Six Word Story (87)

Sundown, a time of glorious beauty. An ending.

Endings can feel so scary, final, even deflating. But they are also a time of transition. Where one thing ends, something else begins.

I wonder if that is why God placed so many circular patterns within creation.

To give humanity hope that where we end, he continues.

Where life ends, it also begins.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Rock Sentinel

Gocking eyes
read your lines
In drive by waves
from metal mines

Bare a soul
ripped wide
So metal mines
can drive straight lines

©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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Linger

‘Linger’

It once roared loudly
With an abandon that belied the ordinary mouthpiece
It once shone with brilliance
And heat
That even the blind couldn’t doubt
It poured torrential waters across thirsty furrows
To quench loneliness’s deep thirst

Time has changed its face
Its roar is now a purr sounded in quiet corners
Its light has deepened
To a soft amber that heats as slow fed coals
Its waters have slipped deep
Locked within rich earth carpeted with green

It is a love that lingers into the beyond dreams
Infusing every breath with trust
Each morning with assurance
Even tears with hope
As fingers curl around each other
Locked in companionship
And gray hairs sprout to sparkle against tired temples
It is a love that lives

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Six Word Story (85)

Out of the sustaining cycles of life, the water cycle is one of my favorites to think about.

Every drop in the ocean would once have been rain that every flip of a fin stirs, and every current shares with the whole earth.

The beauty of our word is memorizing.

I see intent and intricate planning in its design. This belief doesn’t make me afraid of science, as some people think of those who are religious. No, it lends me a joy as I contemplate the puzzle pieces.

But I am also a dreamer, not a scientist. Still, the thought of ‘what if’ pulls at my heart, maybe close to the same way as it would for my calculating brothers and sisters?

What would it be like to ride those vapors?

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Helping Hands

‘Helping Hands’

Hands outstretched
Confession            on quivering lips
“I broke it.”
Be it cup or figurine knocked upon the ground
By careless elbows
Compassion leaks from love itself
Dripping into cracks as
Helping hands hold the pieces together
Waiting

Release is gradual
Will it hold?           Is it strong?
In the cup of gentleness
When it’s ready
“It’s okay. We fixed it.”
A young soul learns forgiveness
And trust
When asked to place the treasure
Back home

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Six Word Story (84)

There is a beauty like no other when it rains, each drop its own little world until it touches down.

What must it be like to be separate as you fall to be broken apart across pavement? Never ceasing to be what you are, but to have your world change so drastically as you slide down hill, finding a crack and joining the soil. Remaining what you are, but also changing.

What must it be like to touch down upon the sea and join an uncountable multitude of life? Something with sound and molecules invisible and unheard by the human world?

That fall, that union, vital to our existence. Without it? We wither.

Each single drop, so important.
But alone, never enough.

Only embracing togetherness of different kinds does water nourish life.

…like people…

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Six Word Story (83)

Do you know the ache of honest work?
The burn of weary feet?

Do you know the sweet sensation of a deep pile carpet after work shoes are shed?

Without the ache, we would not know the release of rest.

May this weekend give you that rest your weary feet might need.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Six Word Story (82)

I remember my red balloon. It was heart-shaped with ‘Happy Birthday’ printed in white letters across one side.

I loved that balloon.

Unfortunately, my parents’ living room ceiling hated balloons of all kinds.

“Hold on to the sting, Mary.” I was told.

But, In the middle of childhood games and enthusiasm I let the string of go and in a startling second… That balloon burst as it touched the brickly popcorn surface.

Now I have a new balloon. But I have learned my lesson. I won’t let my dream touch that prickly ceiling…

How about you?

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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