One angel statue,
worn by time,
stands lonely on the ledge.

That angel statue
touched by many
looks on through the hedge.

The angel statue,
firm and unyielding,
stares as I walk by

The angels eyes seem trapped,
like wings,
ready to fly

I pass very near
to the angel,
as I go to school each day.

It holds the same pose
from mid- winter
to the end of may

Once it was waiting
but now it is straight
and looks you in the eye.

The time has come,
the time is now,
for the angel statue to fly.

It steps off the ledge,
it spreads its wings
and jumps into the sky.

Now the ledge,
worn by time,
has a statue on its base.

But it’s just a memorial,
another statue
stands in the angel’s place.

The angel statue
is no longer there,
but soaring the heavens above.

It must be flying,
touching the clouds,
filled with joy and love.

I wont forget
the look of that day,
the blueness of the sky.

I wont forget
the radiant joy
when the angel began to fly.

I wont forget
the angels wings
as hard as a well beat rod

And I’ll never forget
that angel’s face
when it heard the call from God.

Oh, stone angel with your book,
are you writing about me?

I am just playing
with my friends in this park,
but I keep glancing
over my shoulder at you.

Do you have a long list
of all I’ve done wrong?
Did you notice when
I helped Grandma yesterday?

They say you can see into my heart.
So, you must know when I intend to be good,
but it doesn’t come out quite right.
Does trying count?

Maybe if you smiled a little,
I wouldn’t be as nervous.
I’ve been told that God
has lots of room in heaven.

Oh, stone angel with your book,
can’t you move to another park?

Ahhh,
Look, look and behold the beautiful universe as we have never seen it before!

Thank you, dear soul, thank you for your courageous journey.

Thyme’s Vigil

For ages she
has kept vigil,
collecting bits of
wisdom and
lore that are
worth remembering.

For generations she has
kept watch,
resting her pen
from thyme to
thyme,
reading instead
of writing,
sharing the bits
of wisdom and
lore to any who
will listen.

Today, the
lichen and moss,
the chips and cracks
add testimony
to the truth
of her words.
“They withstand the test
of thyme and life.”

Tomorrow, she will
still be here,
with or without pen
in motion,
reflecting the
Holy Presence
in our lives.

A concrete scribe,
Head bent to the task
Of memorializing what came before
Capturing all that may be.
But disremembering this moment,
Neglecting to look up.

Rigidity masquerading as
Strength and groundedness
So that she never noticed
When her legs grew heavy,
Turning to stone
While her head was bent to the task.

Now something new
And infinitely ancient
Burgeons in the shadow.
A gift that was always hers
Come to liberate from
Her self imposed confinement.

Wings as airy as breath
As white as the light of morning
Unfurl, tremble in the breeze,
Catch the wind.
Shattering any thought
That she is an earthbound creature.

The Gatekeeper

The gatekeeper watches the scene below
As old bones crumble and devolve to dust.
The multi-hued leaves of Fall lie still ‘neath
their blanket of cold and crystalline death.

Who comes? Who goes? It matters not, but for
the record he keeps, the task weighs upon
weary winged shoulders. The gatekeeper
sighs, and longs for the day when, he knows, the

trumpet will sound and the book will be closed.
His task complete, he can return to
the world he calls home. Not heaven nor hell,
nor earthly abode, but a place of light.

The ones below will be free. With gates destroyed
there is no need…for a gatekeeper.

The gatekeeper watches the scene below
As old bones crumble and devolve to dust.
The multi-hued leaves of Fall lie still ‘neath
their blanket of cold and crystalline death.

Who comes? Who goes? It matters not, but for
the record he keeps, the task weighs upon
weary winged shoulders. The gatekeeper
sighs, and longs for the day when, he knows, the
trumpet will sound. The book will be closed and

then, his task complete, he can return to
the world he calls home. Not heaven or hell,
nor earthly abode, but a place of light
and joy awaits him. Those he has watched will

be free again. With the gates now destroyed
there is no need…for a gatekeeper.

(I also mentioned another poem that the image evoked, at my blog.)