Patience

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                            Patience isn't passive
                      but A power held in check,
        ready when Time comes
              to move Inexorably forward.
                PatiencE shows a passion
           for peace iN bite sized nuggets
 unafraid of silenCe
                      wisE in gauging climates.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Available titles by Mary Grace van der Kroef

Peace

Present places
present faces
in the moment here with you

Touching sunlight
touching evening
side by side in all I do

In comings
follow goings
always knowing you have space

Quiet moments
hectic motions
anchored inside grace

Such protection
unseen deflection
learning ever to remain

In the sphere
of your promise
knowing every tear of pain

is treasured
measured
in the palm of your hand

Ensuring
your enduring
present peace before me spanned

Copyright ©2023 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Titles by Mary Grace van der Kroef

Joy

Found in simple spaces
when lights have dimmed to ease
weariness of day from shoulders prone.

In the morning beams
where radiance sings
reserving stage for feathered accompaniment notes.

Shimmers in the shadows
like the fuzziness of heat,
but greats in bells that chime with chirping mirth.

Often hid amid
wide open space
blending with a magic you can not trace.

Given to the few
who look beyond circumstance
to find the lines God painted beneath.

Even when awash,
paying untold cost,
finding treasure hid and hold relief.

Copyright ©2023 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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One Harvest Moon

It’s 5:30 am.

Mr. Moon is peering through my window.

Wearing his harvest glow like a luminous gem.

Pulling the clouds around himself like a soft collar.

Dipping beyond the tree’s top most branches.

Casting limbs and lingering leaves into dark silhouette.

It’s 6 am.

The tinny child at my side sleeps.

October’s chill shielded by our shared blanket.

Mr. Moon, don’t wake her again.

It’s 6:30 am.

The sky is deepest navy blue.

Mr. Moon, your framing glow is dipping low.

It’s almost time to say goodnight.

My day starts with a sleepy blur.

I can almost hear a murmured purr.

“Goodnight little Mother.”

How can I be upset?

Dressed in his best, yet lonely.

It’s 6:45 am.

Navy turns to dusky blue.

I have almost lost his golden view.

His exit bringing frosty fog that creeps and crawls.

It’s 7 am.

Sky now misty purple.

How I wish he’d come again.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Never Empty/Ekstasis Magazine

Reviving the Christian Imagination

Covering creative culture with Christianity Today

“Within the pages of Ekstasis, we exhibit arts and letter that reflect the depths of Christian life.”

– from the Ekstasis Magazine About Page –

I have found the pages of Ekstasis Magazine, both online and in print, to be a place of great beauty and deep thought, reverence and worship, joy and celebration.

I would like to thank the editorial team for including my poem “Never Empty” in their Autumn online lineup.

I invite you to visit them and enjoy the many rich works of writers/artists of all kinds.

“Ekstasis publishes work that slants toward the triumphant and glorious aspects of life in Christ, framed through the arts and literature. Ekstasis is based in the work of Beautiful Orthodoxy, as defined by Christianity Today.”

– from the Ekstasis Magazine About Page –

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Pristine Floor

I turned it over in my hand
This broken piece
Of self
Traced the cracks
Noted the gaps
Counted the missing particles
Now marking
A pristine floor

A broom passed by
Grabbing flecks that soiled
This hallowed place.

Its bristles shush
My shameful grief
Watching
In silence

I should have protested
asked for time
Told my story
Before
This piece of self
Crumbled
And I was left to mourn.

Alone
Or so perceived

Untill
Generous Silence
Gave them back to me
Cupped
In recognition
Bound tightly
With the string of memories
As I prayed

He gave no rebuke
As bits poured into my hands
Losing fragments
Between hesitant fingers
He helped me count the loss
That again littered marble paths
Highlighted against its wealth
As human filth

He waited
Cupping tears that spilled
Adding his own to the soiled floor
Besmirched in regrets as thick as aged blood

Patient
He shushed the onlookers
Ready to jeer the fallen

Then I was ready
He pulled each speck to himself
Dirtying his own hands to lift my loss
Into his apron furled
It was him who shook my remnant free
Of any last dust
It was my King who carried my shame
Out the door
And when returned
Knowing it no more

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Together

I ask for his hand
He holds on tight
A curve is coming
It might mean a fight

But we stand together
Hand in hand, we’re one
We won’t be separated
We can’t be undone

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020


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Did We Ask

Did we ask to exist?
Think on it…
A sentient thought that
Could whisper to a woman’s whom
“I’m ready.”
Or…
Perhaps,
As the scene was written
The ghosts within the mind of God
Asked for life,
And he let them free.
Maybe,
We itched with in his ear.
Or twined inside his being.
Pulling,
Begging,
To be.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps we were but silence,
Pregnant with potential.
A question ready to be asked.
A lesson waiting for the right
Scholars interpretation
And that was He.
Maybe…

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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The Weight of Me

As the weight of me grew,
I found myself stepping
On dreams
Braking them to shards.
Dancing on the glittering
Fragments
Of loss.
 
They couldn’t support me anymore.
 
As the weight of me grew,
I found I could push,
Pull,
Cary,
Loads that dwarfed others.
 
I didn’t always need help.
 
As the weight of me grew,
I gained,
I lost,
I changed,
Paying the cost of filling.
 
Often hungry for more.
 
As the weight if me grew,
I knew I would burst.
Self saturation
Dragging me down.
Stagnant strength.
 
I was lost in my own veins.
 
As the weight of me grew,
Swollen limbs restricted.
Forced to sit still
In filth
Unsated want.
 
I had, had enough of self.
 
As the weight if me dripped,
I raged.
Sweating,
Cursing,
Hurling up bits.
 
They had turned to poison.
 
As the weight of me balanced,
I was shame.
Until it rained,
Washing clean my ruin.
Revealing empty skin.
 
Hunger lingered on.
 
Longing to fill sagging emptiness.
Hunting purpose.
Seeking strength I once owned.
Still,
Leery of gorging on self.
 
I still remember that slow poison.
 
Then you took my hand
And the weight of me
Felt weak.
So,
You gave me a drink.
 
Homely soup for my soul.
 
It satisfied
And I shared myself too.
With crumbs of words,
A sprinkle of laughter,
We nourished each other.
 
And the weight of me found peace.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Butternut Squash Soup

Thankful for tears
as I chop onions.
Release,
I didn’t know I needed.

Raw bitterness
dumped
atop sweet
orange flesh.

Juice
flows past my firmest grip.
Gentleness,
mixed with curry spice.

Squash and pear.
present with sadness.
Stewed together
then blended smooth.

A prosses,
as the bubbles rise.
God met me here.

The soup is done.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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