That Gap Called Miss (Poetry)

THAT GAP CALLED MISS

I _____ you.

That gap called miss
is huge and widening
filled with SILENCE that shouts
a longing that stretches for miles
wringing out hearts to despair:
Why can't we see eye to eye?


Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith





HOME

If I can bottle memories of you, I would.
Of the first time I laid eyes on you
without care of risk, you smile in sleep,
your every sigh and grunt
the sweetest that could ever exist.

If I can put moments with you in a box
I'd proudly lug it around on my back
like home to a turtle, a heart to a soul,
the stories you told, the grit you showed
they put flesh on me.

But I only have my heart to hold
all the miracle/blessing that you are,
brought together, though apart,
no bottle or box can ever contain
a child's wonder, a mother's love.


Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith



*I just miss a lot of people these days. Squabbling through the internet is not the same as in person. :) Even writing letters was better, despite the high technology that we have. The letters were not just to get in touch but to do life. Somehow, this is also about people and relationships... and how messy and complicated it gets, even how hard you try. And so, this longing gets into words, one day, as I was pining.

And the Home poem? It's a dual voice of psrent-child (like a duet?😊 ) with the last verse done by both. Hope you enjoyed it.

You are loved!

For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, 

nor angels nor principalities nor powers, 

nor things present nor things to come, 

nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, 

shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(Romans 8:38, 39)

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A Mother's Profound Joy

The Taste of Loneliness and The Antidote

The Meadows and Other Poems

The Meadows and Other Poems

Lately I have been very distracted. Blame it on the words that just seem to float out of nowhere and bother me until it gets down on paper. (I've developed a tic on one eye because of it. Like this 😉 ) So here it is in blog form.

THE MEADOWS

get out of the house,
ride through an unbeaten path
the sun baking one side of face

through the windowglass,
yellows and greens and blue
as open and as wide as laughter,

it beckons, "Come!

trudge through weeds that won't feed,
don't mind the burrs.

Fling your arms wide,
exhale city dust."

take in restoration.
don't live like a mouse.

hair free, we take out phones
look at the beauty with myopic eyes
and fail to thank God

love spoken out loud through
the meadows.

Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith


** Nature has a way of healing us. But we often don't appreciate it because it takes us away from what is comfortable and all our technology. A weekend with the family out by the seashore, rolling on dirt, breathing in salty ocean air, feasting our eyes on colors not on screen, and running/walking through miles and miles of wide, open spaces did wonders to our bodies and minds, (and relationships) that slowly was disintegrating into disorder. A chronic entropy. Nature deficient syndrome. Whatever you might call it, we cannot deny our way of living takes us far from what God has designed for us originally to live healthy, productive lives. We see it in our children. We see it in ourselves. We observe it in our society. Thank God, there's still much to enjoy out there. Take that opportunity. 


MEMORIES

My lungs laboring for breath
I lie supine
My face pressed on a pillow
Your hands on my spine.
Every gentle touch is medicine
Its warmth and care
Long-suffering love from a mother.

Another time I sat facing you
Your eyes attentive and admiring
Food before me growing cold
As I forgot to eat, but talked and talked.
What I saw in your face
Tells me I can be me
I am good enough to my mother.

Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith


** Memories with my mom will always be part of me. And many times, words come and go to describe the love that sustained me and still do and the life she lived to give me.

Lastly, here's one which tells about all this craze I'm in at the moment. :)


POETRY FEVER

It started with Akhmatova's
"I wrote the words that lately
I wouldn't dare to speak"
from then on I can't seem to stop
writing down thoughts in verses
or see colors and shapes, feel music
in words.

That feeling of grandiosity
like waves rising higher, I soar
with the birds, I pirouette like a gazelle
What is this madness I feel?
I think of life and love and duty
reflect on God and His beauty
I bow in humility.

I'm just an amateur in love
but I meet fellow travelers and I learn
I tremble at the beauty they hold
How can mortal beings create
with blood, with tears, with fears
something beautiful 
in its stead?

So I dig my pen on paper
which has flowers on its cover
when I gaze long enough, words pop
like popcorn in a hot pot
I crunch on them, good on my palate
God help me now, I dare to create
a poem.

Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith





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A Mother's Profound Joy
The Taste of Loneliness and The Antidote
Grace

A Mother's Profound Joy

A MOTHER'S PROFOUND JOY

A mother's profound joy
comes in tiny bundles
concealed in the smell of your hair,
the wonder in your eyes, your laughter---
so rich, so right.

When you eat what she cooks
she feels immense pleasure
in heaping unending servings of stew,
spaghetti, memories, lessons and love
you can always keep.

You have no idea
how she stares unblinking
as you lie in repose making snores--
never mind that she's tired of cleaning
after your own shadow.

A lisped prayer is to her ear
as a President's speech
filled with hope for the future-- no fear;
a nursery rhyme you sing in play is as
Pavarotti's poignant aria.

Stories of you go on and on...
and on with no end,
told without beginning to anyone, who
cares (and dares) to listen, and a photo
becomes two million

On Facebook, Instagram
and on her beloved iPhone.
Seeing you with good books and friends,
however, fills her with gladness: you
won't be bored ever.

Even without recognition,
she glows with your B,
she's seen your struggles and efforts,
saw your grit, then your kindness
despite all tough.

A mother's profound joy
is in living grateful
confident in the Ultimate Parent's love--
your heart in His and your hand in hers.
That joy is you.

Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith



* Lately I have been very distracted. Blame it on the words that just seem to float out of nowhere and bother me until it gets down on paper. (I've developed a tic on one eye because of it. Like this 😉 ) So here it is in blog form. The other poems will follow right after I'm done with preparing dinner here. 

The words came as I tried to force myself to nap--- even for just 15 minutes, please--- lying beside my sleeping pre-schooler. As usual, the nap didn't  happen, the poem did, fueled at the joy, every mother knows, when one is holding her child (and smelling her/his head). Once again, I'm thankful to God for gifts and the joy of pursuing them.

Have a wonderful day!




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Bus Ride
Beauty
Meadows and Other Poems

The Taste of Loneliness and The Antidote (Poetry)

The Taste of Loneliness

The taste of loneliness is such
a bitter pill refusing to budge
stays in place
on the tongue

a language I barely speak, of joy
felt, forgotten like rain in June
in a hot,
desert land

where no man is friend or foe
just that--- nothing. Indifferent:
dying, dying, gone
with ennui.

Grace

Spring by Russian artist Stanislav Zhukovsky

I came in peace, I sowed discord.
I sought to belong, I got rejection.
I wanted love, I found animosity.
I long for family, I made an enemy.

Through it all, God answered my needs.
Grace for all my frustrations, my emotions,
Grace for depression, for desperation,
Grace for arid valleys and destructive storms,
Sufficient grace even before I call.

In my struggles and restlessness,
He brought quiet rest.
I wrestle for rights, for supremacy,
I see His full glory in humility.

So I bowed as He took on Himself my faults.
Grace for all my weaknesses, my peccadilloes.
Grace for my inability, my futility,
Grace for fruitless years and empty life,
Abundant grace for a sinner such as me.

In victory I stand as I embrace His promises.
I conquer on my knees in Jesus' blessed name.
I overcome as He holds me--- Jesus, hold me.
I give grace, for Your grace is enough for me.

Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith

And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you,

 for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” 

Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, 

that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

(2 Corinthians 12:9)

*The verses above came about as I reflected on Abigail's life and example, and of course, I couldn't help but look on my own life and reactions. You may read Abigail's story on 1 Samuel 25. She is one amazing woman who, instead of focusing on injustice and rejection, chose to live in grace and give grace. She didn't dwell on her arid valleys but instead stored up in abundance kindness and generosity. When her moment came, the one where only she could avert disaster and use the gifts God had given her, she was more than ready. She rose up to the occasion.

I more than know that we often have our "arid valleys" and "destructive storms", whether brought on by circumstances or our own sinful tendencies, they cause us to cry out against God or to God. Whatever you choose to do, God's grace is abundantly made available for you. It is there to meet our every need. It is there to fill up our nothingness. It is there to grasp and hold on--- sufficient to the day, hour, minute, and moment of trial and weakness. Let Him hold you. His grace is enough.





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Beauty
Am I On the Right Road?
Embracing God's Promises

Bus Ride

A ride on the bus through the city
Revealed to me more than there was to see,
Not just the torrent of wet snow on the panes,
Nor the mud on my boots mucking up the lanes.

I saw a teenage girl with a guitar on her back,
Roomy clothes, cap turned back, a fashion slack.
I saw the guitar peeking through an unzipped bag
That got me worried like I've seen a red flag.

What if the guitar will fall through and crash?
Maybe I should zip it up as this girl had been in a rush.
But before I could, I glance up to see
A woman coming in shaking off all that flurry.

With damp hair sticking to her crown,
All that snow, as wet as rain, has pulled it down.
All the past efforts to coif and polish and style
Now all gone with the weather turning juvenile.

I consider--- some may be ready, some are not
Life still goes on whatever may be your plot.
Believe the Driver will get you There
'Cause if not, you might as well be going nowhere.

A young girl of ten, her jacket in rainbow hue
And the bounce on each step drew a few
Glances and smiles from every side---
Don't take it too hard, life's a bus ride.

Copyright © 2017 zernahfaith

• I wrote this while riding on the bus on my way to an evening class yesterday. Must have been the weather setting up the mood--- wet, slushy snow going straight to my face, and those who missed, lie churlishly on the ground. People, though, weren't minding it too much. For me, it was quite enjoyable. Then, there was all that people on the bus. And I love watching people. :)
• This is for all the women--- whatever type of woman you are, because a woman can be many types or all types if she wants--- who bring smiles, and beauty (and wit and life, because we do bring lots of stuff) on a bus ride. Happy Women's Day (for March 8th)!
• Finally, here's what this "ride" is really all about. 

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. 

My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, 

would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? 

And if I go and prepare a place for you, 

I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. 

You know the way to the place where I am going.”

(John 14:1~4)

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Beauty

On Overgrown Hair, Growing Old, and Living Forward

3 Things I Love About Being a Woman

Beauty

Li'l Angelika in a costume made
by my late mother, when I was away
 and unable to be with my daughter,
a few days before 'the storm'.

Beauty
is not found in heavily made up ladies,
Neither in the sparkling diamonds or glitters of gold
Brimming from necks and limbs;
Nor in the latest models of gadgets or antiques of old,
Strings of possessions and processions of things.

Beauty---
if you care to look--- is in the eyes
Of one where joy resides, see as she smiles
At the future in this ocean of life,
Facing with mirth its every ebb of tide,
Grateful, joyful for every unexpected love
Committed on the vow she made to the One above.

Mean (A Poem for those who don't want to be one)

Your power over me
Tramples the little dignity left.
The respect kindling,
Struggling,
Choking,
To breath.
I huff and puff to fury.
I sizzle myself to crazy.
I stew and burn myself down.
Ready to gamble
The little
Of me.
Petty is not pretty.
I'd rather be gutsy
With words---
To reflect and deflect.
Create and dream.
Laugh and learn.
Grow up. Be me.
There's more than one way
To live,
To be.
And MEAN is NOT
I wannabe.

Copyright © 2016 zernahfaith



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Beauty
Autumn Song
It's More Than Just Laundry

Falling Snow: A Poem about Coming Back to Life

My family and I live in Russia where there is no shortage of snow. Today, I am especially filled with delight as my world was filled with the wonder of it (and yes, as my work was cancelled for the afternoon).

You may have noticed my listless writing for the past months, though, try as I might to move past it. I was "out of synch" with life. I'm not going to apologize for it. As I live, so do I write. And as I write, so does my life come alive before my eyes. Yes, many times these are not comfortable feelings but they are emotional facts that needs some breathing space, just like a roomful of toxic smoke that needs to be aired.

Thankfully, slowly, I am once again seeing the broader canvas of my life, and not just the dark, gloomy alleys of it. Thank God, He is merciful! He is rich in goodness and love.

A few days ago, I got myself a cut on one of my hands. The sudden pain and seeing the blood bolted me into the reality that I am still alive. And that I should, MUST, be grateful for this life. As I clear away the shards that cut me, I am struck by the realization that so must I clear away the breakage in my life before I can go forward again. I have to distance myself from what is hurting me, before coming back into whole again.