To My Knight

proposalOct. 6, 2016

My love, you are a comfort in this place

of godlessness, a knight among the thieves

of honor – noble victor, in your face

are remedies for much that in me grieves.

You are a wink of Christ, so dearly bought

by blood not ours, and in your arms I find

a shelter from the battles that I’ve fought,

where I can leave the loneliness behind.

You soothe my spirit, spur me on to seek

more love in Him who made us, loves us more

than we can love, and when I kiss your cheek

I glow with thoughts of all He has in store.

My darling, may I bless you in return

with deeper love than we could ever earn.


Language Barrier

I don’t know what to make of us.

I could drum up a passion if I chose,

pound the surface hard enough, long enough

until the core carried the beat’s inside echo.

Ah, the lighting up of your face when we met,

the covert second glance at my photo (in the strapless dress?),

the comfortable, stirring brush of you arm against mine,

the slight smell of your sweat in the light rain…

something could be.

And yet, your unassembled English cannot break my heart.

Conversation can only go as deep as vocabulary.

Shall we be ruled by language long before an ocean intervenes?

Are we doomed to “to,” “too,” and “two” —

doomed to return to one and one

so soon – how great the effort to be other-wise.

Bravo! Be brave. Speak. Laugh. Or let your lips

convey a meaning on some deeper level.

Untitled Sonnet

April 29, 2012

If he asked me on a dinner date

and sat on the opposite side and held my gaze

for 60 seconds, would I still debate

my beauty as I do these lonely days?

Would these loud questions hush to silence if

he took my hand in his, studied my face

with gentleness? Would I relax the stiff,

uncertain muscles robbing me of grace?

Would it not matter so much our differences –

he the outdoorsman, I mosquito food?

Could we unite despite our preferences

over a stronger common love and good?

I think, if he gave me a chance, I could surprise

us both, let go this insecure disguise.

Running Away

Not a new poem, but here it is…

I got too scared so close and ran away.
You weren’t the prince that I was looking for,
or was I just too comfortable with “someday,”
distant and vauge and faceless – nothing more?
You, loud and real and quirky, flattered me
by sitting by my side, arm brushing arm,
a sudden temptation prodding me to see
if I could make you love me. What’s the harm?
What if I failed and your rejection chilled
my heart to deeper silence? What if success
just fed my selfishness until it killed
the very thing I craved – that tenderness?
That’s why I never gave you a real chance,
one reason I’m unpracticed at romance.

For Eowyn

A sonnet from about six years ago.


My love has been “a shadow and a thought”?

These restless feelings and these darting eyes

were full—was it for vanity I fought?

No, though I loved in vain. Was I unwise

to hope for one who seemed an honorable man,

who paid me heed when so few men had cared?

He was in love the day my life began,

but not with me. How greatly I have erred!

how deeply does the disillusion draw

the desperate thought, “I must not lose again”!

What vindication now if such men saw

the valor that arises out of pain!

The broken heart will battle in its turn.

Let no one doubt then how such hearts can burn!

Shadow and Light

A sonnet from a couple of years ago.

You speak of terror, of the fear of loss;

I think the day is breaking after night.

The sun is in my eyes as our paths cross.

Do you see shadow while you burst with light?

I fear your fear and tremble at the thought

that you will go and never take my hand

and never risk, but leave just as distraught

with memories resurrected – still unmanned.

What can I do but act as mirror and shine

your own light back on you, illumine your face

as your warm eyes stare with two tears in mine.

It’s me. It’s you. It’s foolish: no embrace.

We hurt. We ache. And so we cannot touch,

because we fear the later dark too much.

Inns, Dogs and Temples

Nov. 7, 2010

Oh God, I need to get away from this

lust-saturated culture leaving room

in inns for not a Savior but a kiss,

exchanging sweat for evening prayer’s perfume.

This animal pants always at our heels,

begging for us to call its slobber “sweet,”

adore and feed it. The mangy creature steals

whatever we give it — bone, caress, or meat.

This sickness hounds us everywhere we turn.

Hide me in some strong temple from its reach,

where only holy fire’s allowed to burn,

only a husband is allowed to breach,

and the Shekinah glory mixes there

with human love surrendered to Your care.