Bubble Hunting

A sheet of ice that spans the street, black like darkest slate.
From underneath water seeps, through clogged and rusting grate.
Bubbles trapped under ice dance despite the cold,
as little boots sliding fast can find no proper hold.

Back and forth, ghost like in sheen, the bubbles bounce and bob.
Weight is shifted up above. Stomp! That did the job.
One bubble popped. White rings are left to mark the impact’s crack.
How many can be caught and taught with a well aimed mighty thwack?

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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The Wonder of Color

Have you ever wondered at the wonder of color? The bright, the bold, the muted and soft. The endless hues that make up the color wheel. The variations you get mixing them. The creativity, chemistry, and math. I wonder at the wonder of colors.

My favorite huge is forest green. The deepness of it. The peaceful emotions it evokes when I see it. The smell of crushed pine needles. What would the world be without forest green? What about yours?

Imagine if your favourite hue just disappeared.
I think I would weep.

Have you ever thought about the power colors have to influence your mood? Dose a sunny yellow brighten your day? Dose a deep blue calm you? How about a playful pink, or a shimmer of silver?

Color wouldn’t be without light. That electromagnetic radiation bouncing around our word, being absorbed or rejected by objects and our eyes. The way it all works together, or doesn’t, to give us the thing called color. Mesmerizing madness are the words that come when it’s all described. Magic! But also science, this wonder that is color.

I have dreamed of a world that lacked light before. A world of blackness, of touch, feel, smell, hesitation, question. A world where everything has a home, or it disappears. A world where the human senses are all enhanced by our blindness. What a different world ours would be without light, without color.

Colors tell stories. We know that red checks mean something. Fever? Cold? Embarrassment? A flush of Joy? Too much wine? Shades of red tell so many stories. Some beautiful, some uncomfortable, some painful. Red, the color of love, and blood.

Blue is the hue of cold. Dose it send chills down your spine? Or darken it to royal and it tells a story of lush luxury and poise. Darken in to navy and it reminds me of strength. Lighten it and its baby blue is like a child’s light-hearted giggle.

What color gives you warmth? Is it a burst of yellow? Yellow tells the story of present sunshine and wildflowers. The kiss of honey on bread, the smell of mead. In reverse it whispers of sickness, soiled garments, wasting age. All these are yellow, and yellows are these things.

Primary in their existence, the blues, the reds, the yellows. Mix them? The world explodes with color.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

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Christmas Crystals

With dampness in the air they cling
to just about everything.
Every limb is painted white,
making night a bit more bright.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

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December Night

Mantle of lights above my head
fixed on a map of midnight blue
shining silver blue and red
so close, yet eons over head.

They only wink with my own blink
a steady stream of glistening
shinning bright, yet light, I see
is all ancient history.

A vastness more than mind can hold
yet I behold December’s night
stand on my globe of living rock
that spins with the celestial clock.

Count the numbers, multiply,
as the universe flies by,
here I stand a single speck
in heaven’s sum.

December night clear, bright,
gifted glimpse of creations might
never a doubt in my mind
stargazing, meant to remind.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

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Oneness All Our Own

Warmth of oneness all our own,
a wealth neither has ever known.

Together in a permanent
state under the firmament.

A oneness more than touch alone.
A choice made as love we hone.

Cultivate sustainable,
believing it attainable.

Our oneness growing, building, on,
as closer, we are being drawn.

Uniquely us, yet made to fit
together as our lives are knit.

As with knots, it’s never straight.
Oneness is our guarding gate.

No other two could ever be
quite like this oneness of you and me.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

Remembering Grandpa

Original painting by Mary Grace van der Kroef

Remembering the smell of you
Sawdust, rich and fine

Remembering the touch of you
Prickly whisker hugs at night

Remembering the sight of you
Hands dipped in earth

Remembering the sound of you
Low, gentle, holding mirth

The card games played,
the things you made,
the books you read to us.

Did you know you
left these things?
Treasures, truth, trust

Remembering the things you taught
Gods generosity

Remembering is all I’ve got
Remembering you, loving me

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

Reservoir of Tears/Kitchen Sink Magazine Issue 2

Kitchen Sink Magazine is a free to download, online literary magazine. They released their second issue at the beginning of this week.

My poem “Reservoir of Tears”, was included in this latest edition. I encourage everyone to follow the link provided to read this free edition. They have included a great variety of pieces by poets and writers of many experience levels and backgrounds.

Thank you Kitchen Sink Magazine for including me. It’s always exciting to see my words alongside those of other writers.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

King of Blue

Original painting by Mary Grace van der Kroef, on 8″ by 8″ canvas board.

In the early morning gray,
I see you.
In the trees that shed their leaves,
I see you.
King of birds of blue.

You’re a brightness in the morn,
clouds are filling up with scorn.
As bits of white fall,
you’re the brightest blink of all.

Heaviness is falling down.
Let it fall.
Building on the pointed posts.
Let it fall.
You’re still a king through it all.

Blue because of shifting light,
magnificent through winter white.
Unafraid to face the chill,
that amplifies your royal thrill.

Don’t fly away my Kind of blue.
I’ll look for you.
For the frozen months, remain.
I’ll look for you.
Jay of Blue, my morning view.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

Unbelieving Prayer

Stand on the threshold
the confessional of prayer.
Standing never kneeling
unbelief hangs in the air.

Say words despite feeling
no one is really there.
Recite the memorized
without feeling, love or care.

Tradition of a motion
learned while very young.
Hands to fold eyes to close
songs that have been sung.

Knowledge that was planted
yet never truly learned.
Leaves emptiness,
righteousness unearned.

Stepping from the threshold
time to make a choice.
Can you hear God calling you?
Or only your own voice

Unbelieving pray
I believe is still a door.
Desire for belief
a seed with faith it’s core.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020