New

in awe of His promise

to make all things new

even me

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

New for Haiku Heights and haiku my heart

Happy New Year :)

26

26 reasons

to remember why

He came

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

It’s Christmas, but I find it difficult to feel celebratory.  I know most are probably feeling the same way with hearts heavy and broken from last week’s devastation.  And yet I am reminded of why He came.  He came not because He wanted us to decorate trees and drink egg nog and rack up credit card debt giving gifts.  He came because we are in darkness, and He is the Light of the world.  John 8:12  Come, let us behold Him.  Perhaps we have never needed to more.

 

Ornament (Beauty for Ashes)

adorn me with your breath,

i will flower and grow

underneath the overgrowth

of black trees

that bear no fruit

and needle the ground

sleeping

in winter’s graveyard

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Slave (The Calling of Manumit)

One lung full while the other

constricts,                      

shrivels,

crushed beneath this weight

I can’t think, can’t  resist,

weakened

by the purchase of screws

I held myself down for

and bled my tears

listening to the

sweet sound

of mourning doves.

I have forgotten You

and I confess

sometimes I think You are gone,

abandoned me

for greener fields

of those more faithful.

But You say I am Your temple—

chained as I am to memory,

so please keep holding out keys

to this puzzle of wings

I am putting together

to fly away from ghostly apparitions

that visit me in my dreams.

They kiss me on the forehead

and keep me from the tiny living temples

that matter at all to me.

Serpent of haunting,

you’ve bitten, but you are crushed,

and I, while breathing in a whisper from the moon

through windows

streaming enlightened threads

in reflection of daylight,

in the back of my mind

I hear it

in each pump of blood

from my heart

I know

I know

I was meant to be free.

 

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

I'll be linking this to Poets United Poetry Pantry

The Truce

sitting in the dust

accusers round her, thick—

with pride and spittle

dribbling their bearded chins

fingers pointing, fists shaking, rocks in hand—

the ground trembling with cries for justice

‘such women’ they yell, violent distaste rolling

off their tongues

one by one, they felt the mirrored shame in His words

until only one accuser remained

as she waited for the airless moment to pass

and a stone to pierce her

the two of them breathed slowly together, seconds ticking, until

she put it down, rose up, and began to pardon herself

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

*His words

For dVerse, Armistice/Truce/Making Peace with Poetics

Troll Bridge

facing the winter

of a hearse driven life

you soldier on

with skeletons in the closet

clacking along

the last frost covered leaf

curled and brown, laced with silver,

blows away in the wind

the wind,

there to bite you

sting you,

 remind you

of regrets and demons without, within—cackling

in the still-deadness

where your still-living questions

ask if you have left

them behind

they pick lustily

at your flesh, with tempting,

at your mind, with amoebic doubts—

troll-like, in a present-day quagmire

on one side of the bridge; whereupon crossing

you hear a voice

which says to Call This

The Bridge Where You Rename Yourself

                                                    And Forgiven, And Worth

                       Overcomer                                                                        Being

Names like                                                                                                                  Loved

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Inspiration: Isaiah 62, Revelation 2, and a dream that woke me up

For the prompt at Poetry Jam and for  Poets United Poetry Pantry

*Note: this piece doesn't read right on most hand-held devices.  For accuracy read on a larger screen.

Becoming Clay

Becoming Clay

                          

Stacked upon the shelf,

my emotions, spent and raw.

Dark are they now,

and bland—

I cannot feel anymore.

Whispers of my soul

lay broken in a mess I cannot fix myself.

If I were to blow a final deep, aching breath

the shards would fly away like dust.

A single tear slides down my cheek,

like a match across my heart,

reminding me to feel—

reminding me of what I cannot lose.

It falls to the ground

reaching the dust of my brokenness.

And in the silence,

hands caked with the mud of humanity

reach for me,

His grip unafraid of the cold reality of what I am.

A low, loving murmur breaks the dead air,

a voice confident and sure,

"Now I have something to work with."

Copyright 2005 Jennifer Wagner