Tag Archives: poem

Evening calls.

3 Feb

Sitting in the cold
night air
on the cold porch,
telephone pressed to my ear,
I am distracted.
High, high above me,
an owl
hoots repeatedly
I try to listen to two things at once.
(and end up doing neither well)
still, it is a moment.

While I drove by . . .

2 Feb

On a cool sunny day,
we drove
I counted the raptors as we went
10 Turkey Vultures,
soaring and circling,
a single bird flew fast across the road
to fast to identify,
a red-shouldered hawk soaring to the right
and on a sign by the side of the road,
a tiny little hawk,
a kestrel,
watched the ground
while I drove by
on a cool sunny day.


Another published mini-poem!

12 Feb

Go visit the wonderful A Handful of Stones and see my latest! You should be visiting daily anyway . . . great stuff!

Winter Haiku

2 Jan

I have another poem up at Winter Haiku. [click] While you’re there, read some of the other haikus!

Fall Leaves

4 Oct

Autumn Leaves

Littering the ground with abundance
Especially pleasing to crunch underfoot
Airily fluttering down like rain
Vibrant, warm shades of red and orange and yellow
Every season brings its joys
Still fall makes my heart sing


5 Feb

I have problems with Lenten sacrifice.
(Perhaps I came to the notion too late?)
I do not think that God asks us to sacrifice chocolate or meat or music
in order to be worthy

of His Love.

This, I do not believe.

Sacrifice is not merely abstaining from meat . . .

. . . all the while knowing how good it will taste come Easter.
Would real sacrifice be a fast before a party?
(When my daughter is banned from her DS, she claims to be glad because she has reading to catch up on. )
Lent is not sacrifice.

God does ask us to sacrifice. To sacrifice and mean it. To sacrifice and take it.
To sacrifice and suffer with it. All the while continuing on, unsure if there will be respite in the end.
This sacrifice God wants us to endure.

How else do you explain Death?

More Sacrifice/Lent  poems at read write poem.
All content written by Liza Lee Miller unless otherwise noted.
© 2008, Liza Lee Miller. Creative Commons License