I think I want a
red one. Wrapped in plastic.
Sticky sugar treat.
Plastic never comes
clean off. Always a remnant
to pick, flick away.
Remember not to
run, paper stick hanging from
a happy red grin.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
I think I want a
red one. Wrapped in plastic.
Sticky sugar treat.
Plastic never comes
clean off. Always a remnant
to pick, flick away.
Remember not to
run, paper stick hanging from
a happy red grin.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
It usually surprises people when I tell them, “I do not care for the Christmas season.”
“Arn’t Christians supposed to love Christmas?”
I guess most of them do, but I can’t help but feel an emptiness behind the brightly covered packages and glitz this world throws around during the holiday season. Expectations are high, but things never seem to pan out the way I mean them to. So why write about this now that the Holidays are over, and becoming a memory?

Because the light of Christmas is not supposed to stay locked into a few weeks of the year. The person of Jesus Christ grew and walked away from the manger, taking his flame of light to the very valley of death.

So today I choose to remind myself that though a modern Christmas leaves me empty, and ancient Christ fills me with light.
Look beyond how culture paints things to deep roots.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Photos sourced from unsplash.com
Blue is like
the rising tide.
A constant,
holding certain pride.
Its hues are cold,
sharp as glass.
They give life
as by they pass.
Both deep and dark
vibrant shades,
are gentled when
with time, they fade.
Leaves a kiss
of chilling bliss,
that lingers
bluebells mid mist.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
The trod of booted
feet.
Never lift a face
to great.
Hands in pockets
deep.
One block left
to defeat.
Alone yet not
alone.
Carrying thoughts like
stone.
Hunching shoulders
prone.
Coming night, the
unknown.
But something is
unseen.
An aura somehow,
clean.
Wholly real, so
serene.
Yet hidden by a
misty screen.
It shimmers on the
edge.
Surrounding like a
hedge.
Embodiment of a
pledge.
Leading away from the
ledge.
A gentle hand at
night.
When it’s fight or
flight.
Reminding of the
right,
To walk through lonely
night.
©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Like pizza fresh from the oven
A melding of flavors, a comforting texture
In the moment
Satisfying
Like chilled leftovers,
Tasting every vegetable separately
The kick of cold sauce
Heat of chilled pepperoni
Chewy crust that requires a rip while taking a bite.
Happy memory
An expirience enjoyed
Bits and pieces saved for later
Disected
Understood.
Thank God for leftover pizza.
©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Another one just for fun.
Holes in socks
Speak of walks.
Wrapped in leather,
Tied up tight.
Perspirations staining fright
And the stink.
Holes on soles,
Or heal,
Or toes,
Tell a tale of travelers’ woes.
A mile farther than planned.
Foot sore still,
Bend to paths commands
Pull them off at end of day.
Wash?
Or simply throw away?
One inside the others fold.
Wadded,
Oder controlled.
Dumped upon the bed at last.
Remnants of times now past.
Crusted with old sweat.
©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Just a bit of fun.
How often do we over look the things that hold us together? The threads that gently bind us into functional complexity…
Did you know, that YOU are someone’s thread?

We all touch each other in small ways that are overlooked. We hold each other together by actions, words, and prayers whispered out of earshot. Don’t be fooled by people’s silence. They are as unaware of their importance as you are of yours.
If we truly understood just how deeply we are all intertwined, it might prove to be a weight unbearable. Like a thread that is strong, but still not made to hold the entire weight of a body, we would snap. Thank God, we are not the only threads that bind.
©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Photo sourced from unsplash.com
Today I have filled with gratitude for all of the people who have supported me on my writing journey so far. If you have purchased my book, make sure to let me know by emailing me a selfie of you and The Branch That I Am, or take a screen shot of your favorite poem’s […]