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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Empty Footsteps

A trail of empty footsteps
all around is whiteness new
in those empty footsteps
are all my thoughts of you

In the softest flakes
that drift on breath to earth
I hear lilting whispers
reminding me of worth

Worth that can’t be measured
worth that won’t decrease
worth that’s my inheritance
it offers up release

As the empty footsteps
fill with weeping snow
again I am reminded
it’s you who truly know

Every longing fault
every triumph found
all mishandled
moments that abound

Before my earthly birth
before the turning age
you knew my entirety
including my backstage

No longer empty footsteps
we both are now abrim
tears of quiet gratitude
as I rims of puddles skim

© 2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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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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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

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

Morning Snow

Original photo by Mary Grace van der Kroef

It may be dark inside,
but without it’s strangely light.
As the world lay sleeping,
nature donned a blanket, white

Though the sky is thick,
with heavy clouds of gray.
The early morning darkness,
is lightened by winter’s play.

I sit in my dark room,
watch the lights return.
Black to gray, with blue and white.
the seasons complete a turn.

Off in the distance,
past trees and lake, there’s more.
Under clouds horizon peaks
a glimmer over the far shore.

It was white and bright but brief,
as if the sun is shy.
It’s been a while since winter played
beneath a sun-filled sky.

So she’ll stay behind her clouds,
soften down her light.
This first encounters not the time,
she’ll savour her delight.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2019

Autumn Overtaking

Original photo by Mary Grace van der Kroef

Starting with the crowning leaves
it trickles down with slow intent
until all burn with crimson glow
a constant wave, hours, days old

Watch the tree be kissed by fire
red, yellows, lingering greens
ombre waves, a colour tide
how long until it all consumes?

Converts each leaf as colours flirt
and flit, and drip, and turn
not alone, it kisses all
each a different hue

Fire transformed to gold as
light skips from maple to aspen
from sugar to quaking
autumn overtaking

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

Autumns Song

Original poem and drawing by Mary Grace van der Kroef, spelling mistakes and all.

Listen to the crowning leaves
Their glory days proceed with ease,
The wind gives to them a voice.
They shout, with shaking leaves, rejoice.
First time snow has run away
Autumn has another day.

Leaves of gold shimmering shine
Their dying days a heaven shrine
They do not weep as down they fall
They lay their royal carpet for all
And all can play in piles of gold
Rich or poor, young or old.

Soon there gold will turn to brown
But in their cries there is no frown
It’s well known they’ve earned their rest
A golden crown marks them as blessed
The first time snow has come and gone
So autumn sings us one last song.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2019

Today is Canadien Thanksgiving. I wish you all a safe, peaceful day.

One Harvest Moon

Original drawing by Mary Grace van der Kroef.

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.

Starting to dip beyond the trees top most branches.

Casting limbs and lingering leaves in to 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.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020