Archive for February, 2014

There’s a stirring

There’s a bell, a distant bell

heralding Sunday, ringing

in the traffic-still morning

of her slow-eat breakfast,

ringing, ringing.

 

It’s a day, a lazy day

promising leisure, calling,

in the late-rise hour,

to her slipper-shod feet,

calling, calling.

 

There’s a stirring, something stirs,

evoking memories, reminiscing

the worship-spent times

of her long-ago days,

reminiscing, reminiscing.

 

There’s a yearning, deep within,

arousing longing, and desiring

for the warm, tender years

of her close-walk journey,

a desiring, a desiring.

 

And the bell, its soft ding-dong,

brings contrition, and confession,

in her quiet Sunday house,

to her set-aside God,

there’s confession, confession.

 

To her heart, her poured-out heart,

comes regret, and repentance

for the self-centred years,

with God pushed out,

a repentance, repentance.

 

As the bell, the distant bell,

rings out a welcome, inviting,

in her tear-stained spirit

there’s a deep response,

to the inviting, the inviting.

 

There’s a promise on her lips,

a resolution, a renewing,

of her God-follow vows,

and a worship-him plan,

a renewing, a renewing.

© Ellen Carr 2013

 

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The giant is felled

The giant of our backyard is felled.

For twenty years or more she stood

white limbed

elegant,

watching over our neigbourhood,

calling birds to perch awhile,

to sing their songs

on high.

What tales she might have told.

Perhaps she did,

in waving whispers.

 

She saw our baby girls into womanhood,

from swings to sandpits,

to salaries,

watched the house next door

reduced to dusty rubble

for the three in its place,

looked down on guinea pigs and dog,

our barbecues,

our digging and our planting,

our rest and our play.

 

Through storms she stood,

through drought.

She hung on in white resplendence

as her sweet leaves vanished.

Marauders of the night devoured her,

stripped her bare

to gleaming bones.

She stood, a gracious skeleton

of death,

clinging to a ghostly life.

 

So not to eke a stark existence out,

her final days she shed

to warming hearths

and nourishing soil.

She bowed out gracefully

and vanished like the ghost she was,

to memory

of lemon-scented leaves

and towering tree.

 

© Ellen Carr 2014

Written when our beautiful lemon-scented gum tree (eucalyptus tree) had to be cut down due to the effect of our drought years, a few years back, and the destructive work of possums, eating its leaves. I miss its tall beauty and the many rainbow lorikeets (little parrots) that used to sit in it and squawk loudly.