Daniel’s Dream



A dense carpet of soft brown needles becomes my resting place,
as the sound of rushing of wind sways the tops of tall evergreens
and the fragrance of fresh pine fills my senses.

I watch an eagle circle and then swoop to catch its prey.
I envy the freedom of the bird.
Content to ride the wind and fill its belly, it soars through the sky
oblivious to the pressing sorrows of man.
It isn’t crushed by pain and loss or torn apart by brutal grief.
And I wonder

Are seasons of ecstasy worth the wretched horror
of watching it ripped so callously from my hands?
Would it not be far better to never have known love at all?
Than to experience the heights of bliss only to be
plunged into the deep, dark, depths of despair when bliss is lost?

Who created man and gave him the capacity for this dichotomy of emotions?
What god produces beauty and places it into our hands
and yet is impotent to preserve and protect it?
Is he merely a cruel puppet master who plays with our destinies and laughs at our pain?

I am convinced that this pathetic, devastating, yearning for something that will never again be mine, is going to drive me to my grave.
And yet, perhaps, the grave would be kinder.
Yes, the oblivion of death would be a welcome respite.
The thought gives me comfort.
It sounds far better than waking up each wretched morning to remember she is gone!

Maybe death is more than eternal sleep.
Don’t those who have gone before us wait to cheer us on
as we cross the threshold from our world into theirs?
If I joined her in death, would I find her waiting for me there?
Does she now long for me there, as I long for her here?
Does she cry out for me across the great chasm that has been fixed between us?

If I listen I am quite sure I can hear her voice.
Her voice!
The sweet sound awakens my soul.
And I rise to find her.

There are no longer pine needles beneath me but some ethereal substance
that pushes my feet with its anxious prodding.
I begin to pant.
Running, searching, following the sweet sound of her voice that lights a fire in my chest.
“For love is strong as death” I shout raising a fist in the air.
So many times I have used those words from our wedding vows
in a desperate attempt to persuade her to return to me.
To convince her that death cannot have the final word in a love so sweet as ours.

I see movement in the distance.
It is a woman. It must be my love!
She wears the filmy white sheath that my Itzel wore on the night that our vows were sealed.
It is her! I know the raven tresses that fall below her waist and glimmer in the sun.
My Mayan princess!
Weaving in and out of the willows, she bends her head toward me.
Her mahogany eyes inviting me into her hiding place.
I rush toward her like a madman.
I am breathless when I reach her.
And pull her toward me roughly and lose myself in the fragrance of her cinnamon skin.

“Itzel! I have found you! I am never letting go!”
She looks into my eyes, her own eyes brimming
with the same tears of joy that flow like a river down my face and neck.
She runs her fingers through my hair, runs her lips along the bone of my cheek
and presses her warm body against my own.
I hold her tightly willing her to become part of me.

But then the earth,
Begins to shake and tremble and loosens my grasp on her.
I see her reaching toward me in desperation, as the ground between us splits and widens,
Until once again a great impassable gulf separates us and she fades away into the shadows.
My desperation echoes across the dark canyon without response.

Photo by Jadranka Isabel Potography


Would She Dream?


If only she had known before
If only she had seen the end
Would dreams have lived
And called her friend?

Would she have danced
And dared to be
One who loved and
Let love see
The beauty of her fantasy?

Where life is good
And filled with hope
And opens up
To dreams untold?

Where passion grows
And life unfolds
In all that hearts
Can dare to hold?

Or would she have avoided pain
Believing life was once again
A cruel and disappointing place
Controlled by disappointment’s face
And cowered in its rule?

Only there to sink and fear
Know dreams were only meant to steer
The weak into a small and crowded
Prison of despair?

Or would hope rise
From somewhere deep?
Would something stir and someone weep
And feel her pain,
Draw her in,
And hold her heart
And touch her face?

Would someone very gingerly
Hold the girl and let her weep?
And speak in kind and gentle words
Of love that goes beyond all pain
Of love that sees what once again will be?

And love that speaks of dreams
Before, before, before, before, before
Before the pain had left its mark
And told her lies about her heart?

And would he speak to crushing fear
And in beauty strong and clear
Declare a future and a hope
Filled with life and love and more
Than dreams could ever hold?

Dreams beyond what dreamers see
Dreams beyond mere fantasy
Dreams that live in unseen realms
And feel the dance of heaven?

The dance that makes her
Come alive
And see her life through
Unveiled eyes?

That shows her places never seen
Never thought of, never dreamed
Spheres that cause her heart to race
And understand that face to face
With God,
Is where dreams live.

Photo by Jadranka Isabel Photography

Love is Worth the Price You Pay


Tho’ I cannot clearly see
Everything in front of me,
I’m absolutely sure
Of this one thing.

That love is worth the price you pay
Even when the path is gray,
Even when all others say this love
Is undeserved.

Love doesn’t come without its strings.
It does not promise only spring.
Yet love is deep,
And cannot be denied.

So let love be,
And let it grow,
And let love see
That tho we know

That love
While born in wretched pain
Can rise
To give us hope again.

Can somehow
Help us find the rain
That washes, heals and
Hopes again.

That settles deep,
And mends the soul
And brings new life
And dreams that grow.

So let us dig
Until we find
That love is good,
And sometimes kind
And leads us in a path to find
The lover of our soul.

The one who stares into our eyes
And calls what other men despise,
Good and clean and without blame
And smiles as he speaks our name.

And reaches out to hold and heal
And show us life beyond all fear.
Beyond all pain, beyond all wrong
And places in our soul a song,

That sings and rings out loud and clear,
That causes all to come and hear,
Of love.

Photo by Jadranka Isabel Photography

Peace on Earth

I sometimes think of Mary
On the night of Jesus birth.
As she held the swaddled child
Did she understand his worth?

Or was he just an innocent
A babe born clean and fair,
And did she simply love his face
His chin, his eyes, his hair?

Or did she know about his mission
Did she comprehend his cause,
Did the weight of his appearing
Cause her heart to stop and pause?

Or was she just a simple girl who clutched
New life against her breast?
And sang a quiet lullaby
That caused her babe to rest?

And did she know that when she sang
That heavens chorus sang along?
And did she hear the angels voices
In the middle of her song?

You were born to peace and love small one
Rolled gently from her lips;
Peace on earth and peace to men
And love to all who will be His.

How can one life make a difference?
Asked the husband who stood near.
How can one child born in poverty
Turn tides of hate and fear?

Just stop and listen,
Whispered Mary
In the stillness of the night.
You can hear it my sweet husband
If you  open up your heart.

The wind is speaking
Earth is crying
Expectation rising high
As if nature feels the dawning
Of a kingdom
On this night.

Joseph leaned into the silence
Til he too began to hear
The sound of heaven rising softly
Like sweet music on his ears.

As if he’d penned the song himself
It started playing on his soul,
And with his bride he started singing
Words of life he’d always known.

Peace on earth and peace to men
And love to all who will be His.

Peace on earth and peace to men
And love to all who will be His.

Passing Days


My friend’s beautiful photography inspires the poet in me. You can enjoy more of her work at Jadranka Isabel Photography

And as the days pass once again
And darkened nights come creeping in
I wonder why the light won’t stay
And be my friend

I watch my tree
That shields the view
Of troubled sights
Yield vibrant hues
And turn from green to gold
And lose
Its summer’s glory

I wonder why the seasons change
Why life cannot just stay the same
Why winter poses its great threat
And gets its story

Why things you love
Must have an end
Why death must come to every man
Why life cannot just be suspended
In the smile

But seasons are the way life goes
And if we watch
The cycle shows
That even in the quiet stillness
Of the cold

God is working deeper still
Amid the silence and the chill
As new life breathes within
The darkness of it all

Who is This God?


Who is this God
This one who made
The earth and seas
And all?

Who is this one
Who speaks my name
And listens
When I call?

How can we
Ever know Him
Who is heart,
And life,
And breath?

How can we hear
The voice
That sings
Throughout the universe?

I seek him
With the morning dew.
I long for him
At night.

I wonder
And I ponder
And consider
What is right.

I search
As if my
Strong resolve
Will bring him

As if
Persistent striving
Will yet coax him
To come here.

And soon I rest
My weary soul
Worn down from
All the trying.

And in the respite
From the din
A song begins
To rise.

And with the song
There comes a dance
Laced with love’s
Pure, sweet, romance.

And we begin
To float and fly
As work gives way
To hope and life.

And sweet, sweet
In my ear
Remind me
That he’s always near.

He never leaves
Or drifts away
He never, ever
Takes a break

From loving me,
And holding me
And speaking words
That make me dream.

That settle all my
Fears and cares
And make me
Crazy, brave
And dare

To love
Without love giving back,
Or hope when
Hope is in great lack.

And tread in places
None dare go
To find the truth
While others won’t.

To take rejection
For this love.
To stand against
The lies that shove

The weak into a scary place
And bind their hearts in fearful chains,
And hold them captive
Like a slave,

To rules and laws
They think are safe
Yet make them mean
And make them crave

The things that hurt and harm
Their lives.
It’s really such an awful lie.
It’s really such an awful lie.

If men could see
That I am good.
That I am only,
Ever, good.

If men could see
This glorious place
This world, this kingdom
See my face,

So much would change
So much would fall
So much that means
Nothing at all.

And life would spring
Where least expected
Life would be a song.

Photo by Jadrakna Isabel Photography

The Song of Heaven


And then there is the moment
When you go to him alone,
Just you and your beloved,
And you make your heart his home.

And tender words begin to rise
As he looks deep into your eyes
And soon all other words are stilled
By his sweet voice.

What would he say
If you leaned in
And let your world belong to him?
What would you hear
If every other sound grew dim?

You might begin to hear the song
That plays around you
All day long.
The song of heaven
That is written just for you.

You might be wrapped in it’s embrace
While fear and pain just melt away,
While how you see is changed
By beauty’s awesome truth

Photo by Jadranka Isabel Photography



So here we stand,
Naked, afraid and ashamed.
Living to prove our worth.
In constant expectation
That the basic purpose of our life
Is to live toward
Evaluation and judgment.

This is the lie of the world
That religion has bought into
As it adds to the demands
Of our raw perceived helplessness.

How can we continue to live this way?
Convinced that we are orphans
Who need to earn our way into the graces
Of the One who holds the power of life and death?

What if we have this thing entirely upside down
And our own small thinking is what has us trapped
In this downward spiral of always waiting
For the worst to fall?

What if this pervasive fear that we live in
And speak of and listen to on the news
And preach in our churches
Is not God at all?
But the very opposite of God
And perhaps the very spirit of the anti-Christ itself???

What if something really beautiful
Is waiting for our participation
But we cannot see it
Because our lenses are clouded with lies?
I think it is time for a revolution.

Photo by Jadranka Isabel Photography

Invited to a Table


Water to wine…
Jesus’ first recorded miracle was a sign.
A revelation of how things work in the kingdom.

It was
An announcement.
An introduction.
And an invitation.

To say
The work is over.
The celebration has begun.
Come to the banquet.

A banquet is a place to lounge.
To have conversations with dear friends.
To take off your shoes (your work)
To lay back in openness and trust.
And be welcomed.

Just being together brings
a deep sense of satisfaction.
Laughter that is heartfelt and rich.
Conversation that solidifies the security
of mutual love and heartfelt friendship.

Come to my table
My precious dear friend
Come and see what I have
Just for you

Sit right here in this place
See the joy on my face
I’m delighted
To spend time with you

Put you feet in my hands
Let me clean off the sand
That has worn your poor soul
To a shred

As the fragrance of myrrh
Fills your heart and assures you
Of beautiful days up ahead

Now please take this cup
Of my pure sweet wine
Let it wash you
And fill you with joy

And the meal I have made
May it strengthen
And save you
From feeling alone and deprived

You have thought I expected
Your way to be pure
Your actions undaunted
Your faith staid and true

You have thought that the
Work was in proving your love
And paying the price
To receive from above

But let me assure you
This kingdom is free
It is yours and it holds
Everything that you need

There are no strings
No prices to pay
Just a table
That begs you to come
Come and stay
My dear friend

Photo by Jadranka Isabel Photography

You Are Enough


You are enough
You are not lacking
I adore just watching you.

You are not broken.
You are perfect
In all your ways
In all you do.

You are so precious.
I hate to see you
Feeling like you’ve fallen short
Of some imaginary burdens
You’ve created
In your heart.

This is the plight
Of being human
This push and shove
For what is right.

Of thinking that
You cannot trust
The things I’ve hidden
In your heart.

You are enough
If you could see
The way I see you
Then you’d rest.

And in the mirror
You’d see beauty
Precious beauty
At its best.

Photo by Jadranka Isabel Photography