Poem: The Silent Places


The Silent Places

You live in the silent places,
the places long hidden,
buried in fear of judgment,
places of punishment in the midst of struggle,
of anger written in stone,
Gods of hate.

You live in the silent places,
you bring me the courage I never learned.
Always before I was wounded each time I stepped forward into battle,
each step forward met with wounds and wrath,
never any satisfaction unless there was blood on the floor.
But you met wound with balm,
a safe place to heal.

I had almost forgotten safety.
Trust in it came slow.
a lurking of disbelief built over time and missteps
and the anger written in stone,
blind and understanding only belief,
losing faith in the seasons’ power to change and grow.
Stone belief. Raised and ready to kill
in the pretense of love.

You live in the silent places.
All the places I used to hide,
certain if I stayed still enough,
no one would notice.
I would be safe.

Now you are there with me.
Your love and patience a product of Paul’s truth,
and strong as God and his panoply of flawed saints,
you hold me up, and I have learned to speak
no less aware of my flaws and failures,
but no longer afraid of them.

About this poem

A love poem (duh).

“Paul’s truth” refers to 1st Corinthians 13:4-8a, the “love chapter” in the Bible, and Galatians 5:22-23. The very definition of love.


Poem: Contentment



I would like to paint you, but
I am not such a fool to think I could capture you
in oil and pigment.

You are too alive for that,
too full of mercurial movement and flux,
to be imprisoned by brush and canvas.

And so I am content
to watch your landscape change like seasons
in the moments we are together.

About this poem

In his novel “Portrait of a Lady”, Henry James describes the central character’s beauty as something that could not be captured because it was her liveliness that held the beauty, not a mere collection of lines and features.

I get it,


Poem: And in the Evening


And in the Evening

Sit with me.
Let me feel your warmth
as the sun sets.
Your head on my lap.
The soft rise and fall of your chest
as you sleep,
As one.

About this poem

There is a special intimacy when someone sleeps close to you. An intimacy born in safety.