilts from left to right,

hands pressed against the

floor.



Ticker tape and bells

take their toll,

these games they play.



Weapons of letters and

numbers fly in retaliation,

artillery launches from a

canon, cross fire in opposite

directions.



At each assault, her mind

makes a circle of letters,

numbers in sequence of five.



As the battle intensifies

the numbers increase, with

tapping of fingers to the

armies trumpet beat.

It is difficult to explain

the intricate design that

weaves the girl's body

and mind to the womb of

her mother's time.



She desperately desires

to cut the cord

that ties her to her maternal



past, but these ties resist,

there is not an instrument

sharp enough to sever this.



All these desires

are as ropes of sand,

always returning to

where she began.



In her mind, fleeing

into darkness, a shiftless

sea of windswept sand



cradles her, but it is

preparing her for a better

land.

A veil drapes about her,

entering a womb a second

time,



labor pains increase in this

crucible of heat, but the

flame of God is slowly fanned

into a gift of healing.



Rambling voices, hissing

sounds, make their rounds.

It doesn't really matter

which addiction is chosen,



the same rule applies,

if you don't reach for

help, you eventually die.



The reverent, saintly

stare, ends in despair.

But don't find fault



with this chosen cauldron

of affliction, one that

will bring salvation.



Anfechtungen - the dark

invasive thoughts descend.



It is time to relinquish

her pious ways and nail

them to the cross.

To come in from the wanderlust

and wash off the dust.



Sixteen theses for sixteen

years of crises nailed to

the door.

No more indulgences, no

more penance, no more

worship of an unforgiving

god.

What likeness will she find

for a father, or what form

will resemble Him? **



*******



Sitting on a bench,

reflecting on her life,

there is a longing in



her heart, couldn't it

have been different,

than this one of strife?



But if it had not been for

this, she would not have

reached

for something better.



The formative years have

not been wasted, the

bumps and ridges of



the dry desert sand, truly

have become bridges to

a better land.



This is a work in progress,

a prophecy in time. She

presses on with hope, that

what she cannot see, will

one day come to be.

********

The house stands strong

and tall. Proud and free

it looks to be.



Leaves swept bare, not

a weed to be seen,

shrubs neatly trimmed.

All in all this place

has a happy face.



But windows and doors

are locked, no one

can go in or come out.



A girl resides here,

it is dark.



Shades are drawn, she

sits all day long

sewing on

her ascension gown.



A spotless house,

not even a mouse

would dare to enter.



The clock's pendulum

strikes on the hour,

announcing she must



hurry to obey her

rituals to sweep

and dust.



The kitchen table with

empty chairs is saddened.

In the cupboards are

antagonists, chewing.



Lowly locusts with their

flatulence bellies and

bulging eyes, inch their

ways through grubby

cabinets.

Tired at the end of

the day, hoping to rest,

but this is when memories



have their ways. Tossing and

turning she can no longer

bear being eaten alive.



A cry is heard from the

disheveled cat, as smoke

comes through the door.



The room at the very

top bursts into flames.

The room she could never

go in.



She is awakened, and

quickly rises,

picking up her dress,

running to the door, it

falls on the floor.



It is sad, this house is

now ashes, but it has to

be, all is removed, a new

way flashes in her mind.

HER THOUGHTS MUST BE RESTORED

TO THEIR RIGHTFUL PLACE!



The scavengers of earth,

devouring their prey, must

bow in solemnity,

to the sacred

word of antiquity.



"The years the locusts have

eaten will be restored."

They have not been wasted.**



The letters she has hidden

behind,

are now words of poetry seeking

her mind.



Pages are bursting to be

heard. The code is revealed

in God's word.



The once disarrayed cat sits

by the fire in contentment. The

puppeteers have relinquished

their ties with shears sharp

enough to break the lies.



The cabinets are no longer

stirring, gnawing has

ceased as the locusts

retreat.



She did all she could to

make herself clean. This

girl of dust is no longer



a wanderlust. Her house

has become a home, glowing

within.



She would like to invite

all to come and eat, there

is plenty of room at the

table,



a table draped in

white linen, bread and drink

freely given. Candlelight

reflects the faces of those

no longer hidden!

























*Isaiah 40:18

**Joel 2:25

Reunion

What excitement!

The day has finally arrived,

To be reunited with her father,

one so cruelly snatched from

Her.



A name tag is pinned

On her lapel as she boards the

Bus,

Labeling her as the child with

No identity - is this who she is,

She does not know.



The bus is ready to leave!

As she boards, the smell of

Exhaust and the sound of roaring

Engines, gives her a surge



Of excitement, with the promise

Of seeing him again. How many stops

Before the final destination?

But thoughts of joy make it seem

As nothing.



Finally, the bus rolls into the

Familiar terminal, of many trips

Before. She anxiously looks out

The window, looking for him.

Descending the steps, she falls

Into his arms, feeling his

Tight embrace. Smelling the



Familiar alcohol and cigarettes

That cling to his clothing,

This is her father and she

loves him dearly.





Her Inner Child

At the age of sixteen, a new

destructive psyche was

suddenly introduced.



A mental disorder called

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

A disorder that was little

known about at that time.



This fear suddenly grabbed her

mind and left her trembling

inside. Little did she know

that this was the beginning

of a dark night of her soul.



She was so far removed from

her inner child, that she had

neglected and abused, that

she would have aborted her if

possible.



In looking back a negative

mother image was constellated

in her as a result of her

mother's inability to nurture

her.



Thus started a life of

suffering in silence, not

willing to utter a word of

this secret kept deep inside.



She ran from this darkness

implementing many survival

tools to find relief, but

never experiencing it.



She fought against her not

realizing that she actually

had the key to deliverance

from the inner darkness.



She fell prey to obsessive

thinking and religiosity,

thinking it might bring

about some comfort, but the

more she did the more

depressed she became.



After many years of attempted

resolution of why she felt

this way, she was slowly led

to see why this darkness met

her at every turn.



She found scriptures that

articulated her dark feelings.

She was forced to recognize

that this darkness was trying



to tell her something and

not until she embraced it,

would she begin to understand



that the years of pain and

suffering were bringing

about a child desperately

waiting to be reborn.























Commodities



The body is a commodity,

little pieces making up

the whole,

each part is integral.



An odyssey takes place

from a journey of long

ago.



A voyage over waters

to a destined place, the

place where it started.



A long wandering in her

mind, the prodigy child

has been the captain,



directing this ship

through an uneven course

of events.

The pirates are part of

the conspiracy, they

stalk the decks with



their muskets and swords,

sailing the high seas,

searching for their bounty.



Quietly they come, then

plunder alive, these thieves

of the stormy swells.



Entering the cabin of the

ship, taking hostage of

the child within, she

fights, snatching back what

is rightfully hers.



Beginning to flounder,

in sinking waters swords

gleaming in the night.



A Captain comes to her

aid, speaking a Word,

lifting her above

this battle of rage.



Now she is one in mind

and body, the commodities

have been restored -

the ones she had lost!

Defend



Don't judge her,

Have you walked in

her skin?



Do you know how she

has run from fear

and sin?



But if she doesn't

defend her, who will?

Metamorphosis



A shiny green womb,

with iridescent jewels,

hangs among branches

and trees.



The cocoon waves in the

breeze, spinning little

threads to make a bed,

for a long evening sleep.



Winds come up and rain

begins to pour, this

sleeping one wakes to a

shaking and is stirred.



Creatures begin to run

and hide, burrowing in

their dens, but the

little cocoon has no

where to go.

There is only air

between it and where

the green ferns grow.



The storm becomes

fiercer, bouncing from

side to side, this creature



is stripped of it's

jewels and pearls and

feels ugly inside.



A metamorphosis of

neurosis sets in. In dismay

this resident questions

the elements, feeling



forgotten with emptiness,

it does not know that to

live it must die.



In the sky a new day arises,

the door opens wide, a

lustrous butterfly no

longer questions why.

Reasons



It happens now and then,

she never knows when.

Why doesn't she see them

coming?



Emotions are risen and

geared for collision.



She can't make a decision,

her heart beats with

palpitations.



Her stomach is growling,

her head is pounding,



Her thoughts are spinning,

and words are hidden.

When will she ever learn

these lessons?



But wait, let's toss out

these isim's,

and replace them with

reason!

Rumblings



Oh, the rumblings of the

brain, regurgitating

pain,



indigestible food, it

passes in vain,

she wonders if she is

sane.



Little fires everywhere,

she tries to put them

out at once,



but they bounce from

place to place, they

never stay in one

space.



Girl With A Memory



The other girl with a

memory trails behind her.



Trying to keep up, she

stops, calling,

“remember me?”



I'm the one you left

long ago, the one you

hide from.



The one that whispers

in your ear, the one

you won't hear.



I visit you in

your dreams, hoping

you will listen.

You are the dear one.



You try to ignore me,

I try to leave, but

I can't, a little piece

of you is attached.



You and I have been

through a lot together.

We eat together, we

sleep together, we

wear the same clothes.



We get angry with each

other.



Please don't leave,

it will break my

heart, I will always

love you, please don't

let this keep us apart.



Traveling Pain



Pick the battles one

by one,

those who don't are

overwhelmed.



All these piles

really smell as they

move around, wound

by wound.

Hot spots of

anger seethe and fester,

traveling from place

to place.



Just when you think

one is out, another

takes its space.



Her tools are like a

sizzle of a match

stick dipped in

water,

things just get hotter

and hotter.



Her hair is singed

and her body charred

and there isn't any

water.



But she didn't know

she was angry when

it first began.



All she knew to do

was to cry, as she

ran and ran.

That's alright He

understands.



Count your victories

one by one, don't

let them be forgotten.



Don't let troubles

bring borrowed

sorrows.



Joys are doubled when

shared with others.



The Attic



The foundation is weak,

It seeks its own level.

Rusty pipes leak, joints

Creak.

Red climbing roses speckled

With peeling paint,

From decades of neglect. Age

Has had its effect.



The attic bears the burden of

This house of ruptures and

Fissures, storing baggage in

Rafters.

There is a strange quietness

About this place, like the

Stillness before a storm.

Something is full and

Ready to blow.

It has capacity to hold no more.

She is hesitant to go in,

But that is not strange. She left

Long ago. It was too much for her,



she split in two, leaving the

Child, a part of her, behind,

But she followed her in her mind.



In her dreams she could hear her

Crying. In her nightmares she

Would scream,

She wanted to be embraced.



She can bear it no longer,

she has to return to claim

What is rightfully hers.

This house bore life

Alone, it is empty now.

A long list of traumas fills

The attic to capacity.

Memories had overflowed, no

Room for more. With such

Weight, beams crumble,

Falling into the house.

Calling out to her reaching in,

Pulling her child out.

Now with her she will remain.



The attic collapses.

A soft glint of orange erupts

Into red tongues of fire,

Consuming the rooms. A caustic

Smell of fumes fills the air.



A gust of wind fans the blaze,

Burning, until little is left

But ashes and dust and a few

Childhood remembrances, that

Survived this holocaust.

The sole of a shoe that once

Held her foot, now covered

In soot.



A pink party dress smoldering

In cinders. A doll looking

Injured with charred eyes and

Lips, her hair on edge and

Scars on her head.

A book with singed ruffled edges

Opened to a nursery rhyme,

"And all fell down." she is

Astounded!

Walking through the rubble,

she sees what trouble the neglect

Of this house has caused.



Sitting amidst ashes,

Tears begin to fall.

This house had been her body,

The attic her mind.

She really didn't mean to leave.

She did not know what else

To do. If she had stayed she

Would have lost her mind.



This house had been deserted,

The pain it bore, tore a hole

In her soul. It must be

Restored.



Who will do this? Hinges and

Doors must be replaced as

Well as windows and floors.

The whole body of this home,

she has ignored.



Rebuilder of broken walls,

Restorer of houses in ruin,*

Take the destruction and waste,



Prepare a dwelling place.

One that is built with

Your love and grace.

*Isaiah 58:12 New English Bible

Festival of Lights



The village square sits

forgotten!



Abandoned long ago, it

sits in darkness.

The trees have no blossoms

and there is no sound of the

robin.



Seasons pass unto autumn,

the well is dry in the

bottom.



In the church not a word

is spoken. Voices are

saddened.



Villagers once weaved

their cotton, sewing with

needles and buttons.



And often when you hear

the wind blow, there is

the sound of crying.



Caution must be used if

you enter the common,

there is the sound of



someone running.

Children no longer begotten,

tradition forgotten.

Cottages empty and cold,

no bread in the ovens.

The graveyard is full of

coffins.



This village is truly

forgotten!



But wait, in the distance,

among hills and canyons,

a small light has arisen.

It is coming in this

direction.



People are descending,

with candles burning.

Music is playing.



An entourage of those

who once lived here, are

coming to the village

square, that once was

bare.



A celebration is under

way!



Lamp posts are lit, as

they flicker, dressed

in red ribbons.



Children are cheering,

no longer crying.



The villagers sit in

benches once empty,

smiling.



The sun and moon now

shining.

The willow no longer

weeping.

The robin with it's

song is singing.



The village is lit

with a festival of

lights, all things



have come alive,

nevermore to

be saddened!



Prodigal Daughter



Walking down the path,

to visit the home of

the past,



she is met by a stranger.

Taking her hand, He sees

her tears of entering

this house alone.

One that has been locked

for many years. A house

she has forgotten and

disowned.

She is distraught. She has

searched for the key and

sees that God has had it

all along.



Opening the door,

it is very still, unlike

long ago, filled with

screams and fights,

filling her with fright.



There are several rooms,

one set apart for each

of her hurts.



She picks up the broom

and pan, to clean this

house but she just can't.



Coming to the kitchen,

He slowly raises the

blinds so she can see

outside.



A sight she remembers,

as she looks through

the window of time.



Parents fighting over

a bottle of beer, they

don't know she is here.

Her eyes full of tears.



A cluttered table is

now set with loving care.

Empty cupboards now

filled with plates of jam,

bread and butter.



In the bedroom, the

bed is pushed against

the wall, where she

once covered her head,

clutching her doll.



Now a bed is nicely made,

with a pillow to rest

her head.



The living room, oh,

that is a sight, where

her father passes the

time, drinking at night.



She cannot reach him,

finally whispering,

"I love you," then

turns out the light.



This house that had

been closed for so

long, is now open



and viewed, with no

dark secrets in any of

the rooms.



God is here all the

time, with His broom

and cloth, to sweep

out the dust and dirt,

removing her pain and

hurt.

Revised Edition - New Poems Section

Shadows and Lights – 1st Part



For as long as she

can remember, her

dreams have been

restless,



voices relentless,

leaving her helpless.

Finally falling asleep

in the early morning

hours,

quietness is broken,

as the alarm turns on.



The radio welcomes the

day, as she pulls the

pillow over her head,

hoping for one more

minute before rising

from the bed.



She reaches for the

shower door, hoping the

momentum of water will

calm the oncoming war.

Drawing a slip over

her head,

slipping into a fine



pressed suit and high

heel shoes, she peers

into the mirror with



saddened eyes. Trying,

ever trying to cover

up the lies.

Opening the vanity

drawer with

polished nails, she

applies red lipstick,

then takes

a brush, lightly dabbing

her cheeks with pink,

as if it is ink to

conceal the pain that

makes her think.



Older now, with loss of

childhood faith, her

innocence is replaced with

doubt, that comes with age.



Traffic noise and street

lights, ignoring speed

bumps,

racing through life.

Crowded byways, cluttered

highways, people push

and shove, as they rush on

looking for something to

love.



How did she arrive at this

point in her life?

Her thoughts go back to

a child.



It is difficult to see

how familial ties and

society had influenced

her mind.

A mother, a father, eager

to see their child achieve,

a society that demanded

her to please.



A little slice of her mind

had been slivered, she

must put forth effort to

attain.

Acceptance and recognition

must be gained.



An education, a job,

marriage, children, all

making up the pie,



but leaving one slice

less in completeness. One

less in sweetness.



The child carries on the

legacy of her parents,

as they weave their

paternal threads about

her, of what they

believe.

In midlife she will have

satisfaction, she has

arrived. So says the myth

of deception. But isn't

something missing?



Don't be mistaken, all

these deeds are praised

and good. It is when

the eye has a fixation



on only one prize,

leaving a desire for

something that has

been denied.

All the while that little

voice keeps whispering.

"Isn't there something else

besides this to receive?"



There is a girl across the

city that has no repose,

to rest in her glories.



Waking to the morning

static in her head from

the traumatic night before,



the radio announces to

her world, more gloom to

add to her bedroom of

despair.

Her only degree is

surviving a family

tree of dysfunction. She

desires of all else to

flee.

Neither girl knows

there is a plan, that they

will be set free.



A voice continues to

whisper to both alike,

"Is there not more to

this life?"



****



The accomplished girl,

returning home from the

workplace of a tedious

existence, weary, lies



down, hoping for a

time to relieve her

of her unbelief.

The sun is setting, her

mind is drifting,

a dream takes form in

a story.



In this moment of time

across the city and down

the street, the impoverished



girl falls asleep, with a

similar dream, the two

girls meet.



Shadows and Lights – 2nd Part



A Dream

A child appears, with

an inquisitive mind and

childlike faith,



on a particular night,

looking up to the

sky, to the good

gifts from heaven,

with a question.



Father of lights, do

You live in the sky,

in the heavens above,

not with Your children

in darkness below?



Do You look out your window,

from your home on high,



at the sun in the

morning light? Are you

the man in the moon shining

moonbeams on the stars

at night,



to see how far they will

fly? You are so far I

can't jump that high,



or maybe ride a kite,

but it won't fly that high.

If I could, I would see

where you live.



If I get there,

would you let me in

with my darkness and sin?



I really would like to

visit you some time, but

it seems such a long

way between you and I.



Do you get tired of

watching over your

children below?



Am I a child

with innocent ways?

Or could I be a grown up,

just like you?



It says you never

slumber or sleep, or turn

your ear from those who

weep,



but sometimes it seems

your eyelids have slowly

closed, it just hurts



too much to see your

children opposed by the

children of men.



I wonder why you don't

stop the suffering of

this human race?



Sometimes I get angry,

but then that is scary,

so I'll just keep

pushing it down inside.

I know you know it is

there and the world is

in your hands. Still,

it is hard to understand.



Some people think you are

mean and sometimes

I do too. Could that be



because I have a picture

in my head that isn't

really You?

I would like to see your

face, to see what you

look like, but when I

look to the left and



to the right

and then behind,

you are not there.

Do you sometimes hide?



So I guess it is up to

me to climb to your

lofty throne in the sky.



I think I can do it

alone, many times I have

tried.

There is a stairway I see

at the foot of a mountain

reaching to the sky,

I will give that a try.



It looks pretty slippery,

and I'm not sure of my

steps.



You promise you won't let

me stumble, no, nor

the earth crumble beneath

my feet.



My clothes are tattered and

torn and my shoes are worn.

My feet burn and this stone

in my shoe really hurts,

no matter where I turn.



I really want to look my best

when I meet you in heaven.



I am almost there, but

not quite, I have a little

bit more to go before I

can rest.



It is starting to get

hot. I really need that

shade you have promised.

It seems to

get hotter and hotter

and in this land there

is no water.



Oh, I wish I could talk

to you, maybe you would

understand.



Every step I take, I

am sure this is the way,

but you seem further and

further away.



With trembling knees and

arms that are weak,

I can barely speak.



There is silence!

****



Well, God, I didn't make it.

I had hoped I would, but

when I came close, all



I could see is consuming

flames of fire and

devouring smoke.



In my despair, the stairs

I had hoped would get me

there are gone.



I'll just go back

one more time, before

I turn around.



But wait, I see a small

thread of hope, a weaving

of cloth in the distance.



A silhouette of a man who

tells a story!



****



The desert was hot and the

days were grueling, for this

multitude of people, as

they left a land of

bondage.”



"I once dwelt a long time

ago with my people, in

a desert of mountainous



sand. My presence was

felt and they knew I

cared."



"Take my hand, we'll go

to that land - one

that has a lesson for

mothers, fathers and

children like you."



Oh, there is a little

child behind, can we

invite her to come along

too?



And just a minute, I

must take shoes

and clothes for my travels.



"No child, don't worry,

clothes and shoes will be

provided."



The way they travel shows

clearly the right way to go,

the child is excited.



These people have come

from a strange land. I

delivered them with my hand.”

The march of victory had

begun, with trumpets and

songs they push on, drums

pounding, as children join

the dancing.



Fathers lead the way,

proclaiming their decree,

"Delivered

from the land of slavery."



Surely they will not

forget such a deliverance

as this, how they have

been freed.



*****



Walking on, with thirst

and hunger, into a

forsaken land, these

people



have forgotten how they

have been led, complaining

and crying, "why

have we been led into

this wilderness to die?"



Over to the side there

is the gurgling of water,

bubbling through rock

and sand.



All fear and sorrow are

forgotten, as children

splash and wade in the

water.

Their cups are full, their

herds and flocks continue

to walk this dusty path.

Mules and donkeys,

pull their heavy loads

of tents, dishes and

pots and of course

their cots.



A very long day, they

stop along the

way, weary and worn,



laying down to rest,

not knowing a new nation

of people is about to

be born.



A strange land is this,

where lizards,

serpents and jackals

live in rock ledges.



Big black birds circle

high in the sky, but His

angels protect His people

from on high.

It is so dark and

quiet God, can't

you fill the sky with



your pillar of light?

That they will be led

both day and night?



The sun is setting with

a big red flare, nighttime

is here.



Stars in multitudes fill

the sky, what do they

mean God?

These heavenly beings?

"My children are

like these lights in the

heavens, a multitude of

people come forth to do

my bidding."



A hush falls upon this

camp, followed with sweet

strains of the flute and

harp, giving peace on this

wondrous night.

In the morning, rising

from their beds, on the

ground is something

white, like wafers and

honey.

It is gathered to eat

every day for six,

leaving twice the

amount for the seventh

day, a day to rest.



What is that bright

shiny object in the

sand? And who are those

people that are kneeling

before it?



"These are my people that

promised they would do

all they could to obey.



But when I turned

around, they forgot

and don't do what they

say."



Well, this reminds me

of me, sometimes I

am like the mule, I

try to be good and then

I forget to follow the

rules.



"That is alright, child,

I have made it possible,

for you to do as I ask,

it is not a burden or a

task."



The night is quiet, the

tents are dark, none

are lit anywhere. A cry



is heard and then another.

These people have been

stung by slithering serpents

on the ground.



A man cries,

"Look to the serpent

upon the pole and all who



kneel and believe will be

healed. Not one will be

left to die."

I don't mean to complain,

but this journey is so

weary, do you think we

are there yet?



"A journey like this should

take only forty days, child,

little do they know, their

fate will take much longer

than this."



And they continue on to the

promised land, one flowing

with milk and honey.

Shadows and Lights – 3rd Part



A breeze comes up

spinning into desert

wind, darkness covers

the sky, the child is

left alone for a time.



This is when she must

hold on, to trust she

is not alone, even

though she cannot see

who she is looking for.

Trudging on, to believe

that the face she hopes

to see, will come to be.



Looking to the horizon,

is the sun too bright,

with its rays of light?



Is the moon's glow too

bold for the evening

night?



She questions again, "who

made these lights?"



The wind escapes, the

dust abandons it's

pallor, revealing in

the distance a prism

of color.



Green oasis of trees,

with pools of waters appear,

a welcome sight after

travels of day and night.



Courage and faith help

her to stand and walk

toward this mirage,

spanning the land.



Passing a large mountain,

the skies are dark,

looming high in an ashen

sky. Rushing by and



coming closer, there is a

covering, fashioned as a

tent, a strange shelter

of cloth.



A temple, a shadow made

with hands, that has come

down from heaven.

Is this where God could

be living?



This is the one she is

looking for, the one she

could not reach.



Quietly drawing near,

a sense of holiness

fills the air.



There is a basin of

water to wash her

feet. Feet that are

weary from travels

over dust and heat.



The door to this tent

is covered with a

curtain, as she draws



it aside, a beautiful

and solemn sight meets

her eyes.



A golden candlestick,

with seven lamps of gold,

are scrolled in lilies

and leaves,



filled with oil for

light, both day and

night.



A table with challis

of wine and communion

bread,



symbolizes the body

and blood of the

Lord, risen from the

dead.



A veil is behind,

of angels embroidered

in purple with threads

of gold, fringed with

pomegranates of red.



She is taken with the

sight and wants to go

beyond the veil.

The one torn in two,

while His body was

beaten and railed.



She is touched, asking,

"God, did Your Son really

do all this for us?"



Past the inner veil,

in the Holy of Holies,

is an ark overlaid with

gold.



Angels bow in reverence,

in His presence.



The law in the ark is

no longer there.

It is now written in

the heart.**



What does all this mean?

A shadow of the dwelling

place of the One they seek?



A pattern of the temple

in heaven to teach?

****



Stirring from the dream,

the girls wake, as

they contemplate all

they have seen.



Oh, now they think they

understand, all these

things are shadows***

pointing toward a Man!



The promise is made sure,

"This little child led them

to what they were looking

for."



The two girls are now one,

they have come through the

shadows and embraced the

light.



































* Reference New King James

Exodus 25:8

**Hebrews 10:16

*** Reference New King James

Colossians 2:17





Miriam’s Song



A long time ago in

an ancient world,

a basket was hidden

on the banks of the

river Nile.



It held a baby, hidden

in grass, reeds and

lotus leaves.



His sister

stood by, pleading

with God to protect

this child.



One day a princess was

bathing and heard the

baby cry.



She ordered her maidens

to fetch the basket,

before he died.



Opening the basket,

there lay a baby,

none more beautiful

than she had seen.



This was a secret she

kept with her maidens

and took the baby to

be her child.



Running home to her

mother, his sister

shared the news,

her baby would

be safe and it made

her smile.



This baby was special,

God had a plan when

he became a man.



The mother nursed him

and his sister loved

him, their baby was

saved.



The prayers they prayed

had been raised to the

God above.



Moses was his name,

meaning, "drawn from the

water." Given by the

Pharaoh’s daughter.



He grew to be a boy and

then a man. He had a

brother named Aaron and

they dwelt in a land

called Egypt, till their

ruler, Joseph, died.



God's people were

treated cruelly and He

heard their cry.



Moses, was

beloved by the king,

he made him ruler and his

future was certain.



Then he did something

bad,

he had to leave his



family and friends,

fleeing into the desert

with his staff in hand.



He was very sorry and

asked for forgiveness,

but was driven into the

wilderness.



Dwelling in a desert,

midst rocks and sand,

there was no other

person to speak with,

in this forsaken land.



His sheep were bleating

as he kept his flocks,

amidst dry brush and

rocks.



A bush was burning and

kept on burning. He

crept slowly, to see

this sight. A voice



spoke loudly,

"Take off your shoes,

for this is holy

ground."*



I have seen your

plight and you will be

alright.



Moses was tired and laid

down to sleep, a dream

appeared and God spoke,



"Go back and free your

people, leading them

to the promised land."**



Moses was afraid, but

he went anyway.



The people of Egypt

wanted His people to

leave,

giving them silver,

gold and jewelry.



There was a great

noise as these people

departed,

loading wagons with

mothers and children.



Dough and kneading

bowls were carried,

to bake their bread.



Miriam and Aaron were

united with Moses,

happy to be no longer

apart.



The night before they

left, a special feast

was prepared, bread

without yeast,

called "The Passover."

A great Exodus began!

From the land of

slavery where they



were bruised and beaten,

with a heavy rod used,

now on to freedom.



It was a long way for

these people to go,

when suddenly they

came to waters.



Sea sprays of mist,

a tingling of the sea

on parched skin, a

welcome sight from where

they had been.



Waves so high, they had

never seen such a sight.

Children played in the



sand, the rush of the

tide tickles tiny feet

and then subsides.



Mothers soon came and

collected the children

in a hurry, there were



soldiers behind them.

They had nowhere to

go but through the sea.



The enemy drew closer,

there was a rush of

wind. Walls of water

stood between the enemy

and them.



Moses stood, holding

his staff, reaching to

the sky, offering

prayers on their behalf.



A mass of people showed

their faith as they

passed into waters that

separate.



Gathering goats, chickens,

donkeys and kittens.

Pulling wagons with crying

children, animals braying.

A road lay before them.



Colorful fish rose with

the currents, suddenly

stopping at the walls of

water.



Pharaoh and his servants

were thrown into the sea.



Reaching the other side,

there was merriment and

joy as their enemies

died.



The song of the

crossing swelled with

the tide, a chorus of

voices heard on high.



Following Miriam,

women took up their

timbrels and danced.

Twirling and swirling

with their sandaled

feet, singing to the

beat of timbrel and

lyre.



With prayers of gladness

they sung this song -

"The horse and it's rider

He has thrown into

the sea,"***



but they passed through

the sea on dry ground.



None of His people

drowned, He saved them

all.

This sacred Exodus of

people who were freed,

is recorded down through

history.



When faced with

waters of troubles and

fears of the enemy,



let us remember

this story,

and sing to Him,



"Our cares will be

lifted, our

prayers will be

answered and we

will be saved."



Reference

* Exodus 3:5 New King James

** Exodus 3:10

*** Exodus 15:21

The Voice



She is just visiting

this person within.

Not too personal is

her intention.



Don't get too close,

or she'll shut down.



She tried it once.

Her feelings were

exposed and her words

were opposed.



There is just too much

distance between them.



Once they were close

and held each other.

They laughed and cried

together.



Then a strange thing

happened. They parted.

Really not sure why.

They said goodbye and

went their separate

directions.



They split into sections.

But a little piece stuck

to each other.



A bridge spans

a life between them.

Sometimes she gets lonely

for the part that escaped



her, but they are shaped

so differently, they would

no longer fit together.



She finds herself somewhere

else, than where she would

like to be.



She tries to fill the

expanse with houses of

worship, rules and prayers.

When that doesn't work,



her imaginary numbers

and words seem to work -

but only for a time.



Then she remembers, He is

there.



As she gets older, a car

takes her away. The radio

even further, till static

fills her head with

dirty water.



When she sleeps, she

watches real close that

dreams don't escape

and make her cry.



The only problem, or one

of many, is being parted

from the one that no longer

exists, her thoughts resist

the one she has missed.

***



The house won't stop

creaking at night. Is it

trying to tell her something

she doesn't want to hear?



Houses say words too, they

hold what is true.

They are faithful, wrapping

around us at night. Opening



windows to let in the

light, touching us with

rays of daylight.



Even though the table may

hold nothing now, there are

still crumbs on the floor,

to help remember the new God

she will adore.



When does a poem become a

poem. A thought sprinkled

in the mind, or written

on paper?



Poetry is a bridge between

herself and the rest of what

is left of herself.



As the scales fall from her

eyes the world looks bigger.



Parts that make up

the whole are scattered.

She spends her life

gathering, hoping to



bring them together, but

there is still a fragment

missing, one her absense

makes saddening, until she

finds her again.



***

The shadows are lifting,

she and the child are

conversing,



the path is turning,

now the same road they

are traveling.



The old language of

static and eratic words

are receding.



The voice of her mind is

healing,

in His timing.



Her winter is past,

springtime is approaching.



Labor pains delivering,

a reborn child emerging.



No longer an imaginary

dwelling,

no longer a child

withdrawing.



In the present she is

living.



This is what she had

hoped for,

a different path than

before.

But if these things

are passing,



and it comes only to

trusting,



just think of the fear

no longer residing!

Layers



Some may say, "why does

it take you so long to

make it right?"



"Why belabor it, just let

it go!"

You should be over it by

now!"



And I agree, but it took

a long time to get where I'm

at and trying to squeeze



decades into a very few years

of poetry is difficult, to

say the least.



But I keep digging and

raking, stirring up the

old dirt, plowing

underneath it all,



looking for that hidden

seed that will finally

grow.



Reaching beneath the

soil, I have finally

found it, though very

small.



Just a tiny seed is all

I need, that it may grow

up like the mustard seed.



Why I was led to hear an

artist speak on creation

week, why it would awake

that part of me that was

asleep, I don't know.



Poetry is dark, the need

to reach deep into the

heart.



Could it be known, what is

written in each poem, is

like a layer removed, one



at a time, revealing that

deep hole in the soul, to

let the light in.



Who knows how long it takes,

some longer than others,

and some don't even have to

write.



The painful past doesn't

have to last, but it takes

some digging to come out

better than I could have

asked!



First Love



Just a small penance

I have to bring,



with tears and

prayers, clinging

to my offering.

I want to love You, I

really do, but when

I pray You seem so

far away.



Words fly, picking

up force, trying to

gather them I end

in remorse.



What came first,

the seed or the tree,

the ocean or water,

the moon or the sky,

or stars so high?



Trying to love You is

like -

a plant without sun,



a bulb planted upside

down, seeking ground.



The more it tries, the

further from light it

gets.



Could there be a

sunset without a sun?



In birth did love begin,

or at conception, or

maybe before creation?



His love exists before

time began,

measured with His hand.





























* “...Our love for Him comes

as a result of His

loving us first.”



Paraphrased from John 4:19

The Living Bible





Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-104 show above.)