He Names Me

Who am I?
The one that you see?
What she thinks of me?
All they note?
Or the thing he missed?

Who?

Guilty
That I forgot
Lost in the mess
Of others’ thoughts
Spewed at my feet

Why?

Untranslatable
From one mind to another
Labeled with others
Experiences
Self perceptions that tell lies

Where?

Is the truth of me
In this ever shifting nexus
Is it written down
In His book of days?
Was I

Planted

A vine that climes
Grabbing hold of His
Provisions
Both free and confined
To grow along the trellis of

His cross

When I reach the top
Will I know?
Intertwined and grounded
By Him, with Him,
I am for Him

Upheld

Blooming in my seasons
Existing, a separate being
Singleness, within the
Universe’s Whomb
Bearing fruits as He names me

Loved

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Egg Salad

A crunch to spoil the
Creamy texture I spread thick.
Celery, too much.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Message in a Bottle

Wandering
across the expanse.
A dance In speckled darkness.

Glass vessel
reflected glimmers.
Slivers of light refracted through
Translucency,

casting a luminous cloud.
Lighting particles once hidden,
transformed into ethereal wings.

Enabling,
a bottled prayer
to heaven cling.
Whispers,
winging higher than my dreams.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Grandma’s Somethings

Something she needed.
Gathering sticks with a clackity clack.

Something she knew.
A rake with handle true.

Something she loved.
Crisp, fresh air.

Something she did.
Feeding burn barrel natures spares.

Something she taught.
God loves you.

Something she chose.
The right voices for reading Oscar the Grouch.

Someone I will never forget.
Grandma.


©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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What an Artist Gives

She started with the whitest sheet,
Epitome of incomplete.

So her words began to drip,
Complexion with it also slipped.

Human intensity,
Splashed the page in empathy.

Jumbled pinks with browns to shade.
Blues of descending hues arrayed.

It leached all, left her gray,
As hid behind the curtain fay.

Work complete, feeling weak,
Departing, finding empty streets.

She walked alone beneath the sky,
Breathing in as time let fly.

As the sunset kissed her face,
Flush across her cheeks raced.

So God filled his empty vessel,
Leaving heart with sparks to wrestle.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Red Lollypop

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


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Cold Toes

Toes, dressed against
cold. Still chilled and damp, remind
movement is a must.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Uncracked Spine

Books beg to be read
as their pages whisper,
syllables of loneliness.

“Love me,
as I love the touch of your hands
on my untracked spine.”

“Choose me.
Let me linger in your mind
as slow sipped wine.”

Once the pages open,
words walk through soul.
Hook, to your whole.

Tethering other’s stories
to what makes you,
you.

“Meet me,
in pages of cream,
Through ink dark as dreams.”

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Walking Socks

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.


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