Category Archives: Spirituality

when you ask me to pray…this…

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no ceaseless pleas
for favors from
a deity beyond, nor
simple conversations
‘tween some small
imagined voices, nor
yearly rites of gluttony
and sport peppered
with thanks, no final
utterance, eleventh
hour recompense.

a wisp of breath
more subtle,
effortless in present
tense, embodying
the senses in a dance
of elements, where
answers aren’t the
aim and questions are
irrelevant, this is the
prayer I pray for you
with utmost reverence.

kat ~July 22, 2015

(This poem was featured on Women’s Spiritual Poetry Blogspot on August 19, 2015)


…but love


it is hard not
to judge you judging
me, though Love calls
me to turn my cheek
to hand, to bare my soul
again and then some,
suffering darts of pompous
intercession from log-filled eyes,
my tainted flesh assuming.

but Love will have the final
say, and glean the mild sheep from
the gloating goats.

here veiled ‘neath mantle of
pure Grace and nothing
more, to tremble from
self-righteous charity, to
offer cheek to hand, my
soul to bare and not to
judge…and not to
judge…and not to
judge… but love.

kat ~ july 20, 2015


The Reluctant Gardener


They call them “volunteer plants”. Perfectly good seeds that sprout in random places without the help of a deliberate seed sower. For the life of me I can’t imagine why a perfectly good tomato seed would “volunteer” to grace the rocky slope in my back yard. But there it was, thriving midst the weeds when my grandson found it!

Much too great a treasure to be tossed, he rescued it from the weed heap, roots intact, presenting it to be potted! With every single ounce of green in me (single ounce pretty much describes it!) we managed to find an empty paint pail, some unused potting soil where I had buried other plants alive, and a tomato cage to support what would, or at least should, become a bushel of plump rosy fruit!

The first few days were touch and go, the poor plant’s limbs drooping over its wire cage. I’m sure by now it realized the dreadful mistake it had made choosing my yard. I think I even heard its faint screams…”help meeee”…pleading, as only a failing tomato can, for someone to rescue it! I watered it, moved it into the sun, then to the shade, feeling a bit like a new parent. What to do? Too wet, too dry? I didn’t expect it to survive, but I was determined, mostly for my grandson’s sake, who would be back in a few weeks to tend the lawn again, no doubt eager to examine the budding life left in my charge.

I don’t know quite how to explain it. A miracle maybe? Just two weeks later, that limp little tomato plant has beaten the odds and even has three plump green globes…real tomatoes…to show for it! Not that I can take any true credit for this amazing turn of events. I am, after all, a notorious serial plant killer! But a bit of natural intervention, the rain…the overcast skies…the stifling humidity of the past few weeks were perhaps not sent to torment me, but to save that little plant from doom and to teach me something about myself.

The lesson? Before owning…believing the negative labels I tend to give myself based on the past, I should take my cues from Nature who presents us with mornings every…single…day…that are new and full of potential, where anything is possible…even tomatoes from a reluctant gardener like me…

…and I’m thinking out loud here…I just might want to plant a few tomato plants of my own when next season comes around! 😊

~ kat…”budding grasshopper gardener in training” (formerly known as “notorious serial plant killer”) ~ Summer 2015


Fear for Heaven’s Sake

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You say heaven as
if it is the be all end
all of existence. As
if to be denied entry
is the most dreaded of
all things to dread.

Some do live this
life paying dues for
eternal entry into
sprawling mansions…
their names etched in
gold at the gate. While
some live life on
heaven’s fire, wildly
loving, rejecting egoistic
edicts scribbled in
ancient tomes by
fearful men.

Eternity, after all, is
neither here nor
there, but once
upon and now and
then, a candle burning
at two wicks to
be consumed when
end meets end.

kat ~ july 9, 2015


On Hoarding Grace

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The sun does shine
on all, the greatest to the
small. The breeze…it
tousles flowing tresses, blades
of grass, majestic trees.
The tides shift sand as well
as stone, and earthen beds
of fecund soil embrace
the seeds of weeds
amidst more cultivated
blooms. Stars shimmering in
the firmament, grant wishes for
a dream. The moon reflects
both light and dark, her crescent
ticking new to full to new
and back again.

With nature’s unconditional
example, then who am I but
egoistic flesh, all grace to hoard.
I am a clay-thrown vessel
meant to empty, not fill
to brim, with stagnant stench
lamenting, “more…need more.”

kat ~ June 29, 2015