We write first in blood and tears, then go over in ink.

Archive for April, 2009


His truck crashes, the tyres spin,

He pauses in mid mayhem to smile for me.

This mystery and miracle…

How does his heart thump?

His mind scheme and his lungs pump?

He was shaped in me and came out from me,

Surely I could comprehend?

But every part of this tiny body and soul is beyond me,

Even now, he slips further from my grasp.


But, today, he smiles for me, my son.

He gives me JOY

The way nothing can.

God’s grace and peace shine out from within

Nothing can steal my love for him.

He Smiles

My son plays in the thickening dusk
Weighed hand finds not the switch for the light
He shows no fear of gathering dark
But, once again, he turns to me and smiles

Perhaps his lamp is the love shining through my eyes.


On the road on the way to Emmaus
I chanced upon a man
… or perhaps he was waiting for me.
We became instant friends
And this is what he said to me,
“If today you met your BFF,
what will you tell him?”

I thought long and I thought deep
I disguised my longing
With a shrug and with a grin.
“If I met my BFF today
on the road on the way to Emmaus,
I will tell him all I told
My naughty friend Alice.
I will make him laugh
With our irreverent humour,
Our secret sniggers,
Our digs
at our one and only FCBC.”

“If today I met my BFF
here on the road on the way to Emmaus,
I must, I will! complain endlessly,
Because I know he accepts me
Like Eddie does, and lets me run on
And be myself, with all my petty spats,
ignoble claims and
lofty aspirations,
Even if I seem foolish,
And proud,
And all things that others sneer about,
I would tell him,
Because I know he will simply nod
And say, “Carry on…”

“If I met my BFF here
on the road on the way to Emmaus,” I mused aloud,
“I would pour out
my fears and my disappointments
like a bitter brew,
as to Mum Nancy, as I often do,
And I know he will store it,
As she does,
in a safe place
where no one will be hurt.
Then I could go on with light heart,
This is what I know my BFF will do.”

Smiling around a date
(Its twin is in my mouth)
My friend wuffled out,
“It seems to me
There is a little of your BFF in all your friends?”
How amusing a reflection
I thought as I enjoyed my fruit,
And how true! I understood
There on the road on the way to Emmaus.

But a shadow clouded my brow
Because I know
I know my BFF is NOT
There on the road on the way to Emmaus.
He is NOT
With me, and I struggle on alone
The day seemed colder and emptier
I forgot my friend, though he still walked beside me
There on the road on the way to Emmaus.

I pulled my cloak close
Over the dry well of my heart
Where friends and loved ones
Have dug and dug
To find some strength, some support
But I had none
No, nothing to offer,
No help, no love, no healing, no hope.

The hole in my heart
Sucks deep and spews despair.
As the stones biting into my thin-soled feet
And the thongs chafing my sandpapered heels,
My aching hollow is not to be denied,
On the road on the way to Emmaus.

A drink he begged of me and
I was glad
That I had something I could offer
Something clean
He sipped and was satisfied
Ah, if only every need was this easily met!
He smiled and, of a sudden, he said

“Think you, the sun is nigh?”
“No, not high. The sun is waned,” I sigh.
But he gives my shoulder a rebuking shake.
“If the sun is set, it is no wonder
your eyes are shadowed, my friend,”
he says gently,
“But I tell you the sun is over you,
only but look,” he points
But my eyes are blinded with tears
There on the road on the way to Emmaus.

“Think you, is your bread replenished?” he asks again.
“No,” I laughed, loving him for his sweetness,
“You know my sustenance is from yesterday
and I have been on the road long,
and further yet to go
so I must contrive, I must contrive.”

“But see here,” he says, drawing from himself,
“Here is bread and here is wine,
they are your portion
as you call me friend.”
And we supped together.
Merry grew we
There on the road on the way to Emmaus.

We stroll companionably along,
The way seems less weary
With his anecdotes and with his songs.
He taught me the three Js
(you know, Jonah, Joel and Jeremiah)
and made me laugh when he acted
the Beloved’s Shunamite (in contralto)
And when he warbled Lamentations
In a wickedly mournful tone.

Too soon; could it be?
The gates of Emmaus loomed.
I had not thought the journey could be
so delightful, so little in suffering.
“Tarry a while,”
my hand convulsed around his sleeve
“Abide with me.”
A wild grief seized,
Would I be sundered from yet another friend?
So soon as I am bereft?
There on the road on the way to Emmaus?

“You know me,
I will never leave you.
Do you yet not know,
I am your BFF?”
He frees my distraught grip
And holds my hand in his hand.
And, indeed, all is plain and clear!
Oh rejoice! The Son is indeed here!
The well of my heart fills
with lifegiving waters
And from loneliness I am free, I am free.
He is alive and He walks with me,
Here on the road on the way to Emmaus.

Starting Again

I dream of children pure and empty,

Waiting for dreams that they’ll have, plenty,

I dream of ink pens, held in babes’ hands,

Moving on clean sheets, mightily.

Artistic Inspiration

I was having one of those days – discouragement is like a dam breaking and all sorts of condemning thoughts gush in. ‘Why can’t I get a regular job like everybody else and earn real money? What makes me think this story can be outstanding? What am I doing with my life?’  It was getting from bad to worse.

We are always chasing after artistic inspiration, believing that inspiration can make our product just one notch above the competition. (more…)

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