Night Raider

A few bean plants lost their leaves in the night. A trail of dainty hoofprints led across the garden. Who, then, is the thief?

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

My Mark

I've never met them,

These silent strangers.

They are to me but

A name on a stone -

Or no name at all,

Just a depression,

A mound of earth,

Unmarked.

They lived before me

In a younger world -

Real people sighing

Through life

Before I took on

Flesh and breath.

They're gone now -

Unremarked.

It doesn't seem fair.

They might never

Have existed at all -

For good or ill,

They came to rest here,

On this windy hill -

Forlorn,

Forgotten.

I cannot know them,

I who am living.

God alone has

Decided their fate.

I walk from the place

And leave them behind.

I must make a mark

Not written on stone.

© 2009 by Janalyn Voigt

Nowadays

When I was young,

I sprang from my bed.

Nowadays,

I rise from the dead.

©2010 Janalyn Voigt

Singing

I listen to the rhythms of life, for within them I will sing my melody.

The Stuff of Life

We traveled long miles to see a family member confined to bed, unable to walk. She's lain there for a year now, drifting in and out of sleep, her memories ebbing and flowing. Her days have condensed to a set of DVD's played again and again, to the nurse's visits, meal time, and the view from a window where chickadees gather around a feeder. What I find annoying -- gray rain driving against the windshield and blowing into my face whenever I leave the car at rest stops -- she would probably drink in as the stuff of life.

Tango

Today I’m going to dance with life and see where it leads.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Wonderment

Children’s eyes

See marvels --

Creation born anew --

Wonderment

In each small

Everything.

Give me, Lord,

A child’s view.

 

© 1985 Janalyn Voigt

Helpers

Hands that strengthen mine I cannot despise, for they give more than they take.

© Janalyn Voigt

Grace

Harsh words spoken in haste cannot erase themselves without me.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Majesty

The mountains stand sharp, edged in green. Storm clouds roil in a summer’s sky. An eagle soars. I gaze, but cannot hold them thus.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Focus

Cracks split the pavement and nurture weeds, but in the garden flowers bloom.

I choose my world.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Poetry

It comes at odd hours without warning. A word – a sentence – elusive as a butterfly. And I, imperfect net in hand, attempt its capture.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Busy Me

It seems I need another life just to keep up with this one.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

My Strawberries

Two snails, pulled from a ripe strawberry, earn a gratis trip to the yard waste container. A fat brown slug follows them. A beetle sees me coming and runs.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Garden Logic

I don’t know why God grew a gardener from one who weeps at a worm’s death.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Life Imitates Art

After plowing and planting a virtual farm, I looked out the window and saw weeds growing in my real garden. My fingernails are now dirty.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Renewal

I love that every day is a new chance at things.

Rain

Sparkling drops caress blossoms and wash clean the street. Seedlings in the garden revive. Tree roots drink deep. How can I complain?

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Marking Time

The clock ticks away in my office, like a measured heartbeat, punctuating each moment, marking every “now.” I must do the same.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

Weeds?

A child’s protests stayed my hand and now the poppies bloom, for good or ill, in my garden.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt